How To Own A Mafia Boss

Chapter 2: The Angel In Your Eyes

AJ's POV

BEACHBAY, NOTTINGHAM — 3 months later

I open my door to see a very pregnant woman. She towers over me—has about seven inches on my 5"3 stature. Beautiful, too—the type of woman you'd find on the center page of a glossy magazine. Her chestnut hair is a chin-length chic cut, enunciating the luminous hazel of her eyes and the olive of her skin.

She's tall, but her swollen stomach doesn't make her stoop as I'd always imagined it did to tall pregnant women. In fact, she looks all the more elegant for it, and I instantly know that my brother is the father of the child she's carrying.

He's a collector of beautiful things. Once he becomes fascinated with something, they become subject to the Deónne obsessive doggedness. Poor woman, she probably couldn't stand a chance. Even I, who is his sister didn't know how to tell him no.

She extends a hand. "I'm Simone. May I come in?"

I'm wary, but I take the hand. "AJ."

She nods. "I know. I want to discuss a very delicate situation, and I'm aware this is bad timing, but please, may I come in?"

I nod, my hackles risen beyond reason, and shift so she can shove her way through the narrow door. She takes a seat without an invite this time, and I realize she must have grown tired from standing out there in the cold.

"Tea or coffee?" I ask, trying to make up for not inviting her in sooner. H*ll, I don't even know if pregnant women should even be drinking caffeinated beverages. Thankfully, she shakes her head before I can make a fool of myself by asking that.

"Maybe later? After you tell me what you're here for? Just something to warm you up. Sorry, the heater broke down."

She studies me for a few seconds, and maybe she's a little calmed by what she sees. "I am cold. But I don't think you'll want to offer me anything after you hear what I came for."

She's brave, too.

I nod, then take a seat. "Well?"

She suddenly seems to lose all the courage she had gathered. She looks a little at loss for words, and. . . ashamed.

"Simone," I call softly, unable to watch her struggle for a minute longer. "This may end up being a very rude question, but. . . are you here because Quentin is the father of your child?"

She closes her eyes and seems to take a deep breath. "Yes."

I nod. "And you want to know where he is."

She opens her eyes. And no hint of the storm I saw is left in the hazel depths as she holds my gaze as if she's bracing herself for a blow. "Yes."

I'm almost afraid to tell her what I know. I mull over the different ways I could phrase my words to soften what will come as a blow, but I can't think of any way it will come out better.

"Simone—"

"Let me hear it," she cuts in, seeming to brace herself. She'd noticed my struggle.

I do my best to rush through my words. "I've not heard a word from Quentin for the past three months. He took his things and left with all the money I own. Right now, I'm up to my shoulders in debt, and the financial state of my bakery is in shambles."

She seems frozen for a while, just staring at a space beyond me. Then she looks away, seeming to be trying to gather herself. Her hands are shaky fists on her lap. When she finally speaks, her voice is almost a whisper. "He conned me, too. He left with all the money I have." Her voice breaks on the last syllable.

My face falls to my palms, and for the first time, I feel true hatred for the man my brother has turned into. He's not been the sweet child I grew up with for years now, but somehow, a part of my heart still retained the love I've always had for him. Not anymore.

She cradles her stomach protectively. She must be feeling helpless and afraid, not knowing how to take care of her child. And I don't have to make this my problem, but I know it's my responsibility now. As always, I will clean the mess my brother left behind with my teeth clenched, and I'll be grateful it's not worse than this.

"Have you filed a police report?" I ask, my voice low. Her head jerks up, and she looks surprised.

"You want to arrest your twin?" For a minute, sadness overtakes her features completely. She's still in love with him. Despite his idiocy, he still owns the heart of this gorgeous woman, and he doesn't even know it. Or deserve it.

"He's a criminal. Of course, we arrest him," I try to sound as sure and as soothing as I can.

She nods, but her eyes are bleak. "Of course."

"If you don't want to do it, don't worry, I will." I hadn't done it since, I'd accepted it as my penance for letting him get away with so many things, he became this monster. But he took advantage of this woman, and I'll have to face my demons, whether I want to or not.

She nods. "I'd rather—I'll do it myself." She tops this with a nod that I assume is supposed to look convincing, but maybe it's as much for her benefit as it is mine.

"Tea?"

**

Beachbay is ugly this time of the year.

Now, this is not anything new– the beach is always ugly. Every member of Bounty Falls knows that. Everyone knows to avoid the "devil's bathing tub."

It is desolate. It's the only recreation site for miles, yet none of the locals come here to play or cool off after a long day with a cold swim. No hopelessly-in-love couple is walking around hand-in-hand and oblivious to the world around them. The sound of children's high-pitched giggles is painfully absent, and there's no single sign of life on the beach, both in it or out.

It is amazing how a walk on this ugly beach makes me feel ten times lighter. I inhale the soft breeze, and it smells like foreboding, but it calms me.

It's my parents' death anniversary, and I'm taking a celebratory walk down the shore of the waters they drowned in. It's absurd, especially faced with the myth surrounding the waters, but it's therapeutic, and it's tradition.

Every year after their death four years ago, the ocean draws me in, and I cannot help but come to be with them. Since they died here, a part of me feels their spirits are tied to the waters and never left. Anytime I want to feel them wrapped around me, I take a walk.

Or a swim.

Today, I'm too exhausted for a swim. The bakery, Deónne's, drains every inch of my soul daily, and today is no exception. I trudge to the beginning of the cliff that rises high above the beach. This is the most peaceful part of the sea. It is also the part where my father's blood was found.

I sit on the same rock I've sat on every time I come here. It is the rock he hit his head on before he drowned.

As I sit there, I feel their presence like I always do when I'm around here. I look ahead and imagine I see them laughing as they always do. My mother's head is on his chest, and they're swaying to the music of the wind. My father bends to kiss her head, and she turns her face up at the last moment. Their lips meet clumsily, and they break the kiss with a laugh.

It's more than an imagination—it's a memory, and it makes me laugh, even though I'm crying. I miss them. It's been four years, but I still miss them, and it doesn't look like I'll ever stop.

I have a lot of things to tell them. I want to tell them about our house, how it's broken up in some places, but how I'm too busy in the bakery to give it a brush-up. I want to tell them about Quentin's child and tell them how he left me neck-deep in debt.

But before I can, I hear a muffled shout and a splash in the waters, and in the next minute, gunshots. It happens too fast. One minute, I'm cleaning my face and the next, I'm running to hide on the underside of the cliff, my heart clanging in my ears.

Holy h*ll, holy h*ll! I'm pretty sure a murder is being committed here right at this moment.

I bring out my phone and dial the local police, letting them know in as clear a voice as I can manage what I heard, and where I am. The operator agrees to be there within minutes with an ambulance.

I wait for two more minutes inside the cliff, then run full-throttle into the water.