Bulletproof Baby: An Age Gap, Surprise Pregnancy Mafia Romance (Mafia Mysteries)

The floor creaking under my feet as I walk through the small beach home makes me feel so alone. The house is spectacular, with a view from practically every room. The view isn’t much as I stare out of sliding glass doors leading into the backyard where the brush is damn near eight feet high. I step outside onto the back porch where the deck looks like a dock with the light brown herringbone slats of wood. It goes well with the dark gray siding and white trim.

It’s the perfect piece of peace away from the city. There are a few beaches in New York that people migrate to, but none of them are private like this. The stillness of the breeze lets me focus on the sounds of the ocean, its beauty is calm and serene. I find myself leaning against the railing of the back porch when I spot something that’s cute and out of place.

The etching of initials in the wood are adorable. O + H encased in a heart. I can tell that it’s been painted over and there are some scratches over it like someone tried to erase it. It makes me wonder about the love story behind it. It’s probably about his mother. He said her name was Hera, that’s the H most likely. I wonder what made her leave.

I know Valentino said he’d be a few days, so I guess I’ll have to wait until he gets back to ask him about it. I’d call him, but for some reason I can’t find my phone. I’ve searched this house up, down, and sideways but can’t find a way to contact anyone. Being kidnapped is boring, but I guess the alternative is much worse.

I don’t want to imagine what Saul would do if he actually had me in his clutches. Instead of letting my imagination send me over a cliff of worst-case scenarios, I head back inside to watch TV and raid the kitchen. The layout of the home is very simple. The front door opens into the kitchen, where a small island gives the illusion of separating it from the living room.

There are two bedrooms to the left. There’s a pantry and a small office space to the right. There isn’t much in the office besides an actual fax machine and desktop bulky computer that looks like it’s off the set of some ’90s office comedy. The space doesn’t look like it’s been touched much and I don’t want my fingerprints all over it. After I explore it, I get this eerie feeling that I’m peeking into someone’s memories, like I’m reading a diary. I close the door and decide the best way to keep my mind busy is to get it drunk.

There’s a great wine collection in the wine rack against the wall inside of the pantry and some bottles of sauvignon that grab my attention. I grab a bottle, a glass, and a plate of almond cookies before plopping down onto the sofa to watch whatever’s on TV. I need the noise.

The quiet is great at first, but having spent the last four years working on construction sites, it gives me too much anxiety when I don’t hear work going on. I end up flipping through a few channels before I land on a random romantic comedy. After a glass and a few cookies, I doze off hoping to wake up in Valentino’s arms.

It never happens.

The entire weekend goes by without a word or a phone call. I want to panic. I want to talk to someone, anyone, but all I’m left with are the imaginary characters from TV shows. They feel like they’re watching me more than I’m tuning in. All I want to do is go back to my life, or at least know what’s happening with my parents, my family.

That’s when it dawns on me to go back inside the untouched office. The door creaks when I step inside bright and early Monday morning. The sun shines through a window with sheer curtains. There’s a desk with a gritty layer of dust, making me wonder who used to work out of this room.

I can picture Valentino, early in his CEO days, coming here after a weekend of bare knuckle brawling to put together work assignments for manly men doing security. A soft laugh escapes me as I move through the office.

The fax machine isn’t big. It’s about the size of the one I use at the office. The only reason the Bonetti Brothers use an archaic piece of machinery like this is because the local inspectors from various city departments enjoy being a pain in the ass. “It’s more secure than an email.” That’s the response I get any time I point out the inconvenience of government offices still using them.

When I power it on, it whirs up like it never stopped working. My heart thumps as I check the wiring to see there’s an outlet securing the machine’s wires to the wall. Even better is the phone line being split in two with some converter box. I follow the other line around the edge of the bookcase. The fax machine sits on top of it, but I can’t see where this second phone line runs.

I have to use my hand to reach behind the small shelving unit to grab the gray wire, running my finger along it until it leads me to the bottom drawer of a metal filing cabinet under the window. I pull the drawer, but of course, it doesn’t open. Why would this be easy?

My eyes scan the room for anything to help me.

‘Take a breath, Lia. Think.’ I tell myself.

Whenever I lock a file drawer, like our petty cash drawer, the key is on my key ring, or in my desk drawer. I move toward the desk, moving the leather office chair with its cracked seat covering away from the desk. There’s an outline of dust around the five wheels since this chair hasn’t been moved in who knows how long.

I check the skinny drawer running the length of the desk and sure enough, there’s a key ring inside with two bronze keys staring at me. It doesn’t take long to get the locked drawer open to see the phone sitting inside of it with the handle of the receiver disconnected.

Fuck.

I pick it up, turning it upside down to see everything else is still in working order. I decide to click the speakerphone button and get that all-too-familiar sound of a dial tone. My parents practically tear up when I understand what they’re talking about when they discuss their old bits of technology. But I’m glad I do understand because this time it’s actually helpful to know how all these things work from using them at the office.

The first number I dial is to the construction site office. It’s been a while, but I still know a few numbers by heart. It doesn’t ring at all. Instead, I get a weird message playing back.

‘The number you have dialed is out of service. Please hang up and try again.’

I dial the number three different times and still get the same message. That’s weird. Maybe I don’t know the number as well as I used to.

I try to remember Frankie’s cell phone number, but that doesn’t work. I can’t even remember the number to the bar he works at. Fuck. I need to get out of here to speak to someone, anyone. What if they’re hurt? What if Saul got to them after he thought I was kidnapped? What if he got to Valentino and killed him, Frankie, my parents?

I know I’m supposed to stay put and wait for Valentino to come back, but I have no idea how long that’s going to be. The last time he dropped me off somewhere, I didn’t see him for three weeks. Granted, he left me at Frankie’s, and we did talk over the phone every few days, but this feels different. Something’s going on and I need to know what’s happening to my family. I need to make sure everyone’s safe.

I get the idea to go next door, to a neighbor’s house with the hope of them having an actual cell phone. I can at least get a hold of Frankie through social media. We can connect and he can give me an update. However, when I step outside, I see something even better than a phone. There’s a car parked in the driveway.

It’s not all black, like the security vehicles Valentino’s been shuffling me around in. It’s a light blue vintage muscle car with a cloth top. It’s clean and all I need are the keys. It doesn’t take long to find them as they’re sitting on a hook under a mail holder. I get into the car and turn the key, praying it has gas.

The engine roars to life, and the car’s tank is just above half. I hop into the driver’s seat and drive off the property, trying my best to remember the way Valentino came that first night after the auction. I’ll do my best for now, I just need to check on my family.

By the time I find my way back to civilization, I head straight for the construction site. No one’s expecting me in this car. The engine rumbles as I drive up to Saint Bartholomew’s Community Center. The site is alive, bustling with workers as it should be on a Monday, but I don’t recognize a single face.

My pulse races as I peer through the windshield, desperately scanning every face for our foreman, Pattie. The big lug is nowhere to be seen, but the one thing I notice is the plaque secured to the gate.

The words come out of me in the silence of the car. ‘Bolton Realty? Saint Bartholomew’s Community Center coming 2025. What the fuck is going on?’

I drive the car further down the street where I notice the halal cart is still there, slinging meat for hungry workers. After rolling down the window, I shout to the man operating the food cart.

‘Hey, buddy, what happened to the old crew that used to work that site?’

‘Oh, they pack up and leave last week. So sad. They had a death in the family and did not come back. You order something from the app?’ he asks, waving his phone at me.

I shake my head as dread washes over before pulling off into the Monday traffic. It seems like every light turns red as I fight my way through Brooklyn into Queens. I hope that my parents are okay. The words of the cart vendor sit with me. Who the fuck died?

As soon as I pull up to the house, something seems strange. The last time I was here, there was a void. It didn’t feel like coming home. This feeling washing over me now? This is different. This isn’t a cold feeling, it’s one of emptiness. A hollow shell of a home stares at me from the sidewalk. There isn’t much activity on the street. The neighbors’ homes all look peaceful, but it doesn’t usually feel as vacant as this. I spot my car in the driveway, which gives me a sign of hope. I head to the door, grabbing the spare key out of the planter beside it and let myself in.

Empty.

The entire house is empty. There aren’t any pictures on the walls or furniture sitting in a living room well-lived-in. My heart races as I search through every room. It’s all empty, cleared out, and cleaned up as if it’s ready to rent out to the next available tenant. It’s a brand new canvas for another family to move in and call it home. My heart breaks and I can’t stand the sight of it.

My feet move quickly to get out of the house, hating that my world is one collapse after another. When I go to my car, I run my hand along the rear wheel well, thankful for the magnetic lockbox holding the spare key. I need my license, wallet, credit cards, anything to get out of here when I try to remember. My stuff is at Frankie’s. That’s where I need to go.

After leaving Valentino’s car at my parents’ house, I head to the Lower East Side, where I park and make a beeline to Frankie’s apartment. He works nights, so I’m hoping that he’s home. After ringing the bell an obscene amount of times, I finally hear the heavy footsteps of Frankie coming down the stairs to open the door.

When it swings open, the shock on his face says it all. His eyes are wide as he pokes his head out, glancing up and down the street before yanking me into the doorway.

‘What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened? Where are the police? I thought—’ Frankie takes a beat, pausing to gain his composure, locking the door behind me.

I follow him upstairs and as soon as I’m inside, he slams the door. ‘Bitch, I thought you were dead! What the fuck is going on?’

‘That’s what I want to know. Who the fuck is Bolton Realty? Where are my parents, Frankie? And what do you mean you thought I was dead?’ I fire off one question after another. ‘I need a phone. My wallet and stuff. I gotta get out of here.’

‘No, you need to tell me what the fuck happened after Friday night. I called the police and they said they had an issue trying to find evidence of a kidnapping.’

‘Valentino set this elaborate scheme up for Saul to get arrested. Have you spoken to my parents, Frankie?’

‘They went into hiding. The past seventy-two hours have been a shitstorm of confusion and chaos. I called them and the police about us being knocked out and you getting abducted. By the time I woke up, I was in my apartment. The police thought I was batshit crazy. Then, I spoke to your folks Saturday morning. They said they were closing down the business and that they’d rather shutter it than give in to the demands of the psycho who killed their daughter.’

‘What?’

‘Girl, don’t look at me like that. I’m just as in the dark as you. But you’re not dead. So, whose finger did they receive?’

‘A finger?’ My eyes widen.

‘Yeah, they said they got a finger with a ransom demand that they sign over their business to some random company with a finger in a package. They turned it over to the police, but then they said there’s no way they’d take your finger and let you walk out alive. They said you were dead. They told me to keep quiet since it’s all tied in with this mob stuff and to keep my head low for a while. I think they went into witness protection. If you’re dead, then why wouldn’t they testify on your behalf?’

‘Who said I died?’ I ask him.

He fishes through his pockets to pull out his phone, scrolling through screens until he pulls up a news clip. It’s Saul standing outside of a precinct with a lawyer by his side. His statement is clear. ‘I truly am sorry for the loss of the Bonetti family. I regret that my name got dragged into this, but I’ve been nothing but a beacon of hope to the small businesses within the construction community. I fully intend to fund the young woman’s funeral services and pray that we can all come together and show up for this family during this tragedy. Thank you.’

‘Saul Caputo thinks I’m dead and my parents packed up their shit and left town,’ I say it out loud. The words make sense as they usher in a new reality. ‘I can’t stay in New York, Frankie.’

‘No fucking shit. If Caputo gets wind that you are not deceased, I’m sure he’s going to make sure you attend your funeral. I don’t want anything happening to you.’

‘I don’t want anything happening to you.’

‘What about Valentino? If he had his hand in this, wait a minute, where is he?’ Frankie asks, his eyes shifting to the door as if it’s going to explode any minute.

‘I don’t know, but I don’t want him involved in this anymore.’

Frankie rings his hands together. ‘I feel like you should loop him in on this.’

‘I feel like we should get the fuck out of New York. Let’s just pack up what little shit I got left and drive. I need to get away from these mob bosses and this twisted life. My entire world has flipped upside down in the matter of a month. I’m tired Frankie. If my parents are truly in witness protection, and they think I’m dead, I can start over somewhere else. Come with me.’

Frankie looks around the apartment we practically grew up in and turns to me. ‘Alright, I can sublet this place until we figure a few things out. I’m with you, Lia. I’m so happy you’re not dead and that you’re okay.’

‘Me, too, Frankie. Me too.’