Page 24 of Legacy of Deception

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a concrete bench at the edge of the sidewalk.

I closed my eyes, relishing in the way it felt to breathe a little normally again. Not to be dramatic, but it was getting close there, close to me forgetting what that felt like. “I don’t care for being—”

“I wasn’t asking,” he pushed, his gruff voice traveling straight into my bloodstream. “You looked like you were going to pass out or throw up back there, so sit. Maybe take a few deep breaths.”

Blinking, I pursed my lips and knew I couldn’t give in to what he wanted. I couldn’t keep up with the constant cycle of giving everyone else what they wanted, and not giving myself anything. Not even a sliver of what I wanted. Not that I was sure I could recognize what that was anymore.

That alone was one of the very reasons I was so scared to become a mother. Mothers were…heroes. They quietly shifted their whole purpose and identity to caring for someone else. They lost their own independence and personal freedom. For most, that was fine, if it was voluntary. But this was anything but that for me.

I hadn’t chosen this. I had made a bad decision and was now facing the consequences.

Consequences that made me feel like I was an Italian Greyhound, leashed and not allowed to instinctively sprint. I would never be able to explore or go on adventures or new paths. I’d constantly be jerked backward. Not unlike how my entire life had been so far. When did the girl on the leash get a little give, or better yet, get to break free totally? Didn’t she deserve that?

Eyeing the bench I had no intention of sitting on, I walked past it, my pace kicking up after I slipped my heels off and left them where they hit the ground. I scanned the streets surveying my options. I needed an escape and found one as a driver was standing by the trunk of a running town car. He was on his phone, not paying a bit of attention to me or anyone else that was passing by as he was likely waiting for someone.

My heartbeat kicked up and a surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins as I ran toward the driver’s door and tugged on the handle. I slipped into the car with ease and shifted the ignition from park to drive without hesitation, hitting the gas with a vengeance and pulling out into New York traffic with the know-how of a taxi driver. I didn’t check my mirrors, didn’t look to see what I left behind.

A likely stupefied, pissed off Marco. A definitely pissed off driver. And all the doubt and anger I felt over a plus sign on a piece of plastic.

Chapter 10

traitor

BROOKLYN

I had no destination in mind when I’d fled the church. Only the intense need to run, to escape. So it was little surprise I mindlessly navigated the car in the direction of a jewelry store in the city only a few blocks from where I was.

There was something about the glamorous flagship store that always felt a little surreal to me. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. Natural light created a sparkle that left me struck by the unmatched beauty of the space. Glass and display cases that shone no matter the time of day or how many guests lingered about with greasy fingers, casually striking them in their pursuits. Grand ceilings that made the place open and airy, allowing me to feel like I could not only breathe, but soar. Ten floors to savor art and jewelry, my first and only true love.

Jewelry didn’t expect anything from me.

It didn’t demand anything of me.

It just existed, making the world a more beautiful place.

One intentionally chosen piece could change a look. It could give confidence, power. It told a message, whether one of its history or one of all the unfulfilled promises it represented.

If I let myself dream, I probably could’ve made myself promises. Ones that would surely never be fulfilled in this lifetime. Because I didn’t do that, my jewelry told stories of history and memories.

As I turned my focus to a signature collection that featured the most coveted designs they offered, I heard my name shouted. In a space reminiscent of a museum, such ostentatious behavior was discouraged, so naturally he drew every eye as his voice was amplified when it ricocheted between the marble floors and the ceilings.

Not wanting to draw the attention of security or personnel, I strode toward him with purpose. “What are you doing here, Marco?” I asked, my voice a respectable volume to not disturb shoppers. “I can’t believe you followed me.”

Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, he dropped my heels on the floor, making sure they landed upright. “I couldn’t follow you if I tried, you hellion.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, having already shed his jacket.

“So, how did you find me?” I asked, stepping into my heels one foot at a time.

“I called your father.”

Traitor. Raf Briggs was a traitor. “What do you want?”

“I’d like it if my fiancée wouldn’t run out on me again,” he said, a rough cadence to his voice. Marco ran a hand through his hair, his expression appearing perplexed. What did he have to feel that way about? Whatever it was, he was staring off, contemplating it. Meanwhile, my heart raced as I took the time to catalog every detail of his face, like the sharp jut of his chiseled jawline. I would have bet I could cut myself running a hand across it.

Logic pretty much dictated I needed to tell him about the pregnancy. If for no other reason than to remove the metaphorical shackles that had been placed around his ankles the moment he was pushed, practically shoved, to marry me.

Truthfully, this was his golden ticket out. He should take it and thank me. Yeah, that was what he needed to do. And that was probably exactly what he would do. It made the most sense, and it wasn’t like either of us wanted this to begin with. Not that I would be getting out of it. My best guess was I would probably be handed off to someone else, another one of his brothers, who knew about this going into it.

“What’s going on, Brooklyn?” he asked, pinning me with an intense glare. One that caused a wave of apprehension to move through me.