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Chapter Twenty-Five

Viviana

The morning light filters through the curtains. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring out at the sprawling countryside, my thoughts a tangled mess of doubt and confusion.

My body still hums with the memory of last night—his touch, his kiss, the way he made me feel as though I was the only thing that mattered.

The weight of it, the implications, feel too heavy to ignore.

I press my palms to my knees, trying to steady my breathing.

I look in the mirror at the bruises on my throat, the marks from his aggressive kisses. I should feel dirty and used, but instead, I feel triumphant.

Was it real? Or was it just another way for him to assert control over me? Romeo is nothing if not calculating, and I can’t shake the fear that I’ve let him get too close, that I’m falling for him, even as I tell myself I’m strong enough to resist.

Do I even want to resist?

The thought makes my stomach churn, and not just because of the baby.

My hand moves instinctively to my abdomen, resting there as if the gentle pressure might offer some clarity. I’ve been careful to hide the baby from him, to keep the secret locked away, but the thought of using it—of using my child—as a bargaining chip to escape is starting to creep into my mind.

Would he let me go, or would he only double down?

The idea fills me with guilt, but there’s a darker fear lurking beneath it. Romeo isn’t a man who reacts well to betrayal. If he finds out about the pregnancy before I have a plan…I shudder, pushing the thought aside.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts, and I quickly move to stand, smoothing my hair and pulling on a robe. When I open the door, Romeo is standing there, holding something in his hands.

“Morning,” he says, his tone softer than I’m used to. He glances down at the object in his hands, then back up at me. “I thought you might like this.”

He holds it out, and I realize it’s a leather-bound journal. Its cover is smooth and polished, with delicate stitching along the edges. I take it hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his, and when I open it, I see blank pages waiting to be filled.

“For your sketches,” he says, almost awkwardly. “I noticed you haven’t been drawing.”

I blink, surprised that he even noticed. I’ve always turned to sketching in moments of stress, but the whirlwind of being here—of him—has left me too unsettled to pick up a pencil.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, running my fingers over the soft leather.

He shifts slightly, as if uncomfortable, and I glance up to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “You should use it,” he says, his voice almost gruff. “The things that make you…you shouldn’t get lost in all this.”

All this. He says it like it’s just a passing storm, as if the life I’ve been thrown into is something I can weather with a little patience. His words stick with me, planting a seed of doubt in my carefully constructed walls.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I clutch the journal to my chest.

He tilts his head slightly. “I want to be.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have,” he says simply. “You deserve more than what I’ve given you.”

The words throw me off balance, and I take a step back, shaking my head. “You can’t just…give me a journal and expect me to forget everything you’ve done.”

“I don’t expect you to forget,” he replies, his tone quiet but firm. “I just want you to know that I’m trying.”

Trying. The word echoes in my mind, and for the first time, I wonder if it’s true. If Romeo Valenti—the ruthless man who kidnapped me, who’s ruled over every aspect of my life—might actually be capable of change.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, clutching the journal tighter. “Thank you.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, before turning to leave. “Breakfast is in the dining room,” he says over his shoulder. “If you’re hungry.”

I watch him go, the weight of the journal in my hands feeling heavier than it should. His gestures, his words—they all seem so genuine, but how can I trust that? How can I trust him?

***

Later, I sit in the garden with the journal on my lap, a pencil in hand but no idea what to draw.

My mind is a battlefield, torn between the man I’ve seen glimpses of—the one who wraps my wounds, who gives me journals, who looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters—and the man who kidnapped me, who’s built his life on violence and control.

I think of the baby, of the life growing inside me, and the panic I’ve been trying to suppress bubbles to the surface.

What kind of father would Romeo be? Would he even want to be one? And if I told him, would he see it as a reason to keep me here forever?

I grip the pencil tightly, my hand trembling as I sketch the rough outline of a rose, its petals delicate but thorny. It feels symbolic in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.

“You draw beautifully.” Romeo’s voice startles me, and I look up to find him standing a few feet away. His hands are in his pockets, his posture casual, but his gaze is anything but.

“You snuck up on me,” I mutter, snapping the journal shut.

“You looked…peaceful,” he says, ignoring my tone. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” I say, feeling awkward about him seeing me drawing.

He steps closer, his gaze dropping to the journal. “What were you drawing?”

“Nothing,” I reply quickly, clutching it to my chest. “Just…passing time.”

His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “Good. You deserve the freedom to do that.”

I hate how those words make my heart clench, how they burrow into the part of me that’s desperate for kindness, for hope. I glance away, focusing on the distant horizon, and try to steady my breathing.

“Why are you trying so hard, Romeo?” I ask softly, my voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of the leaves.

He’s quiet for a long moment before he answers. “You make me want to be better.”

The words repeat in my head, over and over, carving into the carefully constructed walls I’ve built around myself. I swallow hard, searching for something—anything—to say in response, but nothing comes. The vulnerability in his voice, in his stance, leaves me off balance, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Why?” I ask finally, my voice barely a whisper.

His jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his shadow falling over me as I sit on the stone bench. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of,” he says, his tone low but resolute. “You challenge me, defy me, make me question everything I thought I knew.”

I lower my gaze, the intensity of his words too much to bear. “That doesn’t mean you can change.”

“Maybe not,” he admits, surprising me. “But I’ll try. For you.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver through me, but before I can respond, the faint sound of hurried footsteps interrupts the moment.

I glance up to see Matteo approaching, his expression grim. Romeo turns to him, his body tensing immediately, all softness replaced by the sharp edges I’ve come to associate with him.

“What is it?” Romeo demands, his voice cold and authoritative.

Matteo glances at me briefly before focusing on Romeo. “Salvatore’s placed a bounty on your head. Word is spreading fast. Every hired gun from here to Rome will be after you.”

The air seems to shift, the weight of Matteo’s words sinking in like a heavy stone. I sit frozen, my heart pounding as I glance between them. Romeo’s face darkens, his jaw clenching tightly as he processes the news.

“Double the guards,” Romeo says after a long pause, his voice like steel. “No one gets within a mile of this estate without my permission.”

Matteo nods but hesitates, his gaze flicking toward me again. “What about Viviana?”

Romeo’s expression hardens further. “She doesn’t leave my sight.”

“What?” I snap, rising to my feet. “You can’t be serious.”

He turns to me, his eyes blazing. “Do you understand what this means, Viviana? Salvatore’s desperate. He’ll come for me, and if he can’t get to me directly, he’ll use you.”

“It’s that bad? It’s been weeks since we’ve heard from him,” I say sharply, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m not risking it,” he counters, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this. I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

The tension between us crackles like the storm from the night before, but Matteo’s presence keeps it from boiling over. He clears his throat, drawing Romeo’s attention back to him. “I’ll handle the arrangements,” Matteo says before disappearing back toward the estate.

Romeo exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he turns back to me. “We’re done here,” he says, his voice cold again.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my heart pounding.

“We have to go back to the city, back to the penthouse. It’s safe there,” he says, pacing back and forth anxiously.

“No,” I whisper. “Just leave me here. I can’t go back to the penthouse. I can’t go back to prison.”

“You aren’t safe here, especially not alone,” he says to me firmly.

“Romeo, I have to tell you something…” I start to say. I bite my lip. “It might change your mind…”

His silence is answer enough. I watch him pacing, trying to decide if I should just blurt out the truth about the baby. Finally, I shake my head, turning away from him.

As I take a step toward the house, however, the world tilts suddenly, the ground seeming to sway beneath me. I reach out for something—anything—to steady myself, but my vision blurs, and the last thing I hear is Romeo’s voice calling my name.

***

When I open my eyes, the ceiling of my room comes into focus. The sunlight has shifted, casting long shadows across the walls, and I realize I must have been out for a while. My head feels heavy, my body weak, and I groan softly as I try to sit up.

“Stay still,” Romeo’s voice comes from beside me, firm but tinged with something softer—concern.

I turn my head to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed as he watches me. There’s no anger in his expression now, only worry, and it throws me off balance.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“You fainted,” he says simply, his dark eyes searching mine. “I called a doctor. He’s on his way.”

Panic surges through me, and I sit up quickly despite the dizziness that follows. “You what?”

“You fainted, Viviana,” he repeats, his tone brooking no argument. “I’m not taking any chances with your health.”

I shake my head, my mind racing. “I’m fine. I just…didn’t eat enough this morning.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he says quietly, his gaze piercing. “Something’s wrong, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

Fear twists in my gut, and I look away, my hands clenching the sheets. “Romeo, I don’t need a doctor.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists, his voice softer now. “You scared me, Viviana.”

His admission catches me off guard, and I glance back at him, startled by the raw honesty in his expression.

“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it,” he says, his hand brushing against mine. “You have to let me help you.”

I swallow hard, the secret I’ve been keeping feeling heavier than ever. His concern, his protectiveness—it’s overwhelming, and I can’t tell if it’s making me feel safer or more trapped.

Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door, and Matteo’s voice filters through. “The doctor’s here.”

Romeo stands, his jaw tightening as he glances back at me. “We’ll talk after,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As he steps out to let the doctor in, I take a shaky breath, bracing myself for what’s to come. The walls I’ve built around my secret are crumbling, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold them up.