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Three impossible harbingers of a new reality.
"Well," I whisper to my reflection and to the life growing inside me, "I guess we're really doing this."
Options. I need options.
Stay with Stefano? Tell him the truth? Watch his face change when he realizes I've been spying on him—that I was the one hired to help destroy everything he's built?
No. He might love me, or think he does, but he's still Chicago's most dangerous crime boss. This is the man who destroyed the last family that betrayed him. I’ve seen first-hand how he treats his enemies, especially those who try to tarnish his reputation.
Run then. Take Tony and disappear. Use my connections to get new identities for us, and to start fresh somewhere the Fioris can't find us.
Except they will find us. They always do. And now there's a baby to consider. Stefano's baby. He'd never stop looking for us.
My burner phone feels heavy in my pocket, a reminder of debts owed. The Fioris are waiting for information. Waiting to strike.
Unless I go with my previous plan—the Wednesday deliveries.
If I report them as suspicious, hint at something bigger... I could get my payout, get Tony to safety, and warn Stefano before anything happens. A few days' head start is all I need.
I see the missed messages from my handler about failing to reschedule.
>> Sorry about before. Meet me tomorrow?
The response is immediate this time.
>> You're walking on thin ice. Tomorrow. 2AM. Don't be late.
One last con. One last lie. Then we're out.
I just hope I'm making the right choice.
Because if I'm wrong, we all end up dead.
But first, I need a plan. A real one. Something that gives us all a fighting chance.
* * *
I hide the burner phone in my bag and start planning. The Wednesday deliveries are perfect; regular enough to seem suspicious, far away to give me time. Three days to get my payout, warn Stefano, and get us all to safety.
I pull out a notebook, starting to map out the details. The timing of the trucks. The regular security rotations.
All true information that means absolutely nothing because the deliveries are legitimate and are just alcohol for the club. But with the right spin...
"Keep it simple," I mutter to myself, my father's first rule echoing in my head. "The more complicated the lie, the easier it falls apart."
My hand drifts to my stomach again. It's becoming a habit already, this unconscious need to protect what's growing inside me. What would my parents think, knowing their grandchild will be a Rega? That their careful plans to infiltrate Stefano's organization led to this?
Maybe they wouldn’t mind. They chose to abandon their plans when it came to the Regas—to focus on something bigger, but still. I can’t help but wonder what my life would look like if we hadn’t left so abruptly back then.
I shake the thought away, focusing on the key points I need to memorize. I'll feed the Fioris just enough truth to sound convincing, just enough details to get my payout.
I tear out the pages I've written, burning them in the bathroom sink. Can't leave evidence.
The nausea rolls through me again, gentler this time, like my body reminding me what's at stake. I close my eyes, letting the reality of it all sink in.
I'm pregnant.
With Stefano Rega's baby.