Chapter 23

23

SERENA

I wake up on the cold concrete. It's dark here, and it stinks. I roll onto my side and get sick. I retch again and again until I know my stomach's empty. I'm fuzzy headed and queasy from the chloroform or whatever they used to knock me out. After I puke, I can't exactly pretend I'm still knocked out, so I venture a ‘hello?' Because I can't tell if I'm alone.

In response, the bright overhead lights switch on. My eyes water in response to the shock of the glare. I take it in, every detail as fast as I can. I'm in a big concrete room with an overhead garage door at one end guarded by two big guys with bigger guns.

The cavernous room is empty except a card table and chairs where a man in a brown suit sits. Based on his appearance alone, he must be mob-related. Whether this is to do with Jack or my father, I have two jobs. One, get out of here alive. And two, don't let anyone know I'm pregnant with the next Marino. I'm so scared that my teeth chatter. I sit up, hug my knees to my chest.

"Are you cold, Miss Mayfield?" the suited man asks in a mock-courteous tone.

I don't answer him. I decide not to give him a single word, nothing he could use as a clue that I'm pregnant. The older man stands up, chewing the cigar like a movie villain, and walks over to me. I try not to shrink away from him, but the overwhelming stench of too much cologne and the acrid smoke are too much for me. I make a split-second decision as he leans over me.

"We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Vincent Alfredo Carbini, head of the Carbini Organization. Since you're so cold on the floor, I bet you'd be more comfortable sitting in my lap," he chuckles, a nasty suggestion that pushes me over the edge.

I heave and puke all over the leg of his expensive trousers. It was the nearest part of him I could vomit on, and I feel oddly pleased with myself for managing it. He curses and shoves me back with his foot, shouts for one of his men to clean up the mess. He stomps back over to the folding chair and one of his guards starts wiping off his shoe, his pants leg. It's not very effective and he's grumbling.

A shaft of light spears across the floor from a door I hadn't seen. Another guard enters with a bucket. He stomps to my side and dumps the contents onto me. It's ice-cold water, probably meant to wash the vomit down the floor drain nearby. I jump up, shrieking and indignant. I pull my wet t-shirt away from my body with disgust and glare at the guy with the bucket.

"Oooh, she's a feisty one," Carbini snickers. "I can see why Jacky Boy likes her so much."

So this is about Jack. I should feel relief that for once, my father hasn't let me down, but I don't. All I feel is cold, raw fear. I keep the promise I made to myself, not saying a single word. I just spit on the floor in his direction and go stand by the wall near where I now realize my dad lies in a heap missing all the action.

I hold the soaking wet shirt out from my body to keep them from seeing it plastered to the curve of my growing belly. It's all I can do to keep the secret, to keep the baby safe for now. I'm going to make this as difficult as possible for that nasty old bastard until I can figure a way out of here.

I glare right at him, no fearful downcast gaze for me. My hair is dripping water in my eyes and I want to shove it back, but I'm concentrating on holding the wet fabric away from my chest and stomach and trying not to show the terror that is threatening to drown me.

Carbini dials his phone and puts it on speaker.

"I guess you got my message, Jacky Boy" he chortles. "She's a pretty thing but not your usual classy type."

My heart turns over. I resist the urge to scream out Jack's name, to beg him to come find me. But this asshole just did me the biggest favor of my life because he made sure Jack Marino knows I've been kidnapped. I'm so grateful my knees are weak. I decide it's okay to sit down.

I arrange myself leaning against the cinderblock wall, hugging my knees. It blocks the view of my belly and gives me a break from holding the clammy t-shirt in my hands. I listen, but Jack doesn't say a word on the other end of the phone. I almost start to wonder if this guy called Jack at all. It could be a cruel trick to mess with my mind and give me false hope. Except Carbini explodes out of his chair screaming into the phone, something like, "Don't you fucking hang up on me!" By the time he finishes shouting, his face turns a purplish red with rage that makes me think he has high blood pressure.

There's a knock at the smaller door in the back where the bucket guy entered. A guard goes to answer it. "That'll be the food," he says.

As soon as he opens the door, I hear a muffled gunshot and watch him fall. Everyone is drawing weapons, and I'm afraid I'm going to be hit by a stray bullet if this turns into a gunfight. Suddenly, I register the face of the shooter. It's Jack striding through the door. I want to applaud, to fly to my feet and shriek with happiness. Before I can worry about him being hurt or killed or before I can think another thought, the guy who had been cleaning my puke off Carbini's shoes gets to his feet smoothly and fires his pistol into Carbini's forehead.

I can't take my eyes off the carnage, not even to really comprehend that one of these henchman is on our side. Men pour into the space, crowding it. There's no one to direct the bad guys now that their don is dead, flopped onto the floor with his face blown off. They drop their weapons, hands in the air. The one who shot Carbini steps forward and gives a report, indicates a door guard and Jack nods. They go pick up my dad and carry him out. Louie ushers the other henchman out and I'm pretty sure that's to spare me the sight of whatever's going to happen to them now. I feel like I'm glued to this wall. I can't move. I'm shaking all over.

Everyone's gone but Jack and me. I keep staring at him like he's an apparition, like I'm hallucinating out of pure terror. He puts his gun on the floor before he comes to me. He kneels down by me and searches my face. I feel tears on my cheeks, but I don't bother to wipe them away. I just let go of my knees and hold out my arms to him in mute appeal. His handsome face, that face I love, transforms with a grin. He grabs me and hugs me, picks me up in his arms.

Jack carries me out of that godforsaken place, and we get in a waiting car. He doesn't put me down on the seat. He holds me in his lap. His thumbs brush my tears away. We are silent a long time. He finally bursts out with, "Jesus, I could have lost you, Serena."

I'm holding on to the front of his shirt. It has some blood on it from the guy he killed at the door, but I don't seem to mind right now. I can feel his heartbeat under my hands and the heat of his skin and the smell of him. He's real and whole and holding me. I let go, sink into his chest and rest there all the way home.

The only thing I'm really aware of is the call Jack gets to tell us that my dad's okay after being checked out at the ER. He's spending the night in the hospital to make sure there's no after-effects of whatever drug they used on him. It's a relief to me that he's all right, and that he'll have the hospital staff looking after him tonight. I don't think I could do it at this point. I'm overwhelmed by all that's happened to bring me to this moment.

I feel the change in motion, the car slows and stops. The door opens. I stir in Jack's arms, blink up at him. For a second, I'm afraid I'm dreaming and that I am still a prisoner in that awful place. He tries to carry me into his building, but I shake my head and insist on walking. I'll return to his penthouse on my own two feet. Where I belong. And I'll tell him the truth even if it makes him hate me.

If I lose Jack, I'll lose him as an honest woman, not a coward. That much I can promise.

Once in his apartment, I turn to him.

"Thank you, Jack," I say, my voice sounding rusty. "You didn't have to come for me, especially after the way I left things between us."

I'm ready to launch into my apology when he crowds me back into the wall, blocking me in and putting his mouth on mine.

"I would always come for you. Goddammit, if you don't know that—" he sounds like the words are dragged from him, like he's in agony as his hands cup my face, my shoulders, before they slide to my breasts. I turn away from him and he steps back.

"Are you hurt?" he says, concern darkening his gaze as he studies me. Color floods my cheeks.

"No I'm just wet and dirty and cold."

"Oh, thank God," he says, sounding relieved. "Take a hot shower and get cleaned up. Let me know if you need anything. I'll be right out here."

I smile shyly. An hour ago, I was scared for my life. Now I have a miracle. I'm safe and I've been given a chance to tell Jack the truth. I could never hope for more. Not forgiveness for keeping the secret, not a path forward to be with him. Getting to tell him the truth, knowing the only way our baby could ever be safe is under his protection, feels like my purpose right now. As soon as I have a shower.