Page 62 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

A NEW BEGINNING

I ’ve been moved back to the mansion. I don’t know what it means. Meatball greets me, and I’ve missed him. Irina hugs me to her and it makes me feel better. In a sense, she’s the mother I never had.

She doesn’t spend her energy on useless words just to hear herself speak. No, she’s an old soul, like Vukan. Her words have purpose.

I notice extra guards and reinforced gates. Locked-down halls that echo when I walk through them. The air feels too quiet, too tense—like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

Irina brought me tea in bed this morning, along with dry toast and crackers that don’t settle my stomach. The nausea started three days ago, and I haven’t told anyone yet.

Not even him. Not that I’ve had the chance.

After I dress, I head to the upstairs library to look out the windows, trying to hold myself together, hoping he is coming home any minute.

Joanne calls while I’m pacing. “Hey,” she says. Her voice is gentle, and she knows I’m worried. “Just checking in. You okay?”

I pause. Grip the edge of the window frame.

“No,” I whisper. “But I will be. I have to be.”

She waits.

“Is he safe?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think he’s trying to end it. All of it.” My voice cracks like it’s breaking open something I’ve kept locked too long.

Then there is the dull ache in my chest when he leaves a room. The way my heart makes double beats when he enters a room. I’ve fallen for Vukan.

Joanne’s quiet for a beat. Then?—

“Then you hold on. You hold on until he comes back. And if he doesn’t… You still hold on. Because you’re not the girl you were when this started. He loves you, he’ll come back for you.”

I press my hand to my belly and close my eyes. I hold on.

“I will. Thank you, Joanne.”

I shove lunch away and press the heels of my palms into my eyes like that will somehow stop the room from spinning. My sandwich, untouched. Tea, cold.

The nausea hits hard this time—sharp, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.

Irina sits across from me, perfectly poised with her legs crossed at the ankle, sipping black coffee like we aren’t living in a war zone.

She says nothing. Just watches. But she’s quiet. She has the eyes of a hawk. Nothing gets past her.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, more to the room than to her.

“Of course you are,” she replies, voice smooth and amused in that way only older Russian women seem to master. “You’ve barely eaten in three days, can’t stand the smell of coffee, and you’re glowing.”

I blink at her. “Glowing?”

She shrugs, sipping again. “Like a woman with a secret.”

I scoff. Push back from the table, pacing across the kitchen because sitting feels impossible. Everything feels impossible. Vukan’s been gone for days. I haven’t heard from him since the note. The world outside feels like it’s holding its breath, and I’m here—dizzy, nauseous, wrecked.

“I’m not glowing,” I mumble

Irina doesn’t argue. She smiles into her cup.

Meatball lies under the table. His head is on my foot.

I run a hand through my hair. “It’s stress. It’s hormones. It’s?—”

“—a baby,” Irina finishes softly.

My breath catches.

She doesn’t look at me when she says it. She doesn’t have to.

I freeze, heart skidding sideways. “No.”

“Da,” she says simply, setting her mug down. “You knew. You just didn’t want to know yet.”

I’ve been tired. I grip the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Her words echo, sink, settle.

A baby. Vukan’s baby.

I try to speak, but the words don’t come. My mind races with everything—his bloodied hands, his whispered promises, the way he held me like he already knew we would be together forever. I’ve never felt this way before, and I sure as hell don’t know what forever looks like.

But now?—

“You don’t have to tell him yet,” Irina says gently, rising from her seat. “You don’t have to decide anything today. You just have to breathe.” She leans forward and squeezes my hand.

It’s motherly. It’s intimate and I like it. She’s a sweet woman, and I find her presence comforting.

It’s something my father didn’t teach me. I will be a better parent. If my childhood taught me anything, it’s what not to do to your children.

She steps beside me, her hand calm and confident on my shoulder. “Men like Vukan… they live in fire. But sometimes, fire makes life too.”

I look at her. My eyes are tearing. Fuck, I’m emotional.

Her expression softens. “He will come back.”

“How do you know?”

She smiles. “Because now, he has something waiting that even he can’t walk away from.”

My hand drifts to my stomach.

Still flat. Still silent.

But no longer empty.

I’m not ready for this. Not in the way women dream of being ready. But some part of me—a deep, secret, defiant part—wants this life to grow. I will protect my child. I’ll have a life that needs nurturing, and I excel at it.

I’m great with children and animals. Meatball is still alive and doing well. I want to tell him. But only if he comes back.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

Irina squeezes my shoulder once. “Good. It means you love something enough to fear losing it.”

And for the first time since he left, there’s a fire and determination inside me that could move mountains.

He has to live. Not for revenge. Not for survival. Us.

He has to come home to us.