Chapter 11

The forty-third floor bathroom at Vanguard Corp had become my second office. 6 AM, and I'd already memorized every detail of the marble tile pattern. Morning sickness was a misnomer—it lingered all day, like an unwelcome houseguest.

When I emerged, Dante's office smelled of fresh ginger tea and something else—toast, maybe. He'd transformed one corner of his desk into what looked like a pregnancy survival station.

"Try these." He pushed a plate of crackers toward me. "They're supposed to help."

"You've been researching again."

"The reviews were convincing." He turned back to the spread of documents before him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like death warmed over." I settled into my chair, eyeing the tea warily. "But I'll live."

His lips quirked. "Good. Because we need to discuss the Thomson merger."

I reached for the financial projections, letting muscle memory guide me through the familiar numbers. The same ones I'd seen destroy Luca's company in another life.

"You're certain Luca will pursue it?" Dante watched me over his laptop screen.

"Look at the setup." I pointed to specific figures. "The initial offering is too perfect. Clean books, solid infrastructure, reasonable asking price." I took a careful sip of tea. "It's exactly what James would choose."

"And?"

"And Luca's spent his whole life trying to prove he's not his father." I spread out the subsidiary reports. "But when he's scared, when he's backed into a corner, he always runs back to what's familiar. What's safe."

Dante leaned back, studying me. "You know his patterns well."

"Ten years of marriage." I met his gaze. "You learn to read the signs. Look here—" I pulled out Thomson's last quarter earnings. "Their Asian market share is slipping. Luca won't see it because he never looks past surface numbers. He'll focus on their European holdings, their brand recognition."

"Their weaknesses?"

"Management structure's top-heavy. Too many old guard executives who won't adapt to new leadership. And their R&D department's bleeding talent to competitors." These details felt like confessing old secrets. "Luca will think he can strong-arm them into submission."

"Like he does with everything."

"Exactly." I picked up another document. "But their board is old school. Traditional. They'll resist his methods, dig in their heels. By the time he realizes it's not working—"

"We'll be in position to step in." Dante's eyes gleamed. "You're sure about this?"

"I was married to him for ten years." The tea settled my stomach slightly. "He's not as complicated as he thinks he is."

The walk to the boardroom felt longer than usual. My heels clicked against marble, each step echoing. Two board members passed, their greeting smiles not quite reaching their eyes. The photos might have been proven fake, but whispers lingered.

Dante's executive boardroom filled slowly. I recognized faces from my previous life—ones who'd celebrated Luca's triumphs, then abandoned him when everything crumbled. Now they watched me with careful, measuring gazes.

"The Thomson merger," Dante began, commanding the room without raising his voice, "presents an opportunity we can't ignore." He nodded to me. "Ms. Caldwell will explain."

I moved to the front, feeling their attention shift. The projector hummed to life.

"Thomson's financials look solid at first glance." I clicked through the slides I'd prepared. "Strong European presence, established brand recognition, conservative growth." I highlighted specific numbers. "But look deeper. Their Asian market share dropped twelve percent last quarter. Their R&D department lost three key developers to competitors."

Questions came, rapid-fire:

"But their European holdings—"

"Are overvalued." I pulled up comparative analyses. "They're relying on brand recognition to mask infrastructure problems. Their management structure is bloated, resistant to change. When Luca tries to implement his usual aggressive restructuring—"

"You're certain he'll move on them?" This from Howard in M&A, his tone skeptical.

"It's his pattern. The setup is too perfect for him to resist. Clean books, solid reputation, reasonable asking price." I changed slides. "He'll see it as a safe bet. Traditional. Exactly what his father would choose."

"And that's why he'll take it?"

"No." I met Howard's gaze. "That's why he'll convince himself he's being bold and unpredictable by taking it. He'll think he's defying expectations by doing the obviously smart thing."

Understanding dawned in several faces. They'd seen Luca's patterns too, even if they hadn't recognized them.

"If we position ourselves correctly—" The nausea hit suddenly, rising like a tide. "Excuse me."

I kept my steps measured until I cleared the boardroom door. Then I ran.

The marble was cool against my knees as I retched. Minutes passed. Each time I thought it was over, another wave hit. I pressed my forehead against the toilet tank, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

A knock on the door. "Ms. Caldwell?" One of the junior associates. "Mr. Moretti asked if you need anything."

"I'm fine." My voice echoed against porcelain. "Tell him I'll be back shortly."

Five more minutes passed before I could stand. My reflection looked ghostly under the bathroom's fluorescent lights. I rinsed my mouth, splashed cold water on my face. The makeup bag in my purse had become well-used lately—concealer, powder, lipstick. Painting normalcy back on.

The boardroom would still be in session. I should return, finish my presentation. But my legs felt shaky, and the thought of facing those measuring stares made my stomach clench again.

"Just a minute," I whispered to my reflection. "Just need a minute."

I walked the quiet hallway slowly, using the time to steady myself. That's when I heard the voices from Dante's office—low murmurs that made me pause in the doorway.

Louise perched on the edge of his desk, her cream silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal black lace beneath. Her fingers traced patterns on Dante's shoulder as he bent over documents, red nails stark against his suit jacket.

"Remember when we used to review contracts like this?" Her voice carried heat and history. "You always worked so late. Remember that night in Paris? When we gave up on the merger documents and—"

"That was a long time ago." But he didn't move away from her touch.

"Was it?" She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his arm. "Monaco doesn't feel that long ago. All those secrets we still keep..."

I backed away silently, my heels silent on the thick carpet. Neither of them looked up.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings I couldn't focus on. Around four, I passed Dante's office again. His door was closed, but his voice carried through:

"No, ascolta bene." No, listen carefully. A pause. "Non possiamo permetterci errori. Non con quello che è in gioco." We can't afford mistakes. Not with what's at stake.

Another pause, longer.

"Lo so che è complicato." I know it's complicated. His voice lowered. "It has to be handled carefully. She can't know yet."

The words stopped me outside his door. She can't know yet.

Louise's blouse buttons. That hand on his shoulder. Now this call, switching from Italian to English for just those words. Making sure his meaning was clear.

My fingers pressed against the wall behind me. Through the door, I heard him moving around his office. The sound of papers being shuffled. A drawer opening and closing.

I should walk in. Ask. Such a simple thing to do.

Instead, I found myself stepping back, then another step, until I was moving down the hallway toward the elevator. Each click of my heels against marble felt like a question unanswered.

The drive home was silent. I watched the city lights blur past, remembering Louise's fingers on his shoulder, the intimacy of their shared space.

In our bedroom, later, I stood at the window. The city sprawled below, lights winking like stars. Behind me, I heard Dante enter, heard the soft sounds of him removing his tie, his jacket.

His hands settled on my waist, tentative. The first time he'd touched me like this since I'd told him about the baby. His fingers splayed across my stomach, seeking the slight curve there.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

"Vivian." Just my name, but I heard the hurt. When I turned, his expression was raw, unguarded.

"I'm tired," I said to the darkness. The space between us felt vast, filled with Monaco's secrets and Louise's knowing smile.

He stood there for a long moment, hands falling to his sides. Then, quietly: "Get some rest."

The bathroom mirror showed every detail I tried to hide all day. I untied my robe, studied my reflection. The curve of my belly was slight but unmistakable now. My breasts were fuller, tender. Changes that marked me as carrying a Moretti heir—even if its father didn't want it, and its uncle...

My phone lit up.

Louise: He'll always choose power over love. I learned that the hard way.