Phantom's Baby: A Mafia Secret Baby Romance (Mob City Book 3) (11 page)

She reaches forward and brushes the white dust from my cheek. Her touch is hot, and singes my skin. I flinch. I’m not used to someone showing me affection like this. It feels so wrong –

– and yet so, so right.

"So, what are you cooking, here, Chef?" She asks, with an impish grin on her face. She knows what’s going on, that I can’t whip up a dish to save my life; and she’s got me squirming like a fish on a line.

I shrugged. "I’m thinking waffles. Supposedly…"

"Mama, Unky Val dropped the flour," Kitty giggled. I can’t resist joining the infectious smile that stretches across her lips.

But … Mama?

Cara moves to face the griddle, as light on her feet as a nymph. "I’ll help. Looks like you can use every bit you can get."

I smile, but my eyes narrow. Something is wrong with this picture. I’ve seen this movie play out before, just never with her.

Cara’s attempt to hide her face from me sinks like a stone. She thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wrong.

I’ve noticed.

And I’m going to find out what she’s hiding. What secret.

And why the stink of guilt seeps from her pores like sweat.

"
W
e need to talk
."

Val flinched. At least, he reacted in exactly the way you'd expect a six-foot two-inch monster with one hundred fifty pounds on me to react to a statement like that. His back tensed, and he held his body entirely still. He didn't turn round.

"We are."

I bit my tongue. I knew one thing: I needed to find out where the hell Val had been all these years. I wasn't going to let him deny me, not now; not now that the guilt and resentment of not knowing was eating me up inside. If this was going to work – whatever
this
was – I needed to know the truth. And no man's awkwardness at hearing the words, “
we need to talk,”
was going to stand in my way.

The names rolled off my tongue before I knew what I was saying. As the harsh, desperate words tumbled into my ears, I realized I sounded like I was telling off Kitty, but I was too far gone to care.

"Valentino Marius Antonov, if you don't –"

He cut me off before I had a chance to enter my stride, spinning around to face me with an expression full of thunder. I'd
never
seen him this angry before, and it terrified me.

"Never," he growled, vibrating from side to side from the balls of his feet, "and I mean
never
in the forever sense
,
call me by that name again. I'm no Antonov, do you hear –"

"Mama?" Kitty's voice called from the couch, a short hop away from the kitchen in Val's open plan living room. Our argument was punctuated by the sound of cartoon explosions. "Are you okay, mama?"

Val froze in his tracks, relaxing back onto his heels in an instant. The red rage that had filled his face a second before disappeared, only to morph into a beetroot rouge of shame. He jerked his head sideways, towards the penthouse's network of plush corridors.

"You're right," he said, his chest vibrating, filling my soul with dread. "We do need to talk."

My legs went as weak as jelly. I mustered the strength to reassure Kitty, and followed a dozen paces behind Val as he strode through his apartment. His feet were bare, and made no sound as his heels impacted the thick carpet, but to me every impact sounded like a hammer blow, driving a nail ever deeper into my heart.

I knew that there would be no coming back from this.

I trailed behind him wordlessly, following as he opened his bedroom door by shouldering it – hard. A millisecond before it impacted the wall, his left-hand shot out, quick as a flash, and caught it. He glanced back at me, his black pupils the still eye of a roiling ice-gray storm.

"Kitty," he explained. "Get in."

I crossed the threshold into his bedroom. I'd imagined doing it a hundred times, but never like this. You'd have needed an ax, or a goddamn hacksaw to cut the tension between us, and I flinched with surprise as he pushed the door shut behind me.

"Val, listen…" I started.

But I trailed off. What the hell was I going to say? What could I say that would stand a damn chance of making this any better?

I grasped for words, but found
nothing
.

The truth was, whatever Val had done to me, I'd done worse.

I lied to him – about the most important event in my life – and his.

And I kept doing it, even when I had the chance to come clean.

You deserve this
.

Val's face ached, and my heart broke for it. His strong, chiseled jaw trembled with the tension of keeping his mouth clamped shut. His fists were white wrecking balls, bitten-off nails digging so deeply into his palms I was worried they'd draw blood. In this state, I doubted Val would notice. But worse than any of that were his eyes, which were black with suppressed rage.

For as long as I'd known him, Val had never shut me out. His eyes had always been coded orbs, oracles to us all, more complex than anyone could have guessed. But I always had the key. He always let me read him.

Not anymore.

Say something
.

But what the hell could I say?

It didn't matter. Val interrupted before I had a chance to speak. My whole body jerked back, like a hand touching a burning stove. My brain begged my lips to move, for me to say something – anything – to throw myself on my knees and beg for forgiveness. But after that uncontrolled, spasmodic jerk, I went numb – tongue stilled, legs locked in concrete. I couldn't have moved even if the building was burning down around me. I stood there and listened as Val's cold anger buffeted my ears.

"I'm no Antonov – not anymore – you understand?"

I didn't react. I couldn't. Val continued, perhaps driven on by my silence, perhaps barely noticing it. His face was still, eyes glassy, voice strangled by contained fury.

"You think I abandoned you? You think I've lied to you, kept things from you?" He laughed – a shrill, fake sound that didn't fit – and went on.

"I did. I have. But tell me,
mama
," he said, rolling his tongue around the word mockingly. "Is there anything that you want to tell
me?
"

Everything!

But my traitorous body failed me. Val nodded, as if my silence confirmed everything he'd suspected of me. He grimaced, and the pained expression flashed across his face. He placed his right hand on his T-shirt collar, fingering the white cloth, lost in thought.

"Val, please…" I croaked. At least, that's what it sounded like in my head. The reality was more of a strangled gurgle.

"It hasn't been easy for you, Cara," Val said, voice still bristling with rage. Yet he was calmer, more restrained – almost contemplative. "But you need to understand something. I
need you
to understand something."

You need me?
A flash of hope soared through me. Perhaps it was in vain. Perhaps I was just imagining it – the last faint light at the end of the collapsing tunnel. The hope of a shipwreck survivor as she sights land, only to be dashed against jagged rocks yards from shore.

Val's arm flexed, and he started tugging the t-shirt from his body. The cloth moved inch by inch, exposing the tanned paradise that hid beneath. My breath caught and died in my throat as I watched, spellbound. I had no idea what he was doing, only that I never wanted him to stop.

"You see, Carrie," he continued in a conversational tone of voice, using a nickname from way back when, one he knew I hated. His face and lips were hidden by cloth; he pulled the garment off, now past his abs, like a broken wave receding against the shore. "You think I left you, don't you? You think I've been living the high life; partying, drinking, sleeping around…"

Somehow, I found the strength to nod. And then got more to croak out an answer, as the silence hung heavy between us and I realized that his eyes were hidden. "Yes," I gasped.

"Understandable," he said, sounding pained, as the T-shirt fell in a puddle on the floor. "Here’s the thing; I never lied to you. Can you say the same?"

His eyes drilled into mine, until I imagined they were reading what was inscribed on my soul. I didn't like what was written there. I wanted to hide, to turn my body away from Val's inquiring, scouring eyes that burned against me wherever he looked.

"No…" I said, breath escaping my lips in little more than a whisper. I looked anywhere, everywhere except his eyes, until mine fell on a jagged red scar on Val's left shoulder. It was ridged and hard with fibrous scar tissue. The skin seemed like it had been ripped, not cut. I felt sick just looking at it. That was only the start of it. I felt like Val had my emotions attached to a yo-yo, allowing me hope, only to cruelly tear it from my hands.

I watched from the corner of my eyes as his fell to the object of my gaze. I watched as his fingers probed at the scar, winced as I imagined what might have caused it.

"I did this," he said simply. I gasped. It was the last thing I would ever have expected. If he'd said he'd been attacked by a pack of wild dogs – I'd have believed him. If he'd said a man with a goddamn eye patch had come at him swinging a cutlass in the subway – I'd have swallowed it, hook line and sinker.

But he was saying he did this to himself?

What the hell could cause a man to do that?

"Why?" I said, eyes once again meeting his as I asked the question that he had dangled in front of me.

Val didn't answer. Not immediately, anyway. He asked a question of his own instead. "Why did you lie to me?" He asked with his voice wrought with emotion. "She's mine, isn't she?"

My head sank to my chest and my lungs expelled the breath they'd been holding in a fast, open mouthed exhalation. I answered without answering at all, but my meaning was clear. "How long –?"

"Have I known?" Val replied bitterly, his thick, muscular chest heaving and gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. "Ever since I saw that look on your face this morning; maybe ever since you got here, deep down. I don't know. Why –." His voice broke.

I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of his misery. "Why did I do it?" I shrugged, and my body sagged. I imagined that I looked like an aged version of myself, sixty years hence – hunched over, face lined with regret. "You want the truth? I was scared. Scared…" I paused. "And to be honest, I resented you. Resented the life I thought you were living. While I –"

Val's heavy breathing punctuated the silence.

"Come here," he ordered in a low growl. It was the last thing I was expecting, and for a second, my legs refused to move. His voice was gentler than I'd expected – but whether that was due to hurt or anger, I didn't know. I was scared to find out, but I moved anyway, eyelids pressed almost shut.

I didn't stop until I felt Val's heat radiating against my skin, the light flutter of his breath tickling my cheeks. My arms hung at my sides, and my mind ran a hundred scenarios – dreading every one.

Will you hit me?

Do you hate me?

Won't you just say something
?

The silence lingered, and lingered, till Val finally spoke. We would've stood there years before I scraped together enough courage to say something; which, perhaps, could have been never.

"Open your eyes."

I did as he commanded, and was surprised again by the hurt look on his face. I'd expected anger, cold fury, a stretched grimace – but not this. He took my hand in his, calloused fingers stroking mine as he lifted my hand to his chest. He placed it on his breastbone and held it there a second, as a shock of electricity traveled through me. His scent caressed my nostrils, not so sharp now, nor clean – but musky and virile. A part of me stirred that shouldn't be stirring, not now.

I clenched my legs together, and swallowed. Val dragged my palm slowly across his chest, inching along the deep contours and crags of his thick muscular frame until our joined fingers reached the scar that marked his shoulder. It was harder than I'd expected, like a knuckle under the skin.

"I did this myself," he said, chest rumbling, sending vibrations dancing down my arm. "It was about a year in. D’you want to know where I went?" He asked. "A cell: fifteen square feet of concrete and iron, and a metal camp bed to sleep on at night."

"You… You went
away?
" I asked, eyes widening with shock. "I didn't even know you were arrested. When? Why didn't you –"

Val shook his head violently, lips curling into a snarl. "No. Not arrested – abandoned – by my
father
," he spat, "as if he deserves a title like that. He sent me as ransom to a rival family, to close a deal. Then went back on his word, and condemned me to two years of pain. They thought they were hurting him when they beat me, but they weren't. They were doing
his
work."

My face scrunched into a wordless cry of pain as my brain searched for a reason
why
. Why would a father abandon his son so? How could a parent throw their own child to the wolves, and sleep at night knowing the torment he had caused.

Val's fingers tightened around mine, and he pressed them hard against the scar. He closed his eyes, lost in memory. "I took a spring from the bed. Six inches long, rusted, with a wicked edge. I snapped it off with my hands and filed it against the wall until it resembled a point. That was after six months. I thought to use it as a weapon, to stab the hand that fed me and make my escape."

"And did you?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

He shook his head. "Six months passed, and then another, but they didn't open that door, at least, not without drugging me first. They did that when they wanted to beat me. But what could I do?" He laughed coldly. "Starve myself? No – I never came close. I always knew I was going to live, that I
had
to live."

"But the scar," I said, voice rose in question. "You cut yourself … Was it to –"

"Kill myself?" Val laughed again, this time with a hint of humor in his voice. "It'd be a hell of a place to choose, Carrie. Carving through that much muscle …" He shuddered. "There are easier ways to die than that."

"So…" I tailed off, confused.

"I did it to prove that I could. I honed my body in that cell, but I sharpened my mind too, to as sharp a point as any blade. I did it after I was blue from another beating. My whole body ached to the touch. I sat in the center of my cell, slowed my breathing, and started to cut. The blade slipped once or twice," he opened his eyes and glanced at the scar.

"That's why it's not so… straight." He smirked. "But it didn't hurt. None of it did. The mind is stronger than you can imagine, Cara." He paused, dropping his hand from mine. Mine fell from his chest, and his eyes drilled into my soul once more.

"No, that's not right. Perhaps yours is stronger than most."

We stood there in silence, standing half a foot from each other, no longer touching. Not physically. But I had never felt closer to anyone in my entire life than I did to him right then.

" Why?" I asked finally. "Why did he leave you there? He must have had a reason, or something?"

Val's face curled into a humorless smile. "Oh, he does. I killed my mother."