“What?” I cry. “Are you insane?”
“You’re not to tell anybody about this. I’m sending you to live with Aunt Ger—”
“You sure as fucking hell aren’t!” I shout. “This is my baby, and my life.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You will do as I say.”
“It’s my baby, and you have no right to tell me what to do.”
Dad sighs, spaces his words. “You will do as I say. This is the family way.”
“I don’t fucking want to be in your family. I didn’t ask to be in your family!”
“You will do as I say,” he repeats. “Nobody knocks up Johnny Marino’s daughter without my permission, do you hear me? If the other families get wind of this… if they know that my daughter is the type of girl to—”
“You care more about what they think of you than what I think of you. How sad is that?”
“Reputation is everything in this town. You know that.”
I’m so disgusted. I want to hurl curse words at him but know it won’t make any difference.
“You will tell me who the father of the baby is.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You will,” he says, and he steps forward. I wince, but he takes my hand, holds it. “You’re my daughter, and you will because I love you, and I’m trying to protect you.”
I tear my hand from his. “Don’t try and manipulate me, Dad! I’m not a little girl anymore. You can’t lie to me anymore. We both know why you’re doing this. You don’t want an illegitimate baby in the family. You don’t want anybody to know… your precious reputation. God forbid your daughter have a baby out of wedlock! Oh, what will the other mob bosses think of me?” I sneer at him. “What century are you living in, anyway? Is a woman allowed to even speak in your presence, or does she need your permission, too, you fucking bastard!”
Dad sighs with melodramatic absurdity. “The father never sought my permission. He is not marrying you. The baby will be raised as my own. It is for the good of the child. It is the only way, Deidre.”
I laugh, get up off the stool and back away from him. “You’re so old-fashioned. No, it’s not even old-fashioned, it goes beyond that, Dad. You’re insane.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
I shake my head at him, incredulous. “It’s too soon for that, obviously.”
“Well, then we can both pray that it will be a boy.”
I freeze. The world comes grinding to a halt.
Pray that it will be a boy!
I see it now, I see why he’s doing this. The reputation, the face, the name… that is all important to him.
But no, he sees this as a chance to finally have that son he always said he wanted. The son he wanted instead of me. The son that Duncan was supposed to be.
Of course he could never tame Duncan.
But now… now he can take my baby, and if it’s a boy, he’ll call it his own son.
No!
NO!
He’s not going to get his dirty hands on my child. He’s not going to steal my baby and make it his own.
I don’t want my child growing up anywhere near this life. I want something better for my child than I ever had, than Duncan ever had.
“Why is it you never had another child, Dad?” I ask.
His face turns somehow harder. His lip twitches.
“Something wrong with you?”
“You’ll not talk to me that way.”
“I’ll talk any way I damn well please!” I say. “But you know, I never stopped to think about it before. Why didn’t you just remarry? Have another kid? Have your own son?”
Emotions I can’t identify ripple across his features. “You think I have to explain myself to you?” he cries, laughing. “Tell me who the father is.”
I mock-laugh back at him. “I won’t.”
I turn around, fling open the door. The two guards block my way.
“Try and stop me!” I yell at them, looking each of them in the eyes in turn. I push past them, hear Dad speak to them behind me.
“Let her go,” he says. “She’ll come around.”
Like fucking hell I will.
I storm through the airplane hangar. Frank sees me, waddles up to me.
“Deidre—”
I turn to him, shake my head at him. I can’t keep the tears from my eyes now.
“I trusted you, Frank,” I say to him, my voice sticky. His face drops. “You were my friend! I liked you, you stupid, little man.”
“Dei—”
I put up my hand. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
I walk past him, past the cage. Duncan is in there, fighting. He’s dancing, skipping, so light on his feet, an artist on the mat.