Page 11 of Obsidian Devotion (Empire of Sin & Blood #3)

Sofia

I stare at the third pregnancy test in my trembling hands, the two pink lines staring back at me.

Pregnant .

The word echoes in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my tiny bathroom like a ricocheting bullet.

I’m pregnant with Lorenzo Bellanti's child.

My stomach lurches, and I grip the edge of the sink, breathing deeply through my nose. This wasn't part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.

I was supposed to infiltrate, gather intelligence, and help dismantle the organization that tortured and killed my brother. I wasn't supposed to end up carrying the enemy's child.

I wasn't supposed to care for him.

The pregnancy test feels like a ticking bomb in my hand. With shaking fingers, I wrap it in toilet paper and bury it deep in the bathroom trash.

I can’t deal with it right now.

Through the bathroom door, I hear a sharp knock at my apartment entrance. My pulse jumps into my throat as I quickly wash my hands, smoothing my hair in the mirror.

"Coming!" I call, my voice steadier than I feel.

When I open the door, Carlos stands there, his face unsmiling beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.

"You look terrible," he grunts, pushing past me into the apartment.

"Thanks. always the charmer." I close the door, instinctively touching my stomach before catching myself. "I wasn't expecting you."

Carlos's eyes scan the apartment, ever vigilant, ever suspicious. "Clearly. You should always be expecting me. Or him ."

The way he says 'him' leaves no doubt about who he means. "Especially after what happened with the weapons deal."

Pride flickers briefly in his eyes, and I hate how much I still crave his approval.

"Lorenzo was furious," I say, sitting on the arm of my sofa. "The whole family was. I heard Matteo had to beg the Vietnamese official to reconsider."

"Good." Carlos paces the small living room, hands clasped behind his back. "That was just the beginning. I have more news."

The way he says it sends a chill down my spine. I know that tone. It's the one he used when he first showed me proof of Luciano's death, when he laid out his plan for me to infiltrate the Bellanti organization.

"What news?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know.

"Gabriel," he says simply.

My blood runs cold. "What about him?"

Carlos stops pacing, turns to face me fully. "Lorenzo has him. In the basement of that club."

"How do you know this?" My voice sounds distant.

"I have my sources. The same ones who told me about the weapons deal." Carlos steps closer, his eyes boring into mine. "Sofia, this is our chance. Gabriel knows everything—shipment routes, offshore accounts, names of corrupt officials. If he testifies, the entire Bellanti empire crumbles."

"And if Lorenzo kills him before that can happen..." I let the sentence hang in the air between us.

"Exactly." Carlos's hand lands on my shoulder, heavy with expectation. "You need to get him out. Tonight."

My laugh sounds brittle even to my own ears. "Are you insane? The basement is guarded. Lorenzo doesn't trust anyone with prisoners except his most loyal men."

"But he trusts you." Carlos's voice softens, becoming the voice of the uncle who comforted me after nightmares, who taught me to shoot, to fight. "He let you in once before, didn't he? When he was injured."

I cross my arms over my chest, over the secret growing inside me. "That was different."

"Was it?" Carlos moves to the window, gazing out at the New York skyline. "I've watched you these past weeks, Sofia. You're changing. Softening toward him."

"I'm playing my part," I snap, too quickly.

Carlos turns, his expression suddenly gentle in a way that frightens me more than his anger. "Do you remember what they did to Luciano? What he did?"

My throat tightens. "Of course I remember."

"They tied him to a chair in that basement," Carlos continues, his voice relentless. "For three days, Lorenzo tortured him. Broke his fingers one by one. Cut pieces from him. And when they finally shot him, it was a mercy."

"Stop." The word tears from my throat.

But Carlos doesn't stop. He pulls out his phone, and I know what's coming. The video I've seen too many times, that plays in my nightmares. "Maybe you need a reminder—"

"I said stop!" I knock the phone from his hand. It clatters to the floor, and for a moment we both stare at it, breathing hard.

"Don't forget why you're here," Carlos says finally, retrieving his phone. "Don't forget what Lorenzo Bellanti really is beneath that charm. He's the family's enforcer. Their butcher." His eyes narrow. "The man who made your brother beg for death."

Something shifts inside me. Of course, it's far too early for it to be the baby—but something moves all the same. Guilt, perhaps. Or determination.

"I know what I have to do," I whisper.

After Carlos leaves, I sit in silence for a long while, hands resting protectively over my stomach. Then I rise, eager to get this over with. Maybe after everything is done, I can move to a faraway country and raise my child alone.

Night falls as I prepare. I put on dark clothes and tuck my hair beneath a cap.

The club is busy when I arrive, music pulsing through the walls, oblivious patrons dancing and drinking above the basement where Gabriel waits to die.

I slip in through the kitchen, nodding to a cook who barely glances at me—just another employee coming in for a late shift.

The hallway to the basement is empty, the guard missing from his usual post. Probably for a smoke break.

I punch in the code to the basement with trembling fingers, and the door clicks open.

Gabriel looks up as I enter, his face a mosaic of bruises, dried blood caking his split lip. Confusion flashes in his eyes as I remove my cap, red hair tumbling free.

"Who are you?" he whispers.

"Hurry," I whisper back, working at his restraints. "We have little time."

His wrists are raw when the zip ties finally give way. He stands on shaky legs, leaning against me. "Why are you helping me?"

I think of Luciano. Of Lorenzo. Of our baby. "Let's just say I have my reasons."

We make it out through a service tunnel Carlos told me about, emerging three blocks away from the club. Gabriel grips my hands, his battered face shining with gratitude.

"Thank you," he says. "I'll never forget this."

I nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat. He disappears into the night, and I return to my apartment, heart hammering against my ribs.

It's done. Whatever happens now, it's done.

Hours later, a knock at my door jolts me from a restless sleep. Not the sharp rap of Carlos's knuckles, but a heavy pounding that makes the hinges rattle.

I wrap my robe tighter around myself, heart hammering against my ribs. Who could it be at this hour? The pounding comes again, more insistent this time.

My hand trembles as I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open.

My breath catches in my throat.

Lorenzo fills the doorframe, his powerful frame somehow larger in my narrow hallway.

His usually loose dark hair is slicked back in a severe man bun that exposes the sharp angles of his face and reveals his eyes—green as poison, burning with cold fury. The elegant lines of his leather jacket can't disguise the tension radiating from his body.

In his hand, he holds a single strand of copper-red hair.

"Found this in the basement," he says, voice terrifyingly soft. "Right where Gabriel was being held before he mysteriously escaped."

My mind races, searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything. "I'm not the only redhead who works at the club," I counter, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

"True." He steps inside, uninvited, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. "But you're the only one with this."

His hand shoots out like a viper strike, grabbing my wrist where my bracelet dangles—the bell charm I never take off, a gift from Luciano on my sixteenth birthday.

"I heard this the night I was drugged," he continues, thumb pressing against my racing pulse. "Told myself I was imagining things. That you couldn't possibly have betrayed me."

The look in his eyes shatters something inside me—not just anger or suspicion, but genuine hurt. As if I've wounded him in some fundamental way.

He backs me against the wall, his presence consuming the oxygen in the room. "Did you deliberately approach my family?" he demands, voice rising. "Was all of this—us—just a way to get close enough to destroy us?"

I try to slip away, to create space between us, but he cages me in with his arms, palms flat against the wall on either side of my head.

"Lorenzo, please," I whisper, searching his face for any softness, any remnant of the man who held me so tenderly just days ago. "You don't understand—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks like thunder in the small apartment. "Tell me why the woman I was falling for just released the man who tried to destroy my family!"

Then something in me breaks. The weight of too many lies collapses.

"Yes!" I shout, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. "Yes, it was deliberate. And do you know why?"

Lorenzo stares at me, waiting, jaw clenched tight enough to snap.

"Luciano Bianchi," I say, and watch recognition flicker in his eyes. "He was my brother."

Lorenzo's brow furrows, confusion replacing anger for a moment. "What brother? I don't—"

"Luciano Bianchi," I repeat, my voice breaking on the name I've held inside for so long.

"The man you tortured and killed in that basement.

The only person I had left in this world.

" My hand finds the photo in my pocket, the one I've carried every day since his death.

I thrust it toward Lorenzo. "You took him from me, so I vowed to destroy everything you love. "

Lorenzo stares at the photo, his face draining of color. "I've never—I don't recognize this name." He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, loosening strands from the tight bun. "This man... I know this face, but I didn't kill him."

"Liar!" I spit, but something in his expression makes me pause.

"The last time I saw this man, he was alive." Lorenzo's voice is quiet now, almost pleading. "He walked into a deal that was happening at the club. I was drunk. I barely paid attention to him. I remember someone escorting him out, but he was alive, Sofia. I swear to you."

The room seems to tilt beneath my feet. Carlos's voice echoes in my head, showing me the video, telling me who was responsible. A wave of nausea hits me suddenly, violently.

I barely make it to the trash can by the kitchen when I double over and hurl all of my stomach's contents. I’m not prone to nausea; this must be from the new life growing inside me.

When I straighten, Lorenzo is watching me suspiciously.

"Lorenzo, there’s something else—We didn’t use protection," I whisper.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. His eyes—those fierce green eyes that have looked at me with desire, with tenderness, with rage—now glisten with moisture. For the first time since I've known him, I see tears forming, turning those emerald irises glassy.

"Sofia. Are you pregnant?"

I can't speak, can only nod, the confession tearing my soul open.

"Is it—" his voice hardens again, even as a single tear escapes down his cheek, "—is it even mine? Or is that part of your revenge, too? Make me believe I'm having a child, then take that away as well?"

The accusation slams into me like a physical blow. My hand moves before my mind can process what I'm doing. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoes in the quiet apartment.

"How dare you?" I seethe, trembling with rage and anguish. "How dare you question that? After everything between us, you think I would lie about our child?"

Lorenzo laughs, but it’s hollow and devoid of any warmth. He rubs his reddened cheek, eyes now completely dry, as if he's burned away any vulnerability in an instant.

"You know what the saddest part is, Sofia?" he says, his voice lethally quiet. "I thought you were different. Special. But you're just damaged goods playing dress-up in my world—another pretty face with a rotting soul beneath. I should have fucking listened to my suspicions.”

Each word is a knife, precisely aimed at my deepest insecurities. The cruelty of it steals my breath, makes my knees weak. I reach for the wall to steady myself.

"Lorenzo—" I reach for him, but he steps back.

Before I can say anything more, the door crashes open behind him. Carlos strides in, flanked by armed men I've never seen before.

His smile is cold, triumphant, as he levels a gun at Lorenzo's back.

"Perfect timing," Carlos says, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he presses the gun into the back of Lorenzo's head. "I finally have you exactly where I planned, Lorenzo Bellanti. ”