Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
A radiant expression covered her gorgeous face.
I’m a fucking idiot.
My eyes traced the contours of her figure and then returned to the baby bump.
Zuri. . .
For a moment, I was lost in the image, the sound of Anthony’s singing faded into a distant hum. The world outside the car—the city, the Christmas decorations, the hustle and bustle—all of it disappeared.
There was only Zuri, our child, and a flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
A child. My child. A part of me is out there. A part of us.
The realization was staggering.
I couldn’t respond. My past and present had collided, leaving me adrift in a sea of what-ifs and might-have-beens.
As Anthony drove us through the decorated streets, I held the letter, feeling as though the world had shifted beneath me.
I sat there in the cell like a fucking idiot while she carried our child. . .by herself. All alone.
Guilt rocked me.
If I could beat my own ass I would have.
Goddamn it.
Fast, I tore through the other letters.
Pictures slipped out with each envelope I opened, revealing snapshots of Zuri’s pregnancy. Letter by letter, her stomach grew.
Meanwhile, the length of the letters began to dwindle as if she had finally realized that I might never read them.
My bottom lip quivered.
I’m sorry, Zuri.
Then, the final letter of that first year fell into my hands. The paper felt heavier.
My fingers hesitated for a moment before I unfolded it.
A photograph slipped out and landed softly on my lap.
It was Zuri in a hospital bed, looking weary but happy.
Oh my God. . .
My eyes watered.
She held the most beautiful baby in her arms. Chubby cheeks and wisps of curly black hair. The pink blanket told me she was a little girl.
Jesus Christ. I have a daughter.
My heart boomed in my ears.
Her tiny lips were a blend of Zuri’s fullness and my wide shape. Those eyes were closed, and I wondered what my little girl was dreaming about in that moment.
Tears left my eyes.
Fuck.
I quickly wiped them and checked to see if Anthony saw them.
He cleared his throat and stopped singing, which told me he had.
But, I didn’t care.
I went back to the picture.
A stinging pang of regret hit me like a physical blow.
I missed the birth of my child.
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the moisture from my eyes.
Even more, Zuri had to do it all by herself.
I lifted the letter and read.
Dante,
I don’t know if you will read this.
Sometimes at night, I imagine you getting the letter and simply throwing it in the trash.
I gritted my teeth and read on.
As I write this, our baby is sleeping peacefully in my arms.
You’re a father now.
We have a beautiful, healthy daughter.
I took your middle name Carmine, and named her Carmen. And for her middle name, I gave her my mom’s name, Alexa.
My heart warmed.
I understand why you’ve kept your distance, why you haven’t responded.
But please know this—you are loved, even though I won’t be writing much to you anymore.
My focus is now on her.
Zuri
Sadness washed over me.
All this time. . .
I folded the letter gently, placing it back in the envelope with the utmost care. My hands trembled, not from fear or cold, but from a torrent of emotions that I had never allowed myself to feel.
Now what?
I no longer had the stomach to kill Crimson Mob. That one-track mind of revenge had shifted to getting Zuri back and finally meeting my baby girl.
Anthony glanced over. “Everything alright?”
“No.”
Carmen Alexa Moretti.
Anthony took a sharp left onto 34th Street. “Anything I can do or provide?”
I sat there, stunned. “I have. . .a daughter.”
Anthony widened his eyes. “Uh. . .oh. . .wow. You just. . .found out now?”
“Yeah.” My fingers fumbled with closing the huge envelope. Once done, I held it close to my chest.
“Well. . .” Anthony turned off the radio. “That’s huge.”
My mind raced with a million thoughts.
How had Zuri made it? What was she doing now? How much had she struggled? Did anyone ever help her?
I fucking abandoned her. Fucking idiot.
This changed EVERYTHING.
What was revenge, next to winning back Zuri’s heart and holding my little girl?
Anthony’s voice sliced through the mania thickening in my head. “So. . .we got to get you to see her. Right?”
I trembled.
“Maybe, even grab some presents before we go. And diapers. Mothers love that. Well, how old is she?”
I worked out the figure in my head. “She must be four.”
“Then, she’s out of diapers.” Anthony bobbed his head. “And I bet she wants a Foxie Cherry doll.”
I blinked and looked at him. “A what?”
Anthony maneuvered around a truck. “It’s a new hot toy every parent is going batshit crazy to get this Christmas.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I’ve got three kids, man. Two girls. One boy. Nine, seven, and five.” His eyes occasionally darted to the rearview mirror. “All three of the mothers have demanded I get these fucking Foxie Cherry dolls. It’s been madness this month, but I’ve got to keep them happy.”