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Mine.
She sees me, and her lips curl into a sneer. She steps toward me, closing the gap between us. “You’re still here, Enzo? God, you don’t listen, do you? I told you to leave.” Her words are sharp, meant to inflict something—a wound, maybe, but there’s a tremor beneath them,
I move closer, my voice a low growl, my hand reaching for her arm, my grip firm but careful, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric. “We’re not done, Fina. You know that.”
Her eyes flash, and she yanks free with a snarl, stepping into my space, her breath hot against my face. “Done? We’re done when I say we are, you bastard! You think that ring on my finger makes me yours? I’m not your fucking pet, Enzo!” Her voice rises, her hands fisting at her sides as if she’s holding herself back from striking me. Her rage is a living thing, wild and fierce, but I see the pain in her eyes, a truth she’s guarding so fiercely. It’s there,in the way her lips tremble, in the way she holds herself too tight, like she’s carrying a weight that could crush her. My chest aches, but I keep my face hard, stoic, refusing to let her see how much she unravels me.
“What’s eating you, Fina?” I demand, my voice low, pressing closer, her heat searing through me, making my blood roar. “Don’t lie to me. I see it in your eyes. Spit it out.”
Her gaze locks on mine, fierce, unyielding, and for a moment, I think she’ll slap me, like that night in her father’s chamber when I kissed her and she burned me with her fire. But she doesn’t. Instead, she hesitates, her chin lifting, her strength a wall I can’t breach. “Not here,” she says, her voice steady.
She grabs my wrist, her touch firm, and pulls me toward a side room, her steps quick, purposeful. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us in a small, shadowed space where the air feels too thick, her scent wrapping around me, jasmine and defiance, making my pulse hammer in my throat.
I stand there, my back to the door, watching her pace the small room, her movements sharp, like a caged animal. The silence is heavy, pressing against my chest, and I wait, my unease growing, a knot in my gut that won’t loosen.
“What is it, Fina?” I ask, my voice rough, the words scraping my throat. I keep my face blank, my stance rigid, but inside, I’m a mess, torn between wanting to shake her and pulling her close.
She stops, facing me, her green eyes blazing with that fierce strength I’ve always known, the strength that makes her a Rossi, a warrior, my equal in every way. Her chin is high, her shoulders squared, and I see it—the weight she’s carrying, the truth she’s about to unleash.
She opens her mouth, as if she wants to say something important. I see it in her eyes, a fire that holds me still, burning with purpose. I wait with bated breath, my heart slamming against my ribs. Then, she says simply, “I’m pregnant.”
The words suck the air from my lungs, and my face freezes in shock as the truth of her words dawn on me.
Pregnant.
20
Serafina
The car hums beneath us, a low rumble that does nothing to ease the knot in my chest as we pull through the iron gates of Enzo’s manor. The familiar stone facade looms ahead, its ivy-clad walls catching the late afternoon sun, and a pang hits me, sharp and unexpected. I’ve missed this place—the way the air carries the scent of cedar and leather, the quiet hum of the staff moving like shadows, the sense of order that feels like a pulse. I’ve missed him, too, though I hate admitting it.
I keep asking myself what it means that he let Luis go, but perhaps there's no answer to it. He'd herded my ultimatum, that's it. Nothing more. I look at him.
His profile is sharp beside me, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road, the silence between us thick with the weight of my confession.Pregnant.The word sits heavily like a stone in my stomach, and I can’t shake the stilted tension that’s grown since I told him in Papa's villa. We’re bound by this truth now, and it scares the hell out of me.
I step out, and the manor’s grandeur wraps around me like an old friend. I’ve been gone two weeks, but it feels longer, like I’ve been adrift in a storm and only now found shore. The front doors swing open, and Matteo’s there, his grin wide, eyes warm. “Fina, you’re back,” he says, pulling me into a quick hug, his voice light but genuine. “Place wasn’t the same without you.”
I manage a smile, my throat tight, and nod. “Good to see you too,” I say, meaning it, though my eyes flicker to Enzo who's glowering at Matteo who pretends not to notice while he's already moving inside, his silence a wall I can’t breach.
I follow him, my steps slower, taking in the polished wood banisters, the soft glow of lamps painting the walls alive. I’m home.Home.It has a comely quality to it, yet it doesn’t really feel like it—not really—not with this secret between us, not with the way Enzo’s presence pulls at me, a tide I’m fighting to resist.
I think of Papa, left behind at the villa, and a quiet relief settles. He’s in good hands. His health is improving, his color better, his voice stronger. Even Riccardo, foolish as he is, will look after him. I don’t need to worry, not about that. But here, with Enzo, worry is all I feel. It's a tight coil in my chest.
I head for my room, needing space, needing to breathe. The familiar door creaks open, and I inhale the scent of lavender and clean linen. My sanctuary. Giulia’s already there, her small frame bustling as she sets out fresh towels. “Welcome back, Signora Mancini,” she says, her smile soft. “I’ll run your bath now.”
I nod gratefully, my body aching for the comfort of hot water and a moment to think. “Grazie, Giulia,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean. But before she can move, Enzo’s voice cuts through, low and firm. He's standing, slouched against the doorframe. I hadn't heard him come in.
“That’ll be all, Giulia.” His voice carries a quiet command that has Giulia darting a confused glance at me.
“Leave us be,” he repeats, the impatient quality in his tone evident this time.
Giulia hesitates, glancing at me one more time, like she’s waiting for me to save her. I nod slowly and smile at her to show that she can leave. She hurriedly slips out and the door clicks shut behind her.
The moment she's gone, I whirl on him, my blood hot, irritation flaring. “What the hell, Enzo?” I snap, my hands fisting at my sides. “I need to rest. You can’t just barge in and dismiss my maid.”
His dark eyes meet mine and I hate how my pulse quickens, how his presence fills the room, all sharp edges and quiet strength.“We need to talk, Fina,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s an undercurrent, something raw that makes my stomach twist.
The pregnancy. Of course. It’s a shadow between us, heavy and unspoken since we left the villa, and I can’t outrun it.