SOPHIE
It’s been three days since Alessio left.
The apartment feels wrong.
Too neat.
Quiet.
Hollow.
I move through it like a ghost, my steps muffled against the hardwood floors.
His coffee mug sits in the sink, a faint lipstick smudge on the rim.
I’ve been using it as if it could connect me to him. To make him feel closer.
I should move on.
Instead, I stand there, staring at it like it might give me a reason to breathe again.
I fold the T-shirt I’ve been sleeping in, his T-shirt, pressing it to my chest before tucking it away in a drawer I know I won’t open for a long time.
He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.
The air tastes stale without him.
The walls seem thinner.
He’s texted me a few times.
Little things like, How are you feeling? Thinking about you. Miss you.
I answer, sometimes.
But it’s not the same.
It’s not him here, holding me through the wreckage he helped create.
And even though I miss him so much, it feels like something’s caving in inside my chest.
I’m furious too.
Furious at him for leaving.
And at myself for missing him anyway.
At the office, everything feels clinical.
The merger is still on track. Meetings blur together. Investors send congratulatory emails.
And I keep showing up.
Keep smiling. Keep pretending.
Denver drops a coffee on my desk one morning without a word, just a steady look that says, “I’m here if you need me.”
I give him a quick nod, pretending it doesn’t feel like the simplest kindness might break me.
"You’re doing great, Soph." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Almost too great."
I force a brittle laugh, waving him off like it’s all fine.
But it’s not.
With the exception of Halie, I haven't told anyone about the pregnancy.
Not dad.
Not even Denver, who watches me like he knows I’m carrying a secret too heavy for my narrow shoulders.
In two days, I’m going to my first ultrasound appointment.
Halie insisted on coming with me. And even though part of me wanted to tell her no, to carry this alone, I said yes.
Because alone... alone feels too heavy right now.
I haven’t let myself think about what that’s going to feel like, walking into that sterile room, seeing the tiny flicker of life growing inside me, and not having Alessio there to see it too.
I can't let myself think about it.
Not if I want to survive the next five minutes, let alone the next few months.
To prove to myself that I’m okay, or at least to pretend, I drag myself to the prenatal yoga class I signed up for right after Alessio left.
It’s something to do.
Something to keep me from falling apart.
The studio smells like lavender and lemon, soft music playing from a corner speaker. Everything about it is calm, welcoming.
I don’t feel either of those things.
Nati spots me the second I walk in.
She’s a new friend, someone I met on the first day, bubbly, animated, the kind of woman who wears her heart right there on her sleeve and dares you not to love her for it.
She looks amazing too, perfect breasts, a toned body, her ass practically defying gravity.
She's told me in her own words, she is my baby bestie .
She wraps me in a warm hug and presses a bottle of cucumber water into my hand.
“Look at you, mama. Glowing.”
I manage a smile. It’s weak, but it’s real enough to satisfy her.
We talk like everything is normal. Stretching out on our mats. Laughing at the instructor’s corny jokes.
Pretending.
Nati talks about her newborn daughter, how terrifying it was bringing her home alone, how after four months she still checks to make sure she’s breathing five times a night.
She adjusts her position into a careful seated twist. “Being a mom is scary. But also the most powerful thing we’ll ever do.”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in my chest.
“Yeah. Powerful.”
Nati shifts closer, nudging her mat against mine. Her voice gentle but fierce.
“You’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to have it all figured out today. You just have to show up. For yourself. For that little one.”
I blink fast, my throat tightening.
She nudges me with her shoulder. “And when you can’t be strong? That’s what friends like me are for. To remind you you’re doing the damn thing even when it feels impossible.”
Something in my chest eases, just a little.
Enough to breathe.
During a water break, I mention, almost casually, "I have an ultrasound the day after tomorrow."
Nati’s face lights up. “You going by yourself? Because if you need someone, I’m your girl. Seriously. I’ll clear my whole damn schedule.”
The offer is so generous, so immediate, that it stings.
I shake my head quickly. “A friend’s coming with me. But thank you, Nati. Really.”
She squeezes my arm, her eyes kind.
"No matter what, you're not alone, okay? Even when it feels like it."
I nod, blinking hard.
Because somehow, those words cut deeper than any goodbye.
After class as I’m lacing up my sneakers, my phone buzzes in my bag with an incoming call.
Nikolai.
I hesitate for half a second before answering.
“Sophie. He’s safe.”
Relief punches the air from my lungs. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath.
“He’s staying quiet. Laying low. We’re watching him closely. Even in Tuscany.”
I close my eyes, pressing a hand to my stomach.
Thank God.
But Nikolai isn’t done.
“You’re under protection too. As Alessio requested.”
Something twists in my chest.
Even from a distance, he’s still trying to shield me.
“And Sophie…” Nikolai’s voice lowers even further, the way it does when things are about to get worse. “This thing with the threats? We’ve found something.”
My stomach knots.
“It’s not Bratva-related. Looks like it may be personal. We’re digging.”
My heart skips.
“So, this wasn’t about… you guys?”
“No. Looks like someone else had an axe to grind.”
A different kind of fear settles over me then.
Colder. Sharper.
Because monsters that hide behind the word family or mafia, at least you know their rules.
Personal enemies? They’re far less predictable. Far more dangerous.
***
That evening, my phone rings again.
E.
I hesitate before answering, still a little raw from the yoga class, from the call with Nikolai, from everything.
“Just circling back. Wanted to see how things are going.”
The tone is light but probing in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I shift on the couch, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“He’s back in Tuscany. Taking care of some family things.”
I barely finish the sentence before I have to dart for the bathroom.
I make it just in time, dropping to my knees and heaving into the toilet.
“Damn morning sickness,” I whisper to myself, my forehead pressed against the cool porcelain.
The phone’s still clutched in my hand when E’s voice comes through the speaker.
“Well, I hope you feel better soon. The offer’s still on the table, by the way. Senior partner. After the merger is finalized, it’s yours if you want it.”
The call is disconnected.
I stay kneeling on the bathroom floor, phone limp in my hand.
This is what I’ve wanted for years. What I’ve fought for. Sacrificed for.
I should feel victorious. Instead, all I feel is hollow.
I set the phone down on the counter, forcing myself up from the bathroom floor. I rinse my mouth out with cold water, swishing until the sour taste is gone, then dab my face with a towel.
My breasts ache, a tender, throbbing reminder of everything changing inside me.
My emotions teeter on a tightrope, one minute steady, the next swinging wildly without warning.
I walk over to the window.
The city is alive, couples laughing, people racing to catch cabs, friends shouting over food trucks, the kind of energy that once made me feel great.
Now it just feels distant. Like I'm behind glass, watching a life I no longer recognize.
I press a hand to my stomach, no hint of a swell beneath my palm yet.
"I did it," I whisper to the baby growing inside me. "I got everything I wanted."
But the words taste bitter.
Because I don't feel powerful.
I feel lonely.
And deep in my bones, something still feels wrong.
A chill creeps down my spine.
Whoever sent those notes is still out there.
Watching.
Table of Contents
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