"I tried to kill you, twice," he solemnly reminds me.
I smile. "Tried being the operative word. I'm not that easy to kill." I kiss the tip of his perfect nose.
"I didn't want to tell you," he confesses.
"Didn't want to tell me what?"
"How bad it really was. When you asked me about it. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to see me differently." He drops his eyes.
"I don't see you differently. I see the same man who played pool with me with no expectations, and chased me out to my car for no good reason, and told me I was beautiful and genuinely meant it. It was the first time I ever really believed it or liked hearing it." A little embarrassed smile breaks through his lips like sunshine. "You also gave me something I've always wanted. Secretly wished for." I place his hand on my stomach.
"You said you were on birth control." It isn't an accusatory comment. He's just stating a fact.
"I was. But there was a mix-up at my gynecologist's office, and I didn't get the message that I was overdue for my shot in time. Whoops," I feign upset.
"Yeah, whoops. That's what we'll call him until we can figure out a name."
"I like Baz."
Baz scrunches his nose. "I think we can do better. Besides, we aren't even sure if it's a boy."
"You sound very committed to this baby already." I test the waters, wanting to see where his head is at.
"Committed isn't a strong enough word. Ironclad, exact and binding, concrete, solid, substantial commitment is more like it. Signed in blood."
I try to hide how ecstatic that response makes me feel. I never knew my real parents, and I pledged this child would know at least one of his-or hers. Knowing both? A secret eyelash wish come true.
"What about his mother? Are you committed to her, too?" I push the envelope, starving to know exactly what he wants. How much of us-me and the baby-he actually wants.
That warmth I've become so fond of radiates off Baz. He cups my cheek. It's a possessive yet tender touch.
"I fell stupidly and selfishly in love with you the moment I saw you," he professes. "I would have stalked you to the ends of the Earth, and not a damn thing has changed in the three months 'we were apart. You were the only thing that occupied my mind. Your memory drove me insane. And now that I have you back, I'm not letting you-either of you-out of my sight ever again. Does that answer your question and put to rest all your fears?"
"Who says I'm scared?" I challenge.
"We all have fears, Stevie. Even if we're experts at hiding them. I'm sure the thought of being a single mother rattled your chains at some point."
"Maybe for like a millisecond. I was more concerned about this baby not knowing it's father. It's okay if you don't love me, but somewhere deep down I always hoped you'd love him."
"I love you both." Baz wraps his arm around my shoulder and draws me close.
"You don't know anything about me," I whisper. Love is such an almighty word.
"I know enough."
He hasn't even scratched the surface.
"I'm a killer, Baz. I've done horrible things." I stress the words done and horrible.
"You're not the only one. Redemption is a powerful force."
"I want to be better." I rest my head on his shoulder. "For both of you."
Because I deserve neither of you.
"We'll take it one day at a time. I'm not an easy person to love, Stevie. I can be a handful sometimes."
"Just as long as you don't pull any more euthanasia stunts, I can handle it. I'm stronger than I look."
Baz tips my chin up to inspect me. "That's an understatement." He plays with a strand of my hair, coiling the platinum lock tightly around one finger. "You don't look anything like a hitman for hire."
"That's the whole point." I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips. I may have just given my identity away. He has no idea who I really am, and I plan to take my street-given name to the grave. Some things are better left unsaid.
I turn over all the new information as I rest against Baz. He's Benny's son. He's also Gianni Velona's nephew.
I've spent the last nine months picking off the crime boss' "made" men and intricately tailored chain of command one by one. I killed two more foot soldiers after I got home from Colorado, desperate to spill blood and ease the ache in my chest. But the thirst for vengeance died on my tongue. I realized soon after, it didn't matter if I killed Gianni himself, it wouldn't make the pain and sorrow go away. It wouldn't bring Benny back, or Baz. The only things that could alleviate the sadness were grieving and time. I haven't killed a soul since. I'm not reformed by any means; I probably never will be, but the urge to kill, to redeem, has cooled significantly.