Page 92 of Dirty Hearts

“Of course. Please don’t think about that now. That should be the last thing on your mind. You hear me, Doll?”

She nodded. “I think we’re going to lose him.” She gulped hard and bit her lip. “I just wanted to be his mom and hold him and love him. I just wanted something good.Ava… she was the good twin. I was just a train wreck en-route to disaster. Look what I did to you. This is what I deserve.” Her shoulders shook.

“No, it’s not.” It couldn’t be, because no one deserved this.

Taking her once more, I held her. One hand around her and my other hand resting on her belly, savoring whatever connection I had left with my son.

I knew the doctors would try, and we could hope all we want.

My gut instincts had never failed me. Not once.

Right now, they were telling me that I had no hope.

* * *

Crash…

And, burn…

I hated when my instincts were right. It was so much worse when I was right about bad things.

Marissa never even made it on to the operating table.

By the time Dr. Braithwaite checked all the baby’s vitals, he couldn’t find a heartbeat.

It was like the world ended in that moment, and Marissa and I cried together. I didn’t even know I was capable of crying until that day.

Nearly a month later, and the pain was still the same.

I dealt with it as best as I could, putting on a brave face when I was around Marissa, who was a complete mess.

Ava had come back from London to be with her.

I could tell Marissa appreciated her presence. I did too, but I was finding that I couldn’t be around either of them. I didn’t know how to console Marissa when I was so broken myself, and seeing Ava made me think of my own mess of a situation with her.

So, I headed for the best place I could be. The bar.

I didn’t call on any friends, no family, no one. I just came here by myself.

Except I didn’t drink. I just came here to think.

I took a booth around the back by the pool table and sat by myself.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed the man who took the seat in front of me.

Joe Manello.

I blinked and focused on him, at his huge, wide eyes and pointed nose. The capo for the Manello family was the last person I’d expected in a bar like this and talking to a guy like me.

The Manellos did not like the Rossis. Neither had ever pissed on tradition by overstepping boundaries, but it was clear that one did not talk to the other.

Put simply, the Manellos didn’t like the power the Rossis had. Raphael Rossi, I should say. Chicago was his empire, and everybody knew that. Everybody knew that Chicago belonged to him.

“Joe Manello, what can I do for you?” I leaned onto the table and kept my eyes trained on him.

The corners of his lips arched into a slow, easy smile.

“I need a guy with your skills, Claudius Morientz.” Joe tightened his mouth and brought his fingers together.