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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ava

" Ti amo ."

The words hang in the darkness between us, unexpected and devastating. Stefano's breathing is already evening out into sleep, like he hasn't just shattered every wall I've carefully built. Like he hasn't just made everything infinitely more complicated.

I lie perfectly still beside him, years of training keeping my own breathing steady despite how my heart pounds. His arm is heavy across my waist, warm and possessive even in his sleep. Protecting what he thinks is his.

If only he knew.

I shouldn't be here. I should have stuck to the plan—get intel, get paid, get out. Simple. Clean. Professional.

Instead, I'm lying in Stefano Rega's bed, carrying his child, listening to him murmur "I love you" in his sleep like it's the most natural thing in the world.

God, what a mess.

My training kicks in automatically, analyzing my options. The Fiori meet is in two hours. They're expecting information about the Wednesday deliveries.

Information that could harm the father of my child. The man who just said he loves me.

The man I might love back.

The thought hits like a physical blow, making me bite back a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. Because of course this would happen. Of course I'd fall for my mark. Of course the universe would have this cosmic joke planned for me.

Stefano shifts in his sleep, pulling me closer. His skin is warm against mine, familiar now in ways that terrify me. I know the rhythm of his breathing, the cadence of his heartbeat, the way he unconsciously seeks contact even in sleep.

I know him.

And that's exactly why I can't go through with any of this.

I can't betray him to the Fioris, even if there’s little chance the intel I’ll give them might harm him. I can't risk his empire crumbling. I can't let our child grow up with that legacy.

I can't keep pretending this is just another con.

My fingers shake slightly as I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen's glow feels harsh in the darkness, but I force myself to focus. Time to be professional. Time to do what needs to be done.

I text Tony to check where he is and, unsurprisingly, he’s not at the motel.

Meet me at the club in one hour. Non-negotiable.

His response is immediate, full of teenage attitude.

WTF? It's the middle of the night.

One hour. Or I leave without you.

I turn the phone face-down before he can argue further. The guilt of threatening him sits heavy in my chest, but it's nothing compared to what I'd feel if I let the Fioris anywhere close to Stefano.

Beside me, Stefano murmurs something in Italian, his arm tightening around my waist. For a moment, I let myself imagine staying.

I imagine telling him everything, trusting that his love will be stronger than my betrayal.

But I've seen what happens to people who betray Stefano Rega. They call him the Monster. It isn't just a nickname.

You're protecting him, I remind myself. Him and the baby. Better he hate me for running than destroying himself trying to save me from the Fioris.

I start my exit with the precision of a master thief. First, carefully sliding out from under his arm, replacing my body with a pillow in one smooth motion. Then, gathering my clothes from where they landed earlier, each movement silent and deliberate.

The moonlight catches on his face as I dress, and I allow myself one moment of weakness. One moment to memorize the curve of his jaw, the scatter of stubble, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead.

One moment to remember him like this—peaceful, vulnerable. Mine.

Then I shut it all down. I lock away the emotions threatening to overwhelm me, focusing on the practical.

Money. Documents. Escape routes.

Time to be the professional my parents trained me to be.

Even if it kills me.

* * *

The penthouse feels different in these pre-dawn hours, all shadows and sharp edges where there was warmth before. I move through it like a ghost, gathering only what's essential.

My real ID. The cash I've saved from dancing. The small knife my father gave me, inscribed with our family motto. Survive first, feel later.

Ironic, considering how much my feelings are threatening to choke me right now.

My hand catches on the doorframe of his closet as a wave of dizziness hits. Morning sickness or guilt, I'm not sure anymore. The suits hanging there mock me with their perfect order. Everything about Stefano is ordered, controlled.

Except how he loves. That's as wild and dangerous as he is.

Slowly, I grab my clothes and head back to the living room.

The keys to his car, the one he gave me without hesitation, without demands, sit heavy in my palm. I place them carefully on his dresser, next to his watch and wallet.

I can't take anything he gave me. I can't leave any threads that might lead back to us.

In their place, I take the keys to my old clunker from my bag. The car's probably barely roadworthy, but it's mine. Clean. Untraceable.

My dance bag is still by the door where I left it earlier, before everything changed. Before the "I love you" and impossible choices. I check its contents automatically—clothes, makeup, the bare essentials I'll need until we can get somewhere safe.

I stuff the rest of my clothes inside and notice the burner phone protruding from the side pocket of the bag.

I should destroy it, but something makes me hesitate. One last lifeline, maybe. Or one last mistake waiting to happen.

In the kitchen, I start to write a note, then stop. What could I possibly say?

Sorry I lied about everything? Sorry I'm running? Sorry I'm carrying your child but I can't trust that you'd choose us over revenge?

Better to say nothing. Cleaner that way. Professional.

My father would be proud. My mother would understand. They had taught me well—how to slip away in the night, how to cauterize wounds before they can bleed you dry.

They just never taught me how to do it while carrying someone's heart in my hands.

Or their child in my body.

I press my palm flat against my stomach that is still unchanged but somehow different now that I know for sure. Now that I'm choosing this path for all of us.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the silent penthouse, to the man sleeping in the other room, to the life growing inside me. "I'm so sorry."

But sorry doesn't change what needs to be done.

The elevator waits, but my feet carry me back to the bedroom doorway. One last look. One last moment of weakness.

Stefano sleeps peacefully, unaware that his world is about to shift, that everything he thinks he knows about me is a lie. That somewhere inside me, his child is growing.

"I love you," I whisper into the darkness, the words catching in my throat. "God help me, but I do."

He doesn't stir. Of course he doesn't.

I slip from the room.

The elevator doors slide open silently, ready to take me away from everything I never meant to want.

Everything I can't keep.

It's better this way , I tell myself as I step inside. Better to leave him with anger than destroy him with truth.

Even if it means destroying myself in the process.

* * *

The elevator descends smoothly, each floor marking another step away from the life I could have had. Forty-two floors to second-guess everything. Forty-two chances to turn back.

I don't.

My reflection in the polished elevator walls shows a woman I barely recognize, hair slightly mussed from Stefano's hands. Lips still swollen from his kisses. Eyes harder than they should be, considering what just happened in his bed.

Professional. Keep it professional.

The mantra steadies me as I count security cameras, note guard positions, track the gaps in coverage I've spent weeks memorizing. The night shift is lighter, something I'd filed away automatically, never thinking I'd use it against him like this.

Floor twenty-eight. The cameras in the east stairwell will be switching feeds.

Floor fifteen. Matteo starts his rounds, always clockwise.

Floor seven. The service entrance will be unlocked for the early deliveries.

I know every detail of Stefano's security because he trusted me enough to let me see it. He trusted me in his home, his bed, his life.

And I'm using it all against him.

My hand drifts to my stomach again.

"We're doing the right thing," I whisper, though I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince—myself or this tiny life that's changed everything.

The lobby is empty except for the night security guard, Joey, who always sneaks cigarettes by the loading dock at three a.m. He doesn’t notice me as I pass right behind him.

Outside, the night air hits me like a slap. Chicago sprawls around me, all glittering lights and dark promises. Somewhere out there, Tony's waiting, probably cursing my name. Somewhere out there, the Fioris are expecting information I'll never deliver.

And forty-two floors above me, Stefano sleeps, unaware that his world is about to change.

My old car sits in the far corner of the garage, looking even more pathetic next to the luxury vehicles surrounding it. But it's mine. Clean. Safe.

The key slides into the ignition, and for one terrifying moment, I think it won't start—that fate or karma or just bad timing will trap me here.

But the engine turns over, coughing to life like it knows what's at stake.

Time to go.

Time to run.

Time to save everyone by leaving everything behind.

I just hope someday, somehow, Stefano will understand why I had to go.

Even if I don’t quite understand it myself.

* * *

The club's neon sign cuts through the fog, painting The Silk Rose in shades of purple and blue.

Tony's hunched figure paces near the service entrance, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Even from here, I can read the tension in his shoulders, the angry set of his jaw.

I pull up beside him, rolling down the window. "Get in."

"What the hell, Ava?" He yanks the door open but doesn't get in. "It's the middle of the night. I was hanging with?—"

"Now." My voice comes out harder than intended, making him flinch. "We're leaving. All of it. Tonight."

Something in my tone must reach him because he slides into the passenger seat without further argument. The car dips with his weight, the suspension groaning in protest.

"Where's the fancy car?" he asks as I pull away from the curb. "The one your sugar daddy gave you?"

"Don't." The word comes out sharp, dangerous. "Don't talk about him like that."

Tony turns to study me, and sometimes I forget how perceptive he can be when he's not lost in his own problems. "Holy shit. You actually care about him."

I keep my eyes on the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "We need to stop at the motel. Get our things. Then we're gone."

"Just like that? No explanation? No?—"

"Yes, just like that." I take a corner too fast, making us both grab for support. "It's what we do, isn't it? Run before things get messy. Before people get hurt."

"Before you get hurt, you mean."

The words hit hard. Because he's right, isn't he? I'm running to protect Stefano, to protect our baby, but also to protect myself. From love. From trust. From everything I've spent my life avoiding.

We ride in silence until we reach the motel. Tony follows me up to our room, watching as I gather our meager belongings with mechanical efficiency.

I’m glad I didn’t get much of my stuff to Stefano’s apartment when Tony decided to stay here. Makes my escape just a bit easier.

"What about school?" he asks quietly.

I pause in the middle of shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "Since when do you care about school?"

"Since I started actually showing up." He sits on the bed, suddenly looking very young. "I'm getting better grades. Made some real friends. Not just...you know."

The guilt threatens to choke me. Because he's right, he has been doing better lately. While I've been losing myself in Stefano, my brother's been quietly putting his life together.

"We can't stay." I zip the bag closed with more force than necessary. "It's not safe anymore."

"Because of the Fioris?”

The bag slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a thud. I turn to face him slowly. He needs to know the truth.

I take a need breath and blurt it out. After the initial shock, he says, "It's his, isn't it? Stefano's?"

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

"Then why are we running? He's got money, power. He could protect us…"

"He could kill us," I cut in. "Once he finds out what I was really doing at the club, and who I was working for."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "The Fioris. Shit, Ava."

"Yeah." I sink down beside him on the bed. "Shit."

For a long moment, we just sit there, shoulders touching like when we were kids. Back when all we had was each other.

"Montana?" he asks finally.

"Montana," I confirm. "Wide open spaces. Fresh air. A chance to start over."

"With my niece or nephew." His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "We'll figure it out, sis. We always do."

The simple acceptance in his voice nearly breaks me. Because this is why I do everything—for him, and now for this baby, and for a chance at something better than what we were born into.

"We need to go," I say, standing before the tears can fall. "Long drive ahead."

Tony grabs the bags while I do one final sweep of the room. No traces. No trails. Nothing to lead back to us.

Outside, the sky is starting to lighten, Chicago's endless night giving way to dawn. As we pull onto the highway, I allow myself one glance in the rearview mirror. At the city skyline. At the life I'm leaving behind.

At the man who's probably still sleeping, unaware that his world is about to shatter.

"I'm sorry," I whisper one last time.

Then I turn my eyes forward, toward Montana, toward freedom.

Toward whatever future we can carve out for ourselves.

If we make it that far.