Page 31

Chapter Thirty-One: Jade

T he room swelled with a chorus of congratulations that felt too loud in the early morning light, the air thick with my family’s joy. My parents hugged me, their smiles wide and genuine. My siblings, equally ecstatic, were already debating baby names and nursery themes.

“Can you believe it? A little one!” My mother’s eyes brimmed with tears that mirrored the condensation on the windows, the winter chill pressing against the warmth of our gathering.

I tried to match their excitement, but my heart raced for another reason. The news of my pregnancy had transcended personal joy—it was a beacon of change in a life tangled with complexities I was still untangling.

As laughter bubbled around me, I caught sight of Marco across the room, his animated hand gestures punctuating a conversation with Dante. I could almost hear the mischief in his voice without needing to be close. Dante, looking every bit the authoritative figure he was, seemed less amused, tension lining his posture.

“Okay, we’ll go,” Dante said, rubbing the bridge of his nose—a gesture I’d come to recognize as his shield against irritation.

Annoyance pricked at me. Whatever Marco had proposed, I knew it would add another layer to the already intricate web of our lives. I watched Dante’s gaze flick to me briefly, an unspoken message that whatever was unfolding would involve me, whether I liked it or not.

“Jade, dear, you’re miles away,” my father said, his warm hand squeezing my shoulder.

“Sorry, just a lot to process. I was going to tell you, but I guess Marco beat me to it,” I admitted, offering a smile that felt more like a grimace. I turned back to my family, trying to anchor myself in the moment, but my thoughts remained with Dante and the inevitable complications that followed him like a shadow.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go meet Dante’s parents,” my dad said.

Dante stiffened even more at that.

“Jade, you’re coming too, right?” Kristin’s voice sliced through the hum of conversation, her eyes bright with the thrill of the unknown. She was leaning into the circle where Marco and Dante stood, exuding the kind of excitement that only the uninitiated could feel about meeting mob royalty.

“Of course,” Marco chimed in. “You’ve gotta meet the old man at some point.”

I bit back a retort, knowing full well that ‘the old man’ was Enzo Moretti, a name that conjured images of shadowy deals and ruthless authority. The thought soured in my stomach; I couldn’t shake the awareness that behind Enzo’s tailored suits and polished shoes lurked a legacy written in blood.

“Great,” Kristin beamed, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling just beneath the surface. “I can’t wait to see where you guys grew up!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, yet it lay on me like an ill-fitting garment. The anticipation in her voice tugged at me, but not in the way she intended. It felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, toes curling over the cold, hard lip of reality.

“Jade?” Her gaze flickered towards me, and I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Meeting Enzo is...it’s a big deal,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray the tremor of fear that threaded through my words. “He’s not what you’d expect.”

“Come on,” she nudged, a playful grin dancing on her lips. “How scary can your boyfriend’s dad be?”

The laugh that escaped me was hollow, a sound that seemed to drift away on the wind. If only she knew. The weight of Enzo’s reputation pressed down on me, the tales of his ruthlessness whispered like ghost stories among those in the know. “Right. You’re right.”

“And punctuality,” Marco helpfully added. I wanted to strangle him.

“Then we better not keep him waiting,” she decided with newfound resolve.

“Indeed,” I agreed, my mind already racing ahead.

My family started to leave, crowd around Marco, walk toward the elevator. I stayed where I was, hugging myself, hoping anything could make this…stop.

Dante took the opportunity to come over to me. His presence was like a shield against the chill, even before his warm hand found its way to my arm.

“Jade,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of reassurance. “You have my word, I’ll stand by you today.”

I looked up into his eyes, dark pools where I often found an unexpected tenderness. This morning, they held a promise, one that seemed to reach beyond the cold exterior of his mafia heir fa?ade.

“Your father... Enzo Moretti,” I started, the words tumbling out with more hesitation than I intended. “He’s not just another man I can charm with statistics and research findings from BioHQ.”

“Jade,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against my arm in a gesture that might have been meant to soothe. “Yes, my father is a formidable man. But you, you’re not just any woman. You’re carrying our child, and that makes you family now.”

His logic was sound, but it skirted around the edges of my fear. Still, there was a pull in his gaze, an earnestness that made me want to believe that everything would be alright.

“Alright,” I conceded with a reluctant exhale. “But punctuality? That we can manage.” It was an attempt at lightening the mood, a small grin tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the knots in my stomach.

Dante’s lips quirked up in response, a silent chuckle in the lines around his eyes. “We’ll be on time,” he assured, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before letting go.

The car’s engine hummed a low, steady rhythm as we slipped through the streets of New York. Dante’s hands were calm and sure on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead with a resolve that seemed to slice through the early morning fog.

My family insisted on riding the subway, because they always thought it was a novelty, and Marco had gone with them to show them the way.

In the meantime, Dante was driving us toward Little Italy, to his childhood home.

I sat beside him, my fingers unconsciously tracing the leather seam of my seat, each stitch a reminder of the world I was about to enter—a world where life hung on the edge of a blade.

“Jade,” Dante said, his voice breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re quiet. Talk to me.”

I glanced over at him, taking in the sharp jawline softened by the morning light. “Just thinking about what I’m walking into,” I admitted, my words more of a sigh than I intended. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me, familiar yet fraught with the unknown.

“Enzo can be...intense,” he acknowledged, his gaze never leaving the road. “But he respects strength. You’ve got that in spades.”

“Strength,” I repeated, allowing a wry smile. “Right now, it feels like I’m barely hanging onto sanity.”

“Hey.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, grounding. “We’ll handle this together.”

I sighed. “He’s been spying on me, Dante. He was spying on me from the beginning. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“Relieved,” Dante replied. “If he didn’t want you around, he would have already tried to kill you.”

“Jesus.”

“Hey, look. Enzo Moretti is no saint, but he values family above all else. That’s our trump card,” he insisted.

“Family,” I echoed, the word lingering on my tongue like a new flavor, sweet yet unnervingly complex. My heart thrummed against my ribs, not from fear alone but from the realization that, despite everything, some part of me craved acceptance into this dangerous, tightly-knit circle.

“Exactly,” Dante said, glancing at me with a confidence I desperately wanted to share. “And we’re almost there.”

I didn’t expect opulence in Little Italy.

I’d been wrong.

As the car turned onto a private road, the enormity of the Moretti home came into view—their fortress, their stronghold. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. This wasn’t just a meeting; it was a crossing of thresholds, the beginning of an alliance sealed by blood and bound by the life growing inside me.

“Ready?” Dante’s question was gentle, almost tentative.

“Let’s do this,” I responded, the scientist in me clinging to logic, to the belief that even in a world run by shadows, the truth still held power.

“Good,” he said, parking the car. We stepped out, the chill of the winter morning wrapping around us, a stark contrast to the warmth that had built up inside the vehicle.

With each step toward the towering front doors, my mind raced, flipping through scenarios, outcomes, strategies. But beneath it all lay a simple truth: I was about to meet Enzo Moretti, and nothing would ever be quite the same again.

“Here we are,” Dante murmured, his voice low and steady. He parked the car with precision, and for a moment, all was silent but for the ticking of the engine cooling.

I stepped out into the crisp winter air, my breath forming clouds that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Dante was by my side in an instant, his presence both reassuring and unnerving in its intensity.

“Stay close,” he said, and I caught a flicker of something in his tone—was it concern?

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” I shot back, trying to mask my nerves with humor. I glanced over to see Marco, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, his hands deep in his pockets as he scanned the house’s facade.

“Welcome,” he said.

“Through here,” Dante instructed, leading us toward a set of towering double doors at the end of the hall. Every step echoed, amplifying the tension that thrummed through my veins.

“Remember, just follow my lead,” Dante said, shooting a warning glance at Marco, who responded with a barely perceptible nod.

“Lead the way,” I replied, my voice more even than I felt.

With a decisive push, Dante opened the doors, and we entered the lion’s den. The room beyond was sprawling, the furniture rich and dark, with heavy drapes pulled back to reveal the winter sky’s early morning light. Flames danced in the fireplace, yet they did little to warm the chill that had settled in the space—or in me.

I inhaled the scent of old money and whispered secrets as we ventured deeper into the Moretti den. The air felt thick with history, every polished surface and gilded frame a testament to the power wielded within these walls. I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder—my rational mind at odds with my thudding heart.

“Hey,” Dante said, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Don’t worry. My parents are going to love you.”

I laughed. “Do you think they’ll love my mom and dad too?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I hope so.”