Claimed Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle

Jane

It feels weird to be going home for the first time in four years. Not that it was really my home after my dad died, but I had a job there. Some friends. A great bar that I liked to go to when I wanted to have some whiskey.

Just the thought of Frank’s Pub makes me shiver a little bit and I push the thought from my mind. After my last night there, when I ended up on my back with some man’s cock in me, I never went back. I walked out of there—sore, mind you—and never returned.

In fact, I just kept walking. I found the exit not only for the pub, but a few weeks later also for the entire damn town and took to the street, leaving behind everything that I’d ever grown up loving. Now, I’m going home.

But not because I want to. I need help and it’s really fucking hard to get that help as a single mother when you’re out on your own. Sure, both political parties love to say that they support programs for single mothers to help them get back on their feet, but those programs fill up fast. I’m sure that they do a lot of good for some people, but I just happen to be one of the people who fall between the cracks.

And when my mom called and told me that she needed me? It was the perfect time to go. That’s what I keep telling myself, at least.

Hitching my backpack higher on my shoulder, I stare at the house in front of me. It’s the real reason I’m here, although I wouldn’t want to admit it to anyone. I thought about trying a new city—any city—but when my mom admitted to me that she’s sick, I knew that I didn’t have a choice but to come home.

She’s in there now, sick with whatever is eating her up and making it so difficult for her to live on her own, and here I am on the sidewalk outside the house, the Uber already gone, my entire life on my back or holding my hand.

Yeah, my mom doesn’t know that she’s a grandmother. Nobody knows, not because I’m ashamed of it or because I don’t want people to know my little girl, but because I’m terrified of what would happen if her father were to find out. He’s possessive. Dark. And in the mafia.

“We going in?” Annie looks up at me from dark eyes, the same ones that her father has, if I remember correctly, and I give her nod.

Who the hell am I kidding? If I remember correctly? I see those dark eyes every time I to go bed. There’s no way that I could ever forget what they look like.

“Let’s go meet grandma,” I tell her, giving her little hand a squeeze. First impressions matter so I had her put on a little red and white dress and some cute shoes that are a smidge too big for her. That means that the two of us have to walk slowly up to the house, which means that my mom has plenty of time to see us coming and throw the door open in greeting.

“Jane!” Her voice is loud and strong, hardly the voice of someone on their death bed, and I narrow my eyes at her as her gaze drops from my face to the little girl next to me. “And who is this?”

“Annie.” My daughter’s suddenly shy, which she never is, and she kicks a rock before ducking her head.

“Be polite,” I whisper, giving her hand an extra squeeze. “Don’t look at your feet.”

“Sorry,” she whispers back, in a voice so loud that I’m sure all of the neighbors heard her through their closed front doors.

“Annie.” My mom comes down the steps and stops in front of us on the sidewalk. “Annie, it’s so lovely to meet you.” She gives my daughter a huge smile then looks at me. “Jane.”

Before I can stop her, she’s pulled me to her in a hug, pressing me against her chest so hard that I can barely breathe. It’s impossible for me to do anything but stand there and let her hug me, and while she does that, I breathe in her familiar scents.

Cinnamon and vanilla, because my mom loves to bake. Something spicy, like she took up smoking clove cigarettes again, which she did while my dad was sick but quit as soon as he died.

“Hi, Mom,” I manage, and she finally lets me go. “I thought that you were really sick, but you look good.”

“I am sick.” Stepping back, she crosses her arms on her chest. “Sick to death worrying about you. How in the world was I supposed to get you to come home if you didn’t think that I was dying?”

My stomach flips and my jaw drops open. “You’re not dying?”

“We’re all dying, darling,” she says, then glances down at Annie, who’s watching my mother like she’s never seen an older woman before. “Except for you, peanut,” she says, tapping my daughter on the nose. “You are very much alive and look like you’re in dire need of some cookies.”

This makes my eyebrows fly to the top of my head. “It’s nine in the morning, Mom. Since when do you let kids eat cookies that early in the morning?”

“Since I became a grandmother, I guess.” She stares at me like she’s trying to read some truth in my eyes. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m afraid to look away from her. “Since I’m assuming that’s what this is. Am I right?”

Tears spring to the corners of my eyes as I nod, but I refuse to let them fall. “Yes, Mom,” I manage, my voice choked and thick. “Annie’s your granddaughter.”

“Hi, Grandma,” Annie says, wiggling her fingers at my mom.

“Oh, that simply will not do.” A dark look crosses my mom’s face and I feel my heart sink down to my feet. I knew it. This was why I ran. Well, partly.

I ran to keep Annie away from the mafia and her father and I ran so that I wouldn’t have to see the look of disappointment on my mom’s face. She’s a difficult woman at best and I knew as soon as I saw that second pink line on the test that I needed to hit the road. I couldn’t deal with her or Trevor telling me what a mistake that I’d made or—even worse—telling me that I needed to take care of it.

It wasn’t that I felt a huge drive to keep Trevor’s baby because it was his, but even before I felt the first kick or threw up for the first time, I was in love with the little life growing inside of me. Nothing mattered except to keep my baby safe and I left town, thinking that that was the only way for me to do that.

“What won’t do?” I finally find my voice.

“Grandma.” My mom spits the word out like it tastes bad in her mouth. “You can’t call me grandma, Annie, that’s a name for old people.”

“You are old,” I point out, but my mom ignores me.

“Call me Honey,” she says, with the finality of someone who has already been considering what they want to be called when they have a grandchild. “I like that.”

“Honey.” Annie says, trying out the name, then she nods. “I like it. And I like cookies, Honey.”

“Good girl. I love to bake and just took some out of the oven, so you can be my official taste tester, okay?” She reaches out for my daughter and, to my surprise, Annie reaches right back and takes her hand.

A moment later, the two of them are disappearing into the house and I’m still standing on the sidewalk with our bags just staring at the front door. My mouth is hanging open and I shut it, swallowing hard as I pick everything up.

This honestly can’t be happening.

At the same time, why not?

Maybe my mom changed while I was gone. I mean, she definitely lied to get me to come home, but then she welcomed me and Annie with open arms. People say that death will change a person, and it’s not like I stuck around long enough to really get to know my mom after my dad died.

There’s just one thing that I have to have her promise me, and that’s that she never let Trevor or any Bonanno know that Annie is his. I can’t even fathom what they might do if they knew there was an illegitimate Bonanno walking around town.

Would they hurt her?

Would they take her?

Shaking my head to clear it, I walk into the house and shut the door behind me with my foot. That’s just something that I can’t think about right now. It was an incredible night with him four years ago, but that’s all it was—one incredible night. Never mind that I can’t get over the way it felt to have his hands on my body. Or that I can’t forget how it felt to look deep into his eyes. He’s dangerous and I refuse to let him be a part of Annie’s life.

Just because he made me feel so safe and loved for one night in the back room of a bar doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t mean that he’s father material, and it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m going to make the same mistake that my dad did and get involved with anyone from the mafia. Look at how that worked out for him—with cement shoes and one last swim.

No, my main goal is to keep Annie safe. She’s all that matters to me in the world and I’ll do anything to protect her. I left town to do it before, so lying about who she is and pretending like I don’t have a daughter should be easy enough.

Anything for her.

Anything.