38

Chapter 38
Arin
It’s all over the news.
Some people assume it was an accident. Maybe an electrical fire or mishandled chemicals that weren’t stored properly. Others think it might have been a domestic terrorist attack. The explosion was so big the whole harbor shook, and half of New York heard the massive blast tear through the air. The police are still investigating, piecing together what little evidence hasn’t been burned to a crisp.
But I know the truth.
I know the truth and I can’t say anything without a flurry of unwanted attention. If the Mob discovers I’ve blabbed to the cops, I could put myself and Felicia at risk. All I can do is keep my mouth shut.
The hours that followed the explosion were a blur, my memories foggy thanks to my unfortunate adrenaline crash. If Johnny hadn’t been a few blocks away, apparently at Dominic’s instruction, the chances that I would’ve frozen to death were distressingly high.
I waited a day, biting my nails all the way down to their beds. According to the police reports, several bodies were discovered at the warehouse, charred beyond recognition, though evidence of torched weapons suggested foul play might be involved.
No sign of Dominic, though.
Another day passed, and then another and another. Before I knew it, a week had come and gone.
Still no sign of Dominic.
I receive several visitors in the days following the incident. A couple of capos paying respects. Isabella and Lana have been coming over almost every day, helping me take care of Felicia while I struggle with my daily cocktail of anguish, anxiety, and dread. No matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can’t remember seeing Dominic anywhere in the water. My heart
thuds loudly in my chest at the memory, all the what if scenarios gripping my thoughts like a starving python.
What if he drowned? What if the blast killed him before he even hit the water? What if the current swept him out into the Atlantic? The endless worrying is enough to make me puke. In fact, I do—and very frequently.
“Let me call the doctor,” Isabella offers. “Those waters are so polluted.
You might’ve caught a parasite.”
I shake my head, waving her off weakly. I’ve been camped out on the living room couch for ages, unwilling to climb into either mine or Dominic’s bed. All that empty space on the mattress next to me only reminds me of his glaring absence. At least here on the couch, I can press my back against the cushions and pretend it’s Dominic holding me so snugly.
“I made your favorite,” Lana offers that night, just as she’s done every night before. “Tuna casserole. I’ll even add extra cheese and toss it under the broiler.”
Normally, mentioning Lana’s famous tuna casserole would earn her a Pavlovian response. My mouth normally waters at the mere memory of her saucy, cheesy, calorie-intensive meal. Today, however, just the thought of tuna makes me shoot upright and run straight for the nearest bathroom. I luckily lose my lunch in the toilet, dizzy and feverish all over.
“Mommy, oh no!” Felicia gasps, holding onto her Nona’s hand as they watch in horror from the bathroom door.
“That’s it,” Isabella says, hurrying over to rub small circles against my back. “I’m calling the doctor. This is far too serious.”
“I’m fine,” I try to insist, except my voice is weak and cracking. “I’m fine. I’m just nauseated.”
Lana enters the bathroom, too, with a tall glass of water from the kitchen. “Nauseated?” she echoes. “When was your last time of the month?” Lana glances at Felicia. She’s far too young to understand what’s going on, but I appreciate my friend using the euphemism.
I think about it. Really, truly think about. Dominic and I have been having sex regularly for months now, but my period was always on time. I’ve been so distracted with the fashion show and all of Dominic’s work nonsense and being fucking kidnapped that I haven’t exactly been keeping diligent track of my cycle.
I do the mental math. It’s a rough estimate, but I’m pretty sure I’m over two weeks late.
“Okay,” I rasp. “A doctor might be a good idea.” “You think?” Lana replies dryly.
I hurl into the toilet again.
* * *
I’m alone in the doctor’s office. Lana, Isabella, and Felicia were told to wait outside. As much as I need some support right now, it’s probably for the best. It’s cramped in here as it is, and the walls feel like they’re creeping in closer and closer with every passing second. Seated on the examination table, all I can do is fiddle with the loose thread at the edge of my sweater’s sleeve, silently willing my heart to calm down.
Unconsciously, I start rubbing my belly in a circular motion. Call it a mother’s intuition, but I think I know the answer even without the doctor’s confirmation. I remember feeling this way when I was pregnant with Felicia, a nervous excitement bubbling through my veins. Could it be? And if it’s true, am I ready to do this alone?
Again.
I grind my teeth, fighting desperately to keep my eyes from welling up. Dominic is out there somewhere. I can feel it. I refuse to let myself believe he’s well and truly gone. He can’t be dead. He just can’t.
The doctor steps in, chart in hand. She gives the test results a quick scan. “It seems congratulations are in order. All your tests came back positive.”
Even though I’m not as surprised as I should be, the air rushes out of my lungs all the same. I don’t know what to make of all the emotions swirling around inside me.
Joy, excitement, wonder. Fear, anguish, loss.
I’m obviously ecstatic knowing I’m with child again. The thought of Felicia having a little brother or sister to grow up alongside makes me hopeful for the future. I want nothing more than to fill my home with the sound of my children’s laughter and shower them with all the love I’m
capable of giving.
But I don’t want to do it without Dominic. Once was hard enough. This is too much to bear.
So I weep, sobbing heavily into my palms as cold reality sets in. No matter how much I hope and pray, the signs aren’t looking good. Dread and doubt tear through me until I’m hollow. There’s an insidious voice in the back of my head that won’t stop repeating Dominic is dead.
The doctor shifts uncomfortably. “Is there anything I can do for you, Ms.
Wilson? Would you perhaps like to discuss your options?”
I manage to pull myself together long enough to shake my head. I wipe my eyes with my sleeves, my tears darkening the fabric as they soak into the threads. “N-no, thank you. I’m ok. Just a little overwhelmed.”
Gathering my coat, I shakily make my way out to the waiting room. Lana, Isabella, and Felicia are already standing, talking in hushed whispers to a man I recognize.
“Johnny?” I breathe. “What are you doing here?”
He dips his head respectfully. “Ms. Wilson. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
I shake my head. That look on his face… There’s only one thing he could be here to inform me of. “No,” I whimper. “No, no, no.” My head spins. I’m not anchored to my body.
“We have ears within the police department,” he goes on, his face dark and grim. “They found a… body.”
It’s a good thing I’m at the doctor’s office because I’m about to be sick. “It’s been sitting in the morgue for a few weeks now. They fished it out
of the Hudson, but it was so bloated they had difficulty identifying the deceased. They were, however, able to recover this.”
Johnny turns his phone around and shows me a picture. The quality is blurry, taken in dim lighting as if the photographer was trying very hard to be discreet and avoid detection. Between my trembling hands, my teary eyes, and the poor image quality, it takes me a few seconds to make sense of what I’m looking at.
It’s a clothing label stitched to the back of a suit jacket.
Marina’s.
The special label I made for Dominic and Dominic alone. It really is him. Grief overwhelms me. In the span of thirty minutes, I’ve gone from getting the best news to the absolute worst. My heart is a shattered, broken
thing.
I don’t have the strength to put it back together.