Page 9

Chapter Nine

Viviana

The doctor’s expression is calm, professional, as she folds her hands in her lap, but the words she just said echo in my mind, louder than anything else.

“You’re pregnant.”

Pregnant.

I sit frozen on the edge of the bed in my room, the silence marred by the sound of my own shallow breaths.

Pregnant.

The word feels foreign, unreal, as if she’s speaking to someone else. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, brushing against the fabric of my dress as if expecting to feel a difference.

I glance toward the door, hoping that the doctor’s words aren’t carrying to Matteo in the hall.

“How far along?” My voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Approximately four weeks,” the doctor says gently. “From what you’ve told me about your symptoms, it aligns with the timeline.”

Four weeks. A lump forms in my throat as I do the math. My stomach churns, though I’m not sure if it’s from the nausea or the reality crashing down on me.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice tight. “Please don’t tell anyone. Especially not Romeo.”

Her expression softens, and she nods. “Of course. This is between us.”

She hands me a small packet of prenatal vitamins and slips out of the room, leaving me alone with the weight of what I’ve just learned.

I stare down at the pills in my hand, my thoughts spiraling. A baby. Romeo’s baby. The father of this child is a man who controls every inch of my life, who doesn’t flinch at using people as pawns in his deadly games.

My fingers curl tightly around the packet as fear and anger twist together inside me. I can’t let him know. Not now. If Romeo finds out, he’ll use this to chain me even closer, to solidify his claim over me.

He already sees me as his possession. What will he do if he learns about the baby?

The idea terrifies me, but it also sharpens my resolve. I can’t let him have that kind of power over me. I won’t.

A wave of protectiveness washes over me, foreign but fierce. This child—my child—is mine to protect. Not his.

I draw in a shaky breath, my mind racing with possibilities. I have to think, to plan. I can’t let Romeo control me completely. I’ll find a way to shield myself and this baby, even if it means pretending nothing has changed.

I rise from the table, my legs trembling but steady enough to carry me out of the room. I hesitate with my hand on the door to the hallway, my thoughts swirl with equal parts fear and determination.

Romeo may think he holds all the cards, but this secret is mine.

For now, it’s the only leverage I have.

The door clicks softly behind the doctor as she leaves using the other exit, the silence of the penthouse suddenly overwhelming.

I stand in the center of the room, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, the weight of the pregnancy test result pressing down on me like a physical force. My mind races, torn between the shocking truth I’ve just learned and the suffocating reality of my situation.

I can’t tell Romeo. I won’t.

Every instinct screams at me to keep this secret, to protect myself and this child from the man who controls every aspect of my life. If he finds out, he’ll use it as another way to tighten his grip on me, to cement his control.

The night stretches on in oppressive stillness, my thoughts a chaotic swirl of fear, anger, and a growing determination to protect what’s mine.

The sound of the elevator doors opening breaks the silence, and my heart jumps into my throat. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echo down the hall, growing louder as Romeo approaches. I brace myself, wiping my damp palms against my dress as I hear him enter the room.

He appears in the doorway, and the sight of him stops me cold. His suit is rumpled and splattered with blood, his dark hair disheveled, and his knuckles bruised and raw. Despite the carnage, he exudes triumph, his commanding presence filling the space with ease.

“You’re back late,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected it to be.

He smirks, his dark eyes glinting as he steps closer. “Busy night,” he says, his tone casual, as though he isn’t covered in the evidence of violence.

I want to ask what happened, but the possessive way he looks at me makes the words stick in my throat. His gaze lingers on my face, then drifts lower, taking in every inch of me as if he’s already claimed it all.

“Salvatore’s men won’t bother us again,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I made sure of it.”

There’s pride in his tone, but it’s his intensity that unnerves me. He’s still staring at me, his gaze dark and hungry, and I feel my heart hammering in my chest.

“You’re staring,” I say, trying to inject defiance into my voice.

“You make it hard not to.”

Before I can respond, he crosses the room in two strides and grabs me, his hands rough as they pull me against him. His lips come down on mine, but the kiss isn’t hard and demanding like usual. There’s something desperate, sad, almost pleading in their touch. The taste of copper and sweat fills my senses, and I push him back, my palms pressing against his bloodied chest.

“You’re covered in blood!” I gasp, glaring at him.

He smirks, his hand brushing my jaw. “Should I change before we continue?”

The arrogance in his tone sparks something inside me—anger, frustration, and an undeniable, maddening desire.

This time, it’s me who kisses him, rough and unrestrained, my hands gripping the lapels of his ruined suit as I pour every ounce of anger and confusion into the kiss. His response is immediate, his grip tightening on my hips as he backs me toward the sofa.

The edge of the bed presses against the backs of my knees, and before I can react, he lifts me effortlessly and throws me onto my back. The action is forceful, deliberate, and it sends a thrill through me even as I glare up at him.

Romeo leans over me, his hands on either side of my head, his gaze searing as he takes me in. “Take them off,” he commands, his voice low and guttural.

“What?” I ask, breathless, though I know exactly what he means.

“Your clothes,” he says, his hands moving to the hem of it, tugging it upward. “Now.”

I hesitate for a moment, my mind warring with itself, but the heat in his eyes burns away any resistance. I sit up just enough to pull the fabric over my head, tossing it aside as I meet his gaze defiantly. I lift myself up to slip off my pants as well, then lie back, watching his dim silhouette as he removes his own clothing with haste.

He tosses his clothing all over as he strips naked, as if he’s annoyed at the touch of the fabric, as if he’s trying to escape from something. Then his hands are everywhere—roaming over my waist, my ribs, my shoulders. Deft fingers reach for my breasts, and I remember I’m not wearing a bra. He flicks my nipple, and it sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.

Shit. I’m soaked already.

My own hands move of their own accord, slipping along his narrow waist, up over his ribs, tangling in his thick hair. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips as he pulls me closer to him. His touch is rough, insistent, and I feel my body responding despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

“You drive me insane,” he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Good, maybe now you know how it feels,” I bite back, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I pull him closer.

He only chuckles as he tugs my hips up against his. His cock teases over my pussy and I gasp, arching my back with want.

“Ready?” he asks me.

I only manage a breathless, “yes”, before he descends on me.

It’s even more divine than the other times. Maybe it’s because I’m so confused about how to feel, maybe it’s because we are getting used to the cadence of using one another’s bodies, or maybe it’s the three days I have stayed away because I felt so sick.

He stretches me wide, laughter on his lips as he slides roughly into me. I gasp at the shock of pain mixed with pleasure as he enters me, clinging to his shoulders for dear life.

“You take me so well,” he grinds out as he looks down at where our bodies are joined. “There haven’t been many women who could handle me, yet you drink me up. It’s incredibly sexy…mind-numbingly sexy, actually.”

“I think you just like that I hate you,” I spit at him, arching my back so I can take him deeper. I keen as he thrusts harder and open my eyes to see him giving me a look that is filled with so much heat that I almost come right then and there.

“I only enjoy it because I know that one day, it will turn from hate, into something sweet,” he tells me, pumping his hips harder, his hair tickling my cheek as he falls forward over me.

Every thrust, every pulse of his cock works me into a frenzy until I can barely breathe. I feel dizzy with pleasure as he grabs my hips and holds me steady so he can fuck me harder.

Romeo’s hands roam my body with a confidence that steals the breath from my lungs. I shiver under his touch, as he grabs my breasts in his palms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice low and rough as he quickens his pace. “Flushed. Breathless. Completely at my mercy.”

I hate how his words affect me, how they seep under my skin and make me burn. My hands move without thought, sliding up his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His body is solid and warm against mine, the heat of him searing through my skin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction as I cling to him.

The words send a jolt through me, a mixture of defiance and craving. I should hate the way he says it, the way it makes me feel, but instead, it leaves me wanting more.

I hook a leg around his middle, pulling him closer. Always closer. My hips ache, and my pussy throbs, my back arching as Romeo hits that sweet spot over and over again.

“Say it,” he demands, his breath hot against my ear.

“Say what?” I manage to whisper, though my voice trembles.

“That you’re mine,” he growls, his fingers digging into my hips, his grip possessive enough to make me ache.

“Never,” I bite out, though the conviction in my voice wavers.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against the hollow of my throat. “You will, soon enough.”

Then he bucks his hips just right, and the heat building in me just about explodes. It’s too much all at once, his body on top of mine, his cock seated so deeply inside me.

“Romeo!” I gasp, his name slipping past my lips before I can stop it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, his lips trailing back up to mine. “Let go, Viviana. Stop fighting me.”

I come with a gasp, scraping my nails down Romeo’s stomach as I bite back a cry. I might have said his name over and over. I can’t hear through the pounding of my own heartbeat.

Romeo’s whole body shudders on top of me as he comes too, and there’s a delighted smile on his face that is at odds with the way we talk to one another, the anger at the core of our relationship.

He moans my name as he comes, warm and hot inside of me, and his head falls forward to rest against my collarbone.

Without thinking about it, I reach up and stroke my hands through his hair, soothing him, though I don’t know why he should need soothing. I just know that he does, and so I offer him this solace, despite the pain between us, despite my desire to be free. Despite my fury at the way all the men in my life have treated me.

He finally shifts to the side, taking me with him and we lay facing on another, panting, our skin cooling.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, breathing heavily. I watch how he smiles. He looks…happy…young, carefree. I have no idea who this other man is, who only shows up in rare moments. He never lets me see this side of him when his guard is up.

I want to think that the connection between us is just lust, but I’m starting to know better. I understand so little about the way that he works, but I do know that when he’s fucking me, when he’s lost to me, he isn’t rough or unkind, or savage.

In those moments, the way he looks right now makes perfect sense to me.

Not for the first time, I wonder how I ended up in this mess.