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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ava

The city lights blur past the car window as I drift in and out of sleep, still exhausted from this morning's drama. Amazing how quickly your mind can jump to the worst conclusions when you're stressed.

One bout of nausea and I convinced myself I was pregnant. Surely, it’s just classic paranoid overthinking.

Stefano's hand rests on my thigh as he drives, warm and steady. The gesture should make me nervous, should remind me of everything I'm risking, but right now, it just makes me feel...safe.

After spending the day with his family, seeing this other side of him, it's getting harder to maintain a professional distance. For a few hours, I let myself pretend I was part of a real family.

Angela seemed to like me, showing me her art projects and telling me stories about Stefano that made him actually blush. Even his mother, lost in her grief as she is, seemed to focus a bit more.

"Almost home," Stefano murmurs, squeezing my leg gently. "Feeling okay?"

I manage a sleepy nod. The nausea from this morning is mostly gone. All that’s left is a lingering queasiness that I blame entirely on whatever was in that staff meal last night.

Note to self: never eat lukewarm pasta from the club kitchen again, no matter how hungry I am after a shift.

"Maybe I should still take tonight off though," I say, fighting back a yawn. "Just to be safe."

He hums in agreement, and I close my eyes again, letting the motion of the car lull me. I should be planning my next move with the Fioris, should be figuring out how to play this situation to everyone's advantage.

Instead, I find myself thinking about the way Angela's face lit up when she talked about her art therapy, and how Stefano looked at her with such fierce protectiveness.

It’s the same way I look at Tony.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s probably Kira wondering where I am. I'll deal with that later.

Right now, I just want to hold onto this feeling a little longer.

This is a glimpse of what life could be like if I wasn't who I am. But guilt follows me into uneasy dreams, where I run through endless corridors trying to find something I've lost, never quite sure what it is that I'm missing.

* * *

The penthouse bedroom is dark and cool when I wake again. Stefano’s already gone to handle whatever needs his attention tonight.

I curl deeper into his ridiculously expensive sheets, trying to ignore how the room seems to tilt slightly when I move.

Just leftover food poisoning. Nothing more.

I repeat this to myself as I drift in and out of consciousness, too tired to even change out of my clothes from visiting his family. The memory of Angela's smile follows me into half-dreams. She’s so young, so full of life despite everything she's been through. She’s so different from Tony, who wears his suffering like armor.

My phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. Probably the club wondering where I am. Or worse—my Fiori handler wondering why I haven't arranged for a new meet.

"Five more minutes," I mutter into the pillow, sounding exactly like Tony on school mornings. The thought makes me smile, then wince as another wave of queasiness rolls through me.

Definitely should have skipped those leftovers.

The persistent buzz of my phone finally forces me to move. Three messages from Kira light up the screen:

Girl, where are you??? Matteo said you're sick?

These stomach bugs going around are the worst. Half the girls thought they were knocked up last month lol. At least you know you're not pregnant!

The last message hits me like a bucket of ice water.

Pregnant.

The word echoes in my mind, setting off alarms I've been trying to silence all day.

"No," I say out loud to the empty room. "No, it was just bad pasta. Just stress. Just…"

I close my eyes, a single, shaky breath escaping my lips. There's no point in pretending anymore.

Deep down, I already know.

* * *

I don't remember getting dressed or leaving the penthouse. One moment, I was staring at Kira's text, the next, I’m in the car Stefano gave me, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as I navigate Chicago's streets.

The 24-hour Walgreens glows like a beacon, a harsh fluorescent truth waiting to shatter my carefully constructed lies.

I park in the back, habit making me check sight lines and escape routes even now. Especially now.

Inside, the store is empty except for a bored cashier scrolling through his phone. The family planning aisle might as well be marked with neon arrows and alarm bells for how conspicuous I feel walking down it.

Keeping my face neutral, my movements casual, I grab three different brands of pregnancy tests. Always verify intel from multiple sources. That's what my father had taught me, though I doubt this is what he had in mind.

I add random items to my basket as well: shampoo, magazines, candy bars. Anything to make this look like a regular late-night shopping trip.

The cashier barely glances up as he rings me through, probably assuming I'm just another dancer from one of the nearby clubs.

If he only knew.

I consider going to the motel, to my brother.

He refused to come with me to the penthouse, and while it made me uneasy to let him live there on his own, Stefano assured me of his safety. And it’s for the best. My new living arrangement is part of the con, I can’t risk getting Tony more involved than he already is.

So I go home instead. To Stefano’s home.

The drive back feels endless. Every red light is an opportunity for panic to creep in. Every turn brings new possibilities I'm not ready to face.

My thoughts are a mess by the time I’m finally in the bathroom. Three tests are lined up on the counter like soldiers facing execution. Three chances to prove this is all just paranoia.

Three minutes that feel like three years.

I pace the small space, mind racing. If I am... What then? Run anyway? Stay? Tell Stefano? The Fioris?

The timer on my phone chimes, soft but devastating in the quiet bathroom.

Time to face the music.

I turn toward the counter and there they are.

Three tests.

Three positive lines.

Three impossible harbingers of a new reality.

"Well," I whisper to my reflection and to the life growing inside me, "I guess we're really doing this."

Options. I need options.

Stay with Stefano? Tell him the truth? Watch his face change when he realizes I've been spying on him—that I was the one hired to help destroy everything he's built?

No. He might love me, or think he does, but he's still Chicago's most dangerous crime boss. This is the man who destroyed the last family that betrayed him. I’ve seen first-hand how he treats his enemies, especially those who try to tarnish his reputation.

Run then. Take Tony and disappear. Use my connections to get new identities for us, and to start fresh somewhere the Fioris can't find us.

Except they will find us. They always do. And now there's a baby to consider. Stefano's baby. He'd never stop looking for us.

My burner phone feels heavy in my pocket, a reminder of debts owed. The Fioris are waiting for information. Waiting to strike.

Unless I go with my previous plan—the Wednesday deliveries.

If I report them as suspicious, hint at something bigger... I could get my payout, get Tony to safety, and warn Stefano before anything happens. A few days' head start is all I need.

I see the missed messages from my handler about failing to reschedule.

Sorry about before. Meet me tomorrow?

The response is immediate this time.

You're walking on thin ice. Tomorrow. 2AM. Don't be late.

One last con. One last lie. Then we're out.

I just hope I'm making the right choice.

Because if I'm wrong, we all end up dead.

But first, I need a plan. A real one. Something that gives us all a fighting chance.

* * *

I hide the burner phone in my bag and start planning. The Wednesday deliveries are perfect; regular enough to seem suspicious, far away to give me time. Three days to get my payout, warn Stefano, and get us all to safety.

I pull out a notebook, starting to map out the details. The timing of the trucks. The regular security rotations.

All true information that means absolutely nothing because the deliveries are legitimate and are just alcohol for the club. But with the right spin...

"Keep it simple," I mutter to myself, my father's first rule echoing in my head. "The more complicated the lie, the easier it falls apart."

My hand drifts to my stomach again. It's becoming a habit already, this unconscious need to protect what's growing inside me. What would my parents think, knowing their grandchild will be a Rega? That their careful plans to infiltrate Stefano's organization led to this?

Maybe they wouldn’t mind. They chose to abandon their plans when it came to the Regas—to focus on something bigger, but still. I can’t help but wonder what my life would look like if we hadn’t left so abruptly back then.

I shake the thought away, focusing on the key points I need to memorize. I'll feed the Fioris just enough truth to sound convincing, just enough details to get my payout.

I tear out the pages I've written, burning them in the bathroom sink. Can't leave evidence.

The nausea rolls through me again, gentler this time, like my body reminding me what's at stake. I close my eyes, letting the reality of it all sink in.

I'm pregnant.

With Stefano Rega's baby.

And I'm about to betray both the Fioris and the father of my child in one spectacular move.

God help us all.