Page 49

Still, he didn’t say anything. But what he did do was pull me into a hug so tight I could barely move.
“Pregnant,” he said as he pulled back and looked at me.
He held my face in his hands and then kissed me.
“Pregnant,” he whispered against my lips.
“Enzo,” I said.
He pulled back, because he must have heard something in my voice.
I looked into his eyes, and he stared at me.
“What do you want? What do you need? Anything, doll,” he said.
“Just promise me that there won’t be any more secrets between us,” I said.
“No more. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. And I promise you that I will do whatever I have to
to make sure you and this baby have the life you deserve,” he said.
He pulled back a moment, staring into my eyes.
“I love you, Molly,” he said.
Then he looked down, put his hand over my stomach, his thumb brushing over my abdomen like I—like we—were the most precious things in the world.
And just like that, any lingering fear, any reservations faded into nothing.
“And I love you,” he said.
I looked at him, some part of me still marveling, unable to believe.
But another part of me—the much bigger part of me—knowing I was exactly where I belonged
“We love you, too.”
THIRTEEN
Molly
Two months later
I felta strange kind of peace, walking into the shelter with one hand on my belly and the other in Enzo’s.
The air still smelled like cheap coffee and dog shampoo, though my stomach didn’t lurch.
Nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
I wasn’t just Molly anymore.
I was Molly, fiancée of Enzo Moretti, the Moretti capo who had taken out three Genovese soldiers without blinking.
Molly, soon-to-be mother of Enzo’s child.
Enzo squeezed my hand. “Want me to wait in the car?” he asked.