Pregnant

Plenty. I don’t want to be trying to skip down Fifth Avenue flanked by enough guards to make people think we’re the damn president. But I also don’t want to argue with Giulia when she’s determined to enjoy herself—and to settle into the normalcy of two girls going shopping, as if they haven’t got a care in the world.

An hour later, we’re strolling arm-in-arm through the bustling streets of Manhattan, Gabriele and Toni trailing a small distance behind us. Their plain clothes do absolutely nothing to disguise their purpose as they march, high on alert, hands braced near their concealed weapons. But instead of feeling smothered or rolling my eyes, I appreciate their comforting presence. It’s hard not to be anxious about stepping outside after what happened the other night.

We duck into store after store, Giulia practically dragging me through the latest luxury collections. “You’ll need brunch outfits, cocktail dresses, and all sorts of formal gowns for all the sisterly activities I’m planning to rope you into!” she declares, shoving swathes of silk and chiffon into my arms before pushing me toward the fitting rooms.

But nothing I pull on feels right. I twist and turn in the mirror, not liking one bit of what I see.

“Maybe the next one,” I mumble, handing the expensive designs back to a dumbfounded sales assistant.

“This is getting ridiculous, Aurora. I insist you buy at least one thing!” Giulia gripes as we leave the tenth store, her arms laden with bags.

I shake my head with a giggle and loop my arm through hers again as we walk. “I want to go in there!” I announce suddenly, dragging her toward the crosswalk.

Across the street, a small vintage store catches my eye. Something about the place feels different. Less polished, less pristine—more real.

Giulia sighs but follows anyway. “Fine, but this is the last one.”

As soon as we step inside, I make a beeline for the mannequin in the window display. It wears a buttery-soft leather jacket in a deep chocolate brown. It’s nothing like the delicate silks Giulia has been pushing at me, but the moment I see it, I know. This is the one.

“That’ll be way too huge on you,” she says, confusion written all over her face.

“It’s not for me, bella Giulia,” I answer, patting her arm.

For Lucian, I buy a beautiful watch from a high-end jeweler down the street. I don’t know much about timepieces, but the pearlescent face is the same shade as his eyes. And for Chiara, I find a first edition of Italian love poems in a quaint little bookshop, its pages edged in gold leaf with a silk ribbon in a deep scarlet draping through the centerfold. It’s so beautiful I wish I had one for myself, but this stunning find is not for me.

I make one more stop before we leave, signaling the store clerk to take down the leather jacket for me. I don’t even think to check the price tag. The piece of plastic burning a hole in my pocket doesn’t matter—not when the person I’m buying it for has become a vital part of my new life.

On our way out, I thrust the crisp bag into Gabriele’s hands.

“Here. My apology for waking you up last night… and for the bikini thing… and for being a general pain in the ass sometimes.”

The fierce capo’s hard face cracks just a little into a tentative smirk. “There’s no need, Signora. I’m just doing my job.”

“I insist,” I press. “You’ve earned it.”

His fingers close around the bag, and for a second, something in his expression softens.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “This is… gorgeous. You shouldn’t have.”

I just smile and turn back to Giulia as we step into a cozy café for a break. We sip our espressos, sharing easy smiles, giggling as we order a plate of cream-filled cannolis for Toni and Gabriele in the back corner.

As the late afternoon sun bathes the city in golden light, I lean back with a sigh, watching my sister chatter away about her plans for a girly spa night at home.

“Oh, for sure! I’d love that,” I grin. I don’t say it out loud, but my stomach clenches when I’m reminded that I never had a girly sleepover growing up. My papà never let me spend a night out of the house.

A few minutes later, we’re strolling into a brightly lit drugstore. Giulia immediately skips down the nearest aisle, hunting for all the pampering treats she’s no doubt planning to splurge on. I follow at a slower pace, content to let her indulge while I wander through shelves of bubble bath and glittering cosmetics. My mind is a million miles away.

Then, quite suddenly, I lurch to a stop.

My breath catches.

Somehow, I’ve stumbled across a display of pregnancy and fertility tests.

The air rushes from my lungs in a sharp blow. I stare at the endless, neat rows of different-colored boxes, a dizzying array of emotions bubbling up inside me all at once—fear, excitement, wonder.

How did I just… not think about it?

I’m not naïve. I’m not careless. But the truth barrels into me with the force of a high-speed train.

Since the wedding, my life has been a cyclone of distractions. Birth control had been the last thing on my mind when my days were consumed with learning to navigate my new world, the conflict with the Agostis, and the war planning that had swallowed me whole.

But now, as I make a quick mental calculation, my stomach twists into a knot.

If I’m right… it’s been four weeks.

Four weeks since our wedding night. Almost six since I left my father’s house in the back of Lucian’s car.

A shaky breath escapes me.

I reach out a trembling hand to pluck a test from the shelf in front of me—

And the next moment, the air in my lungs freezes.

Something cold presses against my ribs.

“Don’t move. Don’t even make a sound. Or I’ll shoot every last person in this store before I drag you out of here.”

The voice is a harsh hiss in my ear, sending ice through my veins.

I don’t dare breathe.

“We’re going to leave now, you and I,” my captor murmurs, his breath hot against my neck as he curls his other hand around my waist.

I nod mutely, my body going rigid, every instinct screaming at me to run.

But I don’t.

Because I can’t be the reason innocent people lose their lives.

So, with a silent prayer, I close my eyes.

And I obey.

The store’s fluorescent lights hum softly above me, casting a sterile glow over the neatly lined shelves. I stand frozen in the aisle, my gaze locked on the slim white box in front of me. My hand trembles as I reach for it, my mind a chaotic storm of thoughts.

It has been almost six weeks since I left my father’s house, since the wedding that bound me to Lucian, since my life was irrevocably changed. And now, standing here beneath the artificial light, I realize I could be carrying his child.

The thought grips me with an intensity I wasn’t prepared for. A dozen emotions flood my chest—fear, disbelief, a hesitant flicker of something softer. But before I can fully process any of it, a prickling sensation crawls up my spine.

I’m being watched.

The realization comes a second too late.

A shadow moves in my periphery, a presence looming close. Before I can turn, before I can react, something cold presses against my back. The unmistakable shape of a gun.

My breath hitches.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” a voice murmurs, low and menacing. “Or I’ll make sure everyone in this store dies before you take your next breath.”

My blood runs cold. A shiver of fear skates down my spine, locking my limbs in place.

Slowly, cautiously, I nod.

“Good girl,” he whispers, the gun pressing harder against my ribs. “Now, turn around. Walk toward the staff door on your left. Nice and easy.”

The world narrows down to the weight of the gun against my body, to the steady hammering of my pulse against my skull. I move, my legs feeling like lead beneath me.

Each step takes me further from the safety of the store’s bright interior, deeper into the shadows. The door looms ahead, an unmarked passage into the unknown.

My mind races. I need a way out. A distraction. Something. But the moment my foot crosses the threshold into the backroom, rough fingers twist into my hair, jerking me backward.

A sharp gasp escapes me as my spine collides with a solid chest.

“We’re going to leave now, you and I,” my captor breathes against my ear. His voice is warm, almost intimate, but it sends ice through my veins.

The gun shifts, pressing against my side. A silent warning.

I bite back the desperate urge to scream.

The fire exit swings open, and I am shoved into the suffocating embrace of the night. The alley is dark, the air thick with the scent of rotting garbage and damp concrete.

A car waits at the curb, its windows blacked out.

I start dragging my feet. Panic is a blaring siren in my chest.

"Keep moving," my captor growls, yanking me forward.

I barely have time to register the figure standing beside the car before his face tilts into the dim light.

Riccardo Agosti.

A cruel smile twists his pallid features.

“Hello again, Mrs. Boncini,” he drawls, his tone laced with amusement.

Ice sluices down my spine.

I twist sharply, desperate, ready to throw myself back into the alley—to scream, to fight.

But a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling any sound I might have forced out.

A sharp prick at my neck.

Cold spreads through my veins, slow and insidious.

I thrash, my vision blurring, my limbs losing strength.

Riccardo’s laughter is the last thing I hear before the world goes dark.