Page 42

Time passes. My body heals. My bruises fade.

The nurse who examined me when I first arrived here visits weekly, checking on the baby’s vitals and performing regular ultrasounds with a mobile ultrasound machine.

The baby’s kicks get stronger as they grow, a daily reminder that I need to figure out our future sooner rather than later.

Each night, I drift off imagining what it would be like to raise this child away from the mafia, a quiet and dull life.

But once morning arrives, I feel the tug of Dante’s presence, the ghostly memory of his arms holding me. The heartbreak in his eyes when he knew I thought he killed my father. The relief when I found out he didn’t.

I have to get serious about building something resembling a real life—something stable, something whole. I can’t keep dancing around the inevitable. I have to face the subject I’ve been avoiding the most.

It’s a sunny afternoon. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thumb scrolling through my contact list until I find the number I’m looking for. One of Dante’s most trusted men.

I’m ready to come to the estate. I want to speak with them.

For a second, I just sit there. Once I send the message, it’s done. The quiet hiding phase ends. No more safe walls. No more excuses.

I hit send.

The reply comes almost immediately.

Understood. We’ll pick you up in 30. Be ready.

That’s it. No fanfare. No delays. Just thirty minutes until I walk back into the lion’s den.

I set the phone down, my palms clammy, thoughts caught somewhere between dread and perhaps hope. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I’m ready to see Dante again. But what I do know is I’m done stalling.

It’s time to face whatever comes next.

An hour later, I find myself standing outside the imposing doors of the Bellacino mansion once again, a slight breeze rustling my hair.

My footsteps echo on the polished marble floors of the foyer, the grand chandelier above throwing patterns of light across the glossy surfaces.

I’m flooded with memories of the way I felt the last time I was here—uncertain and nervous.

I’m still uncertain but no longer nervous. This time, I’m downright determined.

I’m led into a small sitting room where Isabella is perched on a plush, velvet couch. She looks up as I enter, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

“Eva,” she says, standing. “Good to see you.”

I cross my arms, measuring my words. “It had to happen eventually.”

She nods. “You look well, all things considered.” Her gaze drifts to my belly, a look of admiration on her face.

I clear my throat. “I’ve had a few weeks to think, to rest, to process. Rumors are swirling, and from what I gather, your alliances are relying on me to forgive you.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Straight to business, I see. Yes, the Russians value you—your child, specifically—as a potential bridge between our families.” Her voice softens. “But I’m more concerned about bridging the gap between you and Dante.”

I let out a short laugh. “You say it like you had nothing to do with that gap. You killed my father, Isabella. Then you lied about it and let your son take the blame.”

She winces, and I sense real regret. “I know, and I’ve apologized, but that doesn’t erase the damage.

I won’t ask you to forget, nor can I expect you to forgive me, but perhaps we can still find a path forward.

For the sake of your child, for the sake of peace between the Italians and the Russians. ”

I meet her gaze head-on. “I can forgive in time, but I’ll never forget. One day, you’ll pay for what you did—maybe not with your life, but with the weight of your guilt. That’s between you and whatever higher power you believe in. For now, however, I do agree we need to stand united.”

She exhales heavily, relief crossing her features. “Thank you. That’s more than I deserve.”

I shrug. “Call it practicality. If my baby and I are going to have any kind of future, I’d rather not spend it ducking bullets. If achieving peace means a Petrov–Bellacino alliance, I’m not going to stand in the way.”

Hope lights up her eyes. “You’re quite formidable, Eva. Truly your father’s daughter.”

Hearing that feels strangely good, but I keep my composure. “So the Russians want me allied with you, and you want me allied with Dante?”

She nods. “That’s correct. But let’s not sugarcoat things. This is also personal. Dante’s been miserable since the night he left you in Chappaqua. He’s tried to stay busy, but we can all see it. He loves you.”

My heart stutters. I shift my weight, trying to look casual. “Well, I’m sure he has bigger concerns.”

Isabella’s brows lift. “He’s had plenty of concerns in his life, but you’re the only one that keeps him up at night.”

I roll my eyes. “Is that supposed to make me swoon?”

A wry grin curves her mouth. “I wouldn’t dare speak for him, but I do think you deserve to know how deeply he cares about you.” She tilts her head toward the door. “He’s in the study, unless you’d prefer to speak here.”

My stomach flip-flops with anxiety and excitement. I open my mouth to respond, but Isabella holds up a hand stopping me, her expression brightening.

“Actually, let me call Dante in. He hasn’t been told you’ve arrived yet. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

“Okay.”

Isabella presses a button on an intercom near the door, speaking briefly into it. “He’ll be here shortly.”

Anticipation takes over. This is the moment I’ve both wanted and dreaded—facing Dante after everything I’ve learned, everything I went through.

Isabella steps away, giving me space, but I can feel her presence like a quiet ally. I glance around the room, observing the ornate fireplace, the paintings on the walls, looking anywhere but at the door where Dante will appear.

I straighten my posture and smooth my clothes. My heart flutters as I stroke a hand lightly across my stomach.

I can practically hear Isabella’s faint smile behind me, though I don’t look at her. Finally, footsteps approach from the hallway, and my pulse kicks into gear.

He’s here.

I’m not sure if I should run or stand my ground.

I steel myself and lift my chin. I requested this conversation. I’ll be the one leading it this time.