Chapter 2

Discharge day. I'm packed up hours early.

My daughter's wearing the one new outfit she owns — a gift from my best friend Lena.

I sit on the edge of the bed holding her, waiting for Luca.

All I get is a text.

"Sending the driver. I'm at Sadie's — she's getting discharged today too, nobody to help her out."

Not surprising. Predictable, honestly.

Ever since my sister played the grieving widow card, he's been running to her nonstop.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds. Swipe out. Don't reply.

The driver's on time. Tony. Car spotless as always.

My daughter fusses against my chest. Time to feed her.

I pull out the bottle. Tony catches it in the rearview and winces.

"Sorry, Mrs. Moretti… Boss says no food in the car."

I freeze.

"I'm just feeding her. I won't make a mess."

"The Don said… please, ma'am, don't put me in this spot."

I stop. Put the bottle back. Hold her a little tighter.

She screams the whole ride home. Starving. I rub her back the entire way.

The second I'm home I open my phone. Sadie's posted a new video.

She's riding shotgun in Luca's Maserati. A pint of cherries in her lap, tossing them into her mouth one by one.

Red juice everywhere.

Luca's driving, glancing over at her every few seconds. Soft eyes. Actual soft eyes.

Mom and Dad are in the back seat. Mom's got a bottle to Sadie's baby's mouth. Dad's holding a burp cloth under the kid's chin, grinning so hard his eyes disappear.

One big happy family.

I swipe the video away.

Doorbell rings that afternoon.

Sadie.

Baby in her arms—chubby, glowing, dressed head to toe in Bonpoint.

She cranes her neck toward the crib in my living room.

Then she snorts behind her hand.

"Sis... Luca's a freaking Don. He owns half of New York. And this is where his baby sleeps?"

I don't answer.

She digs through her diaper bag and pulls out a plastic sack.

"Old clothes my baby outgrew. Don't be too proud, sis, the fabric's really nice."

"Luca bought them. Few thousand a piece."

She looks down at my daughter. Same smile. "God, sis, why is yours so skinny?"

I take the bag. Force out a thank you.

Close the door. Chuck the bag in the trash.

Lena calls that night.

"I saw Sadie's video, I'm LOSING it. She's doing it on purpose! And Luca — you almost bled out having that baby, how the hell does he treat you like this?"

"Don't you dare go without, okay? Anything the baby needs, you tell me, I'll get it."

"Lena. Thank you."

"Don't do that to me. You're number one in my book, always."

My throat closes up. At least one person's still in my corner.

I hang up. Start packing.

A few outfits.

My passport.

My daughter's things.

A small duffel.

All shoved to the back of the closet.

Luca is home.

He's leaning in the doorway, watching me.

He lets out a short laugh.

"Need cash for new clothes? Just ask. Cut the sob-story act."

I don't turn around.

He walks over and pulls me against his chest, resting his chin on top of my head.

Whiskey on his breath. His voice goes soft. "Frost. Baby. Enough."

For a second I lose my bearings. Years ago, he held me exactly like this.

That night I got caught in the rain and spiked a fever. He drove eight hours through the night to get to me.

Wrapped me up in his arms. "You don't wait out storms alone. Not ever. Not with me around."

Now the same warm arms. Just because he's drunk.

The man who once drove all night for me won't even show up to bring us home from the hospital.

I gently pull his hands off me.

"I'm not fighting."

Three a.m.

My daughter is crying.

I pick her up and try to feed her.

She sucks a few times, then starts wailing.

I don't have enough milk.

I tear through every cabinet.

No formula.

I open my phone. Account balance: $9.90.

3:10 a.m.

3:30.

4:00.

She's still crying.

I walk her back and forth across the living room. Loop after loop.

Master bedroom door's shut. Luca's dead asleep.

I press my lips to her forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"Just a few more days. Mama's getting us out."

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