I couldn’t make any major life-altering choices while staying feet away from the man who’d rescued me from his father, shared his life and business with me, made me wealthier than I could’ve dreamed, brought me intense pleasure with his body, and then broken my heart.
It was just too hard. Too confusing.
Yet, I was used to hard and confusing. I’d faced worse situations, and I’d face this one.
Stand tall. Stand strong.
I thought of the past couple of interactions I’d had with Luca. Him bringing me crackers and ginger ale when I was nauseous. Him taking care of Anna when she had a nightmare. For the leader of a crime syndicate, he sure was a nurturing kind of guy. Caring.
A hiccup rose in my chest, and it was only at the last minute that I realized it was a sob.
Damn hormones.
I scrubbed my eyes free of the tears that filled them. I didn’t need to do this falling apart thing. Not again. I needed to buy some furniture and settle in so I could make this important decision. For some reason my high school English class flashed through my brain, which was ironic since I’d never cared much about my education.
Okay, that wasn’t strictly true. I hadn’t had time to worry about my education. I’d had to worry about bigger things. Like my sister. Like our survival.
But whatever.
Back to English class. We’d read Hamlet my freshman year, and that famous quote from the play kept spinning across my thoughts.
“To be or not to be.”
This—I didn’t think I should call it a child or a baby for now—would be or not be based on what I decided. On what conclusion I came to. What would be best for me under the circumstances. I honestly didn’t know what Luca’s opinion would be on the matter.
He already had a daughter. He was already dealing with the challenges of single fatherhood and overseeing the long reaching arms of his family’s business. I sincerely doubted that he’d want to add another burden to his overfilled plate.
But if I chose to keep it, would I be able to rear it on my own? I’d helped to raise my sister, but by the time I’d started to do that, she’d been older. Eleven. Almost a teenager. I’d never had to take responsibility for another person from infancy on.
Luca had a support system. When something happened with Anna that he didn’t know how to deal with, he had other people in his house to go to. To ask. To offer him advice or a helping hand.
Like last night. Every time I’d seen him with his daughter prior to then he’d always seemed to know what he was doing. He’d never seemed unsure or hesitant. He got right in there and fed her, bathed her, changed her diapers. He’d rock her to sleep. But when I’d seen him a few hours ago, he’d looked… well, rattled. More than that. He’d been riddled with anxiety. Terrified, even.
But then he’d sought out assistance.
Not his brothers, of course. I’d never seen any of them as overly helpful in that regard, but Greta had been. She served as nanny, mom, and even devoted grandma. She also remained cool as a cucumber in a crisis. And though I was sure the Varassos paid her to be their employee, she was far more to Luca. He loved her. I could see it in the way he treated her.
She took care of Anna on a daily basis. And on that horrible night when th
e shit had hit the fan, she’d taken care of Luca, too. She’d comforted him, provided him with an emotional leg to stand on. So I knew as far as he was concerned, the lady was family.
And for the first time, it occurred to me that I could seek out my own family. I hadn’t seen Tara since I’d come to live with the Varassos. She had no idea what it was I was really doing now.
I still couldn’t tell her either, but I could visit her. Make sure she was okay. Ask her what the fuck I was supposed to do now that there was a life growing inside me. Or something that could become a life anyway.
I pulled out my phone. This one wasn’t a burner but one Luca had provided me with for the precise purpose of contacting Tara, so she should recognize the number. I’d been avoiding calling her lately, preferring to communicate only through text. That way, it’d been easier to dodge her questions about where I was and why I wasn’t coming home.
But this time, I called her.
“Hey, Tara. Are you busy?”
She blew out an audible breath, sounding frustrated with me. “No, but I’m sure you are.”
“I’m not, actually. Can we get together?”
I was home.
I looked around at the familiar cramped apartment with its second-hand well… everything. All the things we owned had been salvaged or used. And Old Man Bertolli had owned them first, had passed them down to us.