Page 76 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

I swallowed hard, thinking about my mother. Her kind brown eyes. How she’d let me perch in her lap, hug her close while she sang to me when I had a bad day. Even when I was too big to do it.

God, I wished she was here.

“How areyoufeeling?” I asked, trying to change the subject before I burst into sobs.

He smiled. “Can’t keep me down for long.” Papa waved his arm around. “Like the new look?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Better than a body bag.”

“That’s what I told Doc.”

That made me chuckle and Papa smiled at me. “You’re sure you’re okay? Just sick?”

“Yeah,” I said shakily, and he ushered me back to bed. I laid down, facing away from him so that he couldn’t see me cry.

Papa sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my back, humming lullabies to me until I stopped crying. “You know you can tell me. If something’s wrong. Whatever it is.” His voice was soft and warm, and for a split second, I thought about it. Spilling all of it. Dante, how I fell in love, how he didn’t choose me. How I fell pregnant, how I wanted this baby more than anything.

How every day it grew inside me I loved it more.

“I’m okay,” I said in a small voice, and Papa didn’t push. He hesitated in my room for a while, as if he didn’t want to go, as if there was something more he wanted to say to me.

But in the end, he didn’t say anything else.

“I’lll have Maria bring up something you can keep down.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

He nodded and paused at the door. “I love you,cara mia.”

A sob caught in my throat. “I love you too, Papa.” When he left, a fresh batch of tears poured down my face.

But as time goes by, I start to become more and more determined.

The first week, I don’t even contact Reese and Sofia.

They text me, but I ignore it. I can’t rehash what happened with Dante right now.

I can’t even think about it without sobbing so hard I throw up. And the stress can’t be good for the baby.

So I just… sit with it. And Dante doesn’t so much as knock on my door. It proves he never cared. Not like I did, anyway.

I exit my room stronger than before, my stomach slightly bloated from the baby but not noticeable.

There are things I need to do. Like schedule a doctor’s appointment.

My weekly allowance is more than enough to pay cash for it so that Papa won’t find out.

Besides, I’ve been storing away half my allowance for a while now for a rainy day fund, the cash pressed under my mattress.

If there’s ever been a rainy day, it’s now.

I hate doctors.

Hospitals.

We went to so many when Mama first got sick. She was terminal from the day she was diagnosed, a fast growing form of breast cancer.

There were surgeries.