Page 31 of Blood Debt

My fingers tighten against the floor.

The flash of his face crashes through me. Sharp cheekbones. Quiet mouth. The way he stared today—like he was seeing through me.

Cristofano. Don of the D’Angelis Syndicate.

The man who I gave myself to in Rome.

My heart stutters violently.

I close my eyes to the picture of that night.

The hotel suite. Candlelight flickering along stone walls. Sheets tangled at my hips. His hand cupping the back of my neck, firm, steady.

We didn’t sleep. We made love all night. Hours bled into hours. Sweat. Skin. Soft groans in the dark. My laughter caught against his mouth.

I fell asleep against his chest. Legs numb. Arms sore. Every part of me used and satiated.

When I woke up, I was in pain.

Not bruised.

But sore. Deep. A throb that pulsed through my lower back, heavy and constant.

He was still asleep. Face relaxed, one arm across the pillow where I’d been. Mouth slightly open. The sheets barely covering him.

I sat up slowly. Swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Breathed through the ache blooming in my abdomen. I didn’t wake him.

I couldn’t.

What would I say? That something hurt? That I didn’t feel right? I was a stranger.

Just a night.

I dressed in silence, each motion slow and controlled. My bra clasped with shaking fingers. My jeans fought against my hips. I winced when I pulled the zipper up.

I clutched my phone and wallet and slipped from the room before he stirred.

The clinic was six blocks away. I took a cab. The waiting room smelled like bleach and cheap coffee. The nurse offered me a glass of water.

The doctor told me the IUD had shifted.

He removed it in silence.

“You’re okay,” he said. “It happens. It was probably the position. No internal trauma. Bleeding will stop in a day. You’re not at risk.”

He smiled.

Said it wasn’t likely I’d get pregnant.

I nodded. Didn’t cry. Didn’t go back to the hotel.

I flew home the next morning.

Two months later—I stared at a pregnancy test on my bathroom counter.

Two lines. Bright pink. I was pregnant.

The first thing I thought wasn’t how. I knew how. I had an IUD, so I felt safe not using a condom with him. It was stupid, I know. After him, I hadn't been with anyone else. I was the stupid girl who got pregnant from a one-night stand. I didn't even know his name. I decided to keep my baby, tough it out, and do it without him.