My lip curls when I see the graffitied walls, boarded up windows, and flickering stoop light. I’m not sure if the pain is making me delirious, but I can’t stop thinking about how Arin deserves more than this. She deserves a nice apartment in a safe neighborhood, not this dump of a place to call home.
By some miracle, I have enough energy to climb the steps to her apartment on the third floor. I must be losing a lot of blood, because I don’t even put up a fight when Arin sits me down on her corduroy couch. She slips off my jacket and undoes the buttons of my shirt, carefully peeling away the red-soaked fabric.
“Stay here,” she says, scurrying down the hall to look for something.
My fingers are going numb. I hope to God I’m not going to suffer permanent nerve damage. I rifle through my pants pocket until I find my phone, texting Elio Arin’s address.
If you’re alive, come pick me up.
Bring painkillers.
Arin returns with a damp cloth, standing close and gingerly wiping at my wound, washing away the blood that’s trickled down my back. As she does, I look at our surroundings. Her place is cramped, but very homey. Her furniture is mismatched, but it comes across more charming than disorganized. The walls are covered in framed pictures, there are various books and magazines piled in high stacks on the numerous shelves and coffee tables. Large spools of fabric are gathered in one corner of the living room, Arin’s work life spilling into her personal one.
A bountiful collection of toys, pastel throw blankets, and baby shoes near the door are evidence a child lives her as well. I catch a glimpse of a big Huggies diaper box shoved into the bottom of the hallway closet, along with burping cloths and bibs. But the more I look around, the more I notice something strange.
In almost all the pictures, Arin and the girl, Felicia, are together. At the zoo, swimming together at the public pool, together at the carnival getting their faces painted. The more I look at them together, the weirder I feel. They look… really alike. And the fact that there are next to no pictures of Felicia and Arin’s roommate, Lana, makes me more suspicious.
Arin clicks her tongue. “I think the bullet’s still lodged in there. I have a bit of first aid training, but I’d rather not risk getting it out myself.”
“Leave it,” I say, watching her carefully. “Elio’s coming to stitch me up, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, applying a bit of pressure to staunch the bleeding. “You were lying to me before,” she says. Her tone is soft, but her accusation rings loud and clear.
I grind my teeth, studying her carefully. “You lied to me, too.”
Arin swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Slowly, I reach for the picture frame propped up on the side table next to me. It’s of Arin holding the little girl, kissing her cheeks while Felicia laughs brightly at the camera. The guilt written all over Arin’s face is answer enough.
“She’s your daughter,” I say as calmly as possible. “How old is she?” A part of me already knows the answer.
Arin sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “Four years and three months.”
I stand, too overwhelmed to speak. Four years and three months… If I factor in the nine months it takes to carry a child, then that means… “She’s mine?”
She nods slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. “Yes. God help me, yes.”
Chapter 14
Arin
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I don’t know. I tried at dinner, but… And I didn’t know if I could trust you or not. But now…”
“Butwhat?”
“Now that I know my baby girl is the daughter of amobster, I’m inclined to knock you the fuck out so you forget all about it!”
Dominic stares at me like I’ve just slapped him across the face. If I’m being honest, I’m feeling just as raw and blindsided. All the signs were there. Why didn’t I trust my gut? I was foolish to take him at his word.
“Looks like we’re both liars,” I grumble bitterly under my breath.
“Where is she now?” he asks, speaking far more gently than I’ve ever heard him.
“Why?”
“Because they know what you look like now.”