Zefiro doesn’t take the envelope. Doesn’t even look at it. And for a second—maybe longer—I panic.“I’m twelve weeks.” My voice is hoarse, shaky. “I—I didn’t know. Not at first. Thought it was just the stress from exams, my shitty diet, my lack of sleep. But when I couldn’t keep food down, Fabian dragged me to the doctor, thinking I had the flu, and…”My words taper off into nothing as Zefiro takes a slow step back, then another, before sinking into his chair. He drags both hands over his face, through his hair, down again. Lets out a shuddering breath.“There’s a deal with the Chicago Outfit.” His voice is quiet, almost to himself. “This changes everything.”And then, he’s peering at me with a well -guarded, well-controlled expression. His eyes flick down once to my belly, and his nostrils flare. “Do you want it?”It is phrased like a casual question, but I see it for what it is. Another choice. The last choice I’ll ever likely make when it comes to whatever is left of us. And because
Last Updated : 2025-01-30 Read more