Chapter Twenty-Three - Fiona

I'm on Oak Street again, but this time it's just me, crossing the street to the new baby store alone. That's what it's felt like I've been doing for the last three months. Alone. Ruslan promised to make an effort to be around more, but ever since those files were discovered, he's been around less and less.

Today with my belly extended to the size of a small basketball, I'm pissed. I wanted him to come with me.

"Can't you take the morning off mob business, just to come with me to the baby store?" I pleaded with him earlier, his glib reaction even more irritating.

"No, there's no need when you're going to be given the whole baby's clothing line when you have the baby shower. You don't have to worry."

"I do have to worry. I want to get a stroller, look at some paint for the nursery we haven't done. I'm getting bigger and bigger, I won't be able to do it soon," I told him, but he didn't budge, and what's worse is he looked very hot in his collar shirt, and slacks, dressed for a meeting.

So here I am, shopping alone, checking out the range of strollers in the store, overwhelmed by all the choices, but wanting to pick one that will fold down easily.

God, I'm so close. I don't even know if I'm ready to be a mother. I keep walking around, picking up different sets for my little girl, not even sure of what name to go with. Should I hold on to my family's dying legacy, giving her an Italian name, or should I let Ruslan pick? Maybe we can hyphenate. I let the cascade of mental thoughts barrel through my brain as I head to the counter with my purchases, heading for home, bouts of nerves starting to kick in from time to time.

What kind of father is Ruslan going to be? My feelings are growing stronger every day for him, and waking up next to him seems normal to me as his wife, but it's days like this when I think he really isn't that into me.

Sighing, I pull off from the curb, heading for the freeway. I reach an upcoming light and a large black Jeep railroads me back towards to the left side where the curb is. Behind me is another black Jeep with the same agenda, bumping me from behind. A shockwave of panic hits me, prompting me to grab the wheel.

" Shit! Who are these people?" I freak out, thinking quickly and sharing my live location with Ruslan. My anxiety grows as I notice all the drivers and passengers in the cars are men.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is why Ruslan doesn't like me going out by myself. I see that they want me to pull over. Just follow what they say. Do it.

Pulling over, I stop the car, my shallow breaths leading me to hyperventilate. Please don't hurt me or my baby. Come on, Ruslan find my location. I scramble to cover my phone, dropping it in the middle console as one of the men approaches looking oddly familiar to me.

Why do I know him. Deep grooves exist on either side of his mouth, his face sour, but he has my same coloring, and it's obvious he's Italian.

The man grins tapping on the glass of my side window, but the smile cracked on his face gives me the impression he knows me. Tense, I watch him through the glass, not wanting to roll my window down. I watch in horror as the man dips his hand in his pocket.

This is it. He's about to shoot me. But thankfully, I'm wrong, he scrawls something quickly placing a dinner napkin up to the window spelling out his intentions.

I'm your Uncle Roberto. Fresh out. Blowing out a relived breath, I roll down the window for him.

"Hey there. I thought it was you. Sorry I had to do that," he remarks in a hoarse voice, a dead ringer to my father's.

"You did have to do that? Are you out now?" I gasp, thinking he was supposed to have been in for longer.

"Yeah, I'm out. Good behavior and a few favors," he says, brushing me off, but I have no idea how it is.

"Ah, okay. Nice to see you," I reply awkwardly, guilt surfacing as I think about the treasure chest of money we found.

"I want to see my niece, is that a crime?" he proposes, but something about him and his crew is giving me the heebie-jeebies. Second-guessing myself, I remember that my father trusted me to give over the Omerta files to him, so he can't be that bad.

"No, it's not a crime. Just let me park, and we can talk. Medelin Park is right next to us," I say more so to cover myself. There's plenty of people around, and the exit back onto the freeway is only a minute or two away. Ruslan should be here any minute now.

Wriggling out of the vehicle, my lips dry, reluctantly I stand close to the vehicle and a nearby park. He looks down at my stomach, a funny expression riding over his face, and I can't tell if he's pleased by the pregnancy or not.

"So, the rumors are true."

I offer him a thin smile, cupping the underside of my belly. "Yes, the rumors are true. I'm pregnant."

Now his face clearly shows open disappointment as his brow creases. "You couldn't have picked a different man? Sure, you and your father had differences, but Ruslan's your guy?"

"I uh—" I look around, feeling flustered by how much he already knows and his unwanted criticism.

"You've still got Italian blood pumping through your veins, and you picked a Russian?" The veins in his neck are starting to show as he becomes irate, and my father's solemn words ring in my ear.

"Roberto has a nasty temper. That's what landed him in hot water with the cops in the first place. Keep your wits about you with him." I wish the warning sign, courtesy of my father, would have popped up earlier when I was inside the vehicle, but with baby brain, it's become a mess up there, not a computer.

"I didn't have a choice. He kidnapped me!" I fight back.

"Pfft. Kidnapping. You could have gotten out of that. You could have called me, and I would have found someone on the outside to handle it."

"No, you don't understand. He hunted me down. I really had no choice."

"Nah, something's not adding up. You're having his baby. You're lying!" he screams, and even if he's my uncle, from the fire blazing in his eyes, I don't think he'll spare me.

"Please. Believe me."

"No! You could have waited until I got out. Those were the fucking instructions. What? Are you dumb?" Roberto flips out, whipping out his gun as I start crying. I've got no other defenses, and I'm worried about my baby.

"I couldn't," I sob. "I was being targeted. Too many people knew about the files," I try to explain to him, his face reddening in anger.

Don't shoot. Don't shoot. I put my hands up as two other men race from the waiting Jeeps.

"You are a pretty little liar," he throws out as his men reach me. "Take her back to the base. We're going to make her Russian come and get her."

I don't know how they do it, but a bag is dropped over my head, and I'm powerless to struggle as the men haul me into their truck, taking me to God knows where. The drive isn't that long, I count it to be no longer than thirty minutes when we arrive.

A tormenting storm of anger fills my chest as my heart rate speeds into overdrive. I end up dumped on cold concrete in a large open holding area in some sort of huge base in the middle of an empty field. There are chairs and good lighting, but I don't know what the place is. To me, it's another type of warehouse that I want to get out of.

Three men work to tie up my hands, binding me to a chair as Roberto strolls in after them. "Welcome to my office, niece. Nothing flashy, but you gotta start somewhere. Tell me, something…." His eyebrow arches as I notice one of his teeth is missing.

"What do you want?"

"The Omerta files." He shrugs casually. "But you already know that. Now, if you would have done your part, we'd have a better relationship. I wouldn't have to execute plan b, but you forced my hand. As a matter of fact, let me make a quick call on your phone to sort it out."

Terrified, I watch as he rings Ruslan. "Ah good man, Ruslan. No, this isn't your pretty wholesome wife. It's her uncle." He chuckles, holding his arms out wide. "Welcome to the famiglia, bitch. Now, I'm going to need you to be a good sport and bring those Omerta files if you want to see your wife and kid healthy. You get it, right?" Roberto spits out, acting like a madman as I watch him nod, not hearing his response. He clicks off the call.

"Roberto. Let me go! You have to let me go!" I shout.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head. Your car's safe. It's outside. Your phone," he says, waving it in my face. "Now I've got that. I want to wait until your boyfriend comes. He's got your location and after that, you can go. Plain and simple."

Horrified, I clam up, sliding my feet back and forth, wanting to get out of the binds.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my husband, and you better hope he doesn't come with his Bratva men."

Roberto laughs. "Honey, I just came out of prison. Do you think I'm worried about the Bratva? Fuck no. The guys on the inside are worse than Ruslan. Believe you me. What's more interesting is if your Russian husband will make the ultimate sacrifice to save you," he mocks, his eyes red-rimmed. "My wild guess is probably not." Roberto parks himself near the frosted glass panes, a few paces from me, and now I recognize what the place reminds me of. An aircraft hangar of some sort. Maybe it's an Airforce or an old Army base.

"He's going to come looking for me, no matter what," I tell him, the rope digging into my wrists. Don't cry in front of him whatever you do. Be strong. Ruslan's going to come.

"Of course he is. He doesn't love you, though, does he? But he's going to come and save his progeny, won't he?"

Frustrated by his deductions, I let a tear slip because some part of me feels that's the only reason as well. Fuck.

"You're screwed, Roberto. He probably already made copies of the file and doesn't need it. Maybe he's going to give you a copy and keep the original. What's the point now?" I tell him, eating through his plan.

His eyes are bloodshot and brimming with hatred, slanted, and ready to pull the trigger. He shoots a random shot into the air, clenching his eyes shut.

"Shut up, niece. Just shut up until your husband gets here, otherwise I'm going to have to hurt you."

Sweat beads pop up on my forehead as a dull ache hits my abdomen. " Shit! " My stomach cramps, but I don't think anything of it as it's been a normal part of the pregnancy process. That's until I feel sticky water gushing down my leg, forming a puddle under the chair.

Roberto sees it, shaking his head. "Fucking great. Now you're about to have the Russian's baby in my office. Let me get the girls." Roberto dashes off as I cry, waves of contractions kicking off.

I cannot have my baby here. I just can't, but as two women stride towards me, unraveling my ropes and lifting me out of the chair, it appears I am.

"Come on, you're going into labor. I've got two kids. I can help." Her eyes are kind, but I'm wary of her as we reach a back room, and I watch them scurry around, grabbing towels, scissors, and other things.

"No. No. I have to get to a hospital. I have a birthing plan. I can't do this here," I say, not knowing what to do.

Both the ladies shake their heads. "No. You're going to have to deliver the baby right here, in this back room."

"Henny, can you confirm how dilated she is?"

"Sure, I can do that."

These are all my worst nightmares I've never dreamt about rolled into one, but I'm about to have my first child in captivity.