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She still didn’t know what to do. But with the financial support coming from Rocco, she wouldn’t even be tempted to engage in cons anymore. Maybe she would get a house in the country. Maybe she would make friends with other mothers. Maybe she would make up a story about where she was from, and what happened to her baby’s father.
Maybe that could be her last con. One that she lived in. One that she stayed in. Something normal, something happy.
The thought of it made her smile.
Things were going to change. But she needed that. Desperately. She needed to change. Maybe this was her chance to finally have real connections. To love someone the way she wanted to. Without reserve. With love in return.
A love neither she nor her child would ever have to earn.
No just one more con looming overhead. A mythical destination that would supposedly fix all, but would never arrive.
She closed her eyes and wiped away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. She didn’t need Rocco Amari to be happy. Neither did her child.
This whole thing with her dad had started out as one of the biggest mistakes of her life. But maybe out of it something amazing would happen.
Either way, it was a new chapter. She was done with her father. She was done with the life they’d led. Done with cheating people.
And she was done with Rocco, except when it came to the financial support he would offer. It was a new life, a new beginning.
And now that she had taken care of the hard part, she was ready to start.
THE ROOM WAS EMPTY. Everything was gone. Nothing to identify who might live in this tiny little house in Rome. No toys to show that a child played here. No pots or pans in the kitchen to prove that there was a mother who lived here. A mother who had cooked dinner every night, regardless if the meal was comprised of the most modest portions.
Even the blankets that were usually fashioned into a nest in the corner of the living area were gone.
And there were strangers standing there. Strangers who were smiling although there was nothing to smile about.
His toys were gone.
But worst of all, his mother was gone.
No matter how many times he asked where she was, no one would answer. He asked until he was hoarse, until his voice was gone, and still there was no answer. Only smiling, and strange assurances that everything would be fine, when he knew nothing would ever be fine again.
The room was empty, and he couldn’t find anything that he needed.
* * *
Rocco woke up, his body drenched in sweat, his heart hammering so hard he feared it might burst through his chest. His bedroom was, of course, not empty. He was sleeping on a king-size bed with lush blankets and pillows covering every square inch. In the corner, he could see his dresser, and mounted to the wall the flat-screen TV. Everything was here, just as it should be.
Most importantly, he was not a small crying child. He was a man. And he was not helpless.
Yet for some reason, in spite of the realization that he had been having his usual dream, the unease didn’t let up. His chest still felt as though it was being squeezed tight, a large hand wrapped around his throat.
He got out of bed and walked over to the bar that was next to the door. He needed a drink, and then he could go back to sleep.
He flipped on the light and reached for a bottle of Scotch, pouring himself a generous amount, his hands shaking. As he lifted the glass to his lips, he replayed the dream in his mind. And suddenly the face of the child changed. It wasn’t him any longer, but a child with her mother’s defiant expression and wavy black hair.
He swore and slammed the glass down onto the bar top. There was no reason for him to take part in the life of the child Charity was carrying. The odds that she was truly pregnant were slim. The odds that she was carrying his child slimmer still. It was a tactic to use him. She was a con woman, just like her father, and he knew it.
Yes, she had been a virgin, he knew that, too. But perhaps she had not been. Perhaps it was all part of her elaborate ruse. He couldn’t be sure.
He should forget this. Forget she had ever come to see him. It would be easy for him to send a certain amount of money to her every month, money he would never even look at. She would be cared for, as would the baby, and he could go on as he always had.
Yet again, his mind was filled with large, sad brown eyes.
He looked down into the Scotch as though it betrayed him, then lifted the glass and hurled it at the wall, watching it shatter. It left a dark blot behind, a spray of liquid clearly visible, and shards of glass on the floor. He didn’t care.
And he shouldn’t care about Charity Wyatt and the baby she might or might not be carrying.
You would abandon your child? Is this what you have become?
He did not hear the questions in his own voice, but a voice from far in the past. His mother. Who had left luxury with his father to give birth to him. Who had, before that, sold all of her jewelry, all of her clothes. A mother who had worked nights at a factory, walking a dangerous route home in the early hours, alone.
His mother had given her all, until she had lost her life in pursuit of caring for him.
And he was going to leave his child with nothing more than an automatic deposit once a month.
He ignored the uncharacteristic guilt that wound itself around his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. He didn’t believe in guilt. It was useless. It accomplished nothing. He believed in action.
So take action.
What action could he take? Would he keep the child for himself? Take Charity as his wife? Make a family with the woman who had defrauded him out of a million dollars?
The woman who had tested his control and found it wanting?
Unacceptable.
All of it. He owed her nothing. He didn’t even owe her child support all things considered. He was still half convinced she had his money tucked away somewhere. A million dollars of his ferreted away into an account to use at her discretion.
In truth, he was being generous offering her anything.
Yes, he was generous.
He took another glass from the bar and poured himself more Scotch. He would not think of this again. He would place his assistant in charge of arranging Charity’s medical appointments. She would receive the best care available. Another token of his generosity.
He had made the right decision. And he would not question it again.
He downed to the rest of his Scotch and went back to bed.
* * *
Charity felt like hell. She had for the past two weeks. Everything she ate seemed to disagree with her, and she had no energy at all. She had missed so many shifts at the restaurant that her financial situation was getting dire.
But, the unavoidable fact was that nobody wanted a clammy, pale waitress serving them food.
And today was her first official doctor’s appointment that had been arranged at the clinic chosen by Rocco. It was a strange thing, going to a clinic that had been selected by the man who was so intent on keeping himself separate from all of this.
Well, she was willing to bet that Rocco himself hadn’t actually selected the clinic. More likely he had had his assistant do it. Which, actually sat a bit easier with her.
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