I know they say time heals all wounds, but so far, all time has done is sharpen the ache I’m carrying around.
I throw myself into my job, living up to everyone’s expectations—no, exceeding them—if the buzz around the office is anything to go by.
Executives smile when they see me, managers nod in approval, and my small cybersecurity team practically worships the ground I walk on. It’s both satisfying and draining, because each success reminds me who I’m not sharing it with anymore.
I demanded that Dante and I keep our distance, and he’s honored that demand. I see him in the corridors sometimes—a flash of his suit disappearing around the corner, or I’ll catch a glimpse of him in a meeting through the glass window of a conference room.
Every time, my heart tightens.
I can sense the tension in his posture, the barely contained storm in his eyes when they chance upon me. It’s mutual. When I feel his gaze from across the hall, my pulse hammers so fiercely I can hardly think. But we stay away from one another, an unwanted necessity that weighs on both of us.
Because it’s what I asked for, what I need.
I cling to the solace of being busy and good at my job. With each passing week, I refine the company’s cybersecurity—plugging holes, upgrading firewalls, and implementing advanced threat detection.
It’s exhilarating, in a way, like playing a massive game of high-stakes chess against the world’s hackers. My victories pile up, bringing me accolades and fueling the office gossip mill.
Meanwhile, Luca is thrilled about my split with Dante. It’s painfully obvious, from the smug curve of his mouth whenever we cross paths to the little remarks he drops in meetings about how ‘some people need to understand their place in the company.’
Usually, I ignore him or shut him down with a snide comment of my own. He’s not worth a confrontation.
This morning, however, I feel too queasy to spare him the mental energy.
I slip into the lounge with a carefully curated smile, hugging a steaming cup of ginger tea. My stomach has been acting up since dawn, churning with a mix of anxiety and something else I can’t quite name. I’m half-convinced it’s just stress, but a tiny, niggling fear in the back of my mind suggests otherwise.
“Morning, Ms. Smith,” Ethan, one of the junior analysts greets me, giving a shy wave. “You feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
I force a reassuring nod. “I’m fine. Just super busy.”
He gives a sympathetic smile and goes back to his conversation with a colleague, leaving me to my seat by the window. I breathe deeply, hoping the tea will soothe my roiling stomach.
Luca saunters in, all self-important swagger. The atmosphere instantly changes, people suddenly remembering they have somewhere else to be. Luca’s arrogance has that effect. He spots me immediately and makes a beeline in my direction, wearing a grin that sets my entire body on edge.
“Well, good morning,” he says with mock cheer. “How’s life treating you these days?” He grabs the coffee pot and fills a mug, not bothering to hide his smirk.
I lift my teacup to my lips. “Busy. Some of us have real work to do.”
“Ouch.” He presses a hand against his chest in mock offense. “You know, my schedule’s packed too. Just finished a meeting with Dad about a potential new partnership.” He turns, letting his emphasis on the word partnership dangle like a taunt.
I roll my eyes then take another sip of tea. “Good for you.”
He shrugs, stepping close enough to make me feel claustrophobic. “The office rumor mill says you’ve been killing it lately. Cyber queen status. Congratulations.”
I eye him warily. “Thank you.”
He leans in, voice dropping an octave. “But let’s be honest. All the success in the world doesn’t change the fact that Dad’s lost interest, does it?” His tone is light, but the jab is vicious. “You had your little fling, but he’s moved on. That has to burn.”
My pulse spikes with anger and a pang of hurt I refuse to show. I set my cup down slowly, rising to face him.
“You’re right about one thing. Your dad has moved on—from you, Luca. Because let’s be real, you’re irrelevant in this company. Everyone knows he only keeps you on the payroll out of familial pity, not because you’ve earned a damn thing.”
His smirk drops, jaw tightening, but he tries to laugh it off. “I wouldn’t talk about earning anything, considering you—”
“Considering I’m running circles around you,” I cut him off, my voice cold. “At least my position isn’t based on nepotism. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I pivot on my heel, leaving him standing there, speechless.
I let the lounge door swing shut behind me. The heat of my rage—along with the swirl of nausea—threatens to choke me.
I stomp back to my office, frustration pounding in my skull. Before I can even settle at my desk, my phone buzzes with a text message from the corporate assistant.
Need you in Dante’s office to clarify the new security measure. ASAP.
My heart does an annoying little flutter at the thought of stepping into his office again.
I gather my files, pressing a hand to my queasy stomach, and head to his office. The moment I step into the hall, I see Linda.
She’s standing just outside Dante’s door, wearing a tailored sheath dress and ridiculously high heels, flipping her shiny, honey-brown hair in a practiced gesture. She’s chatting with Janine, his executive assistant, though chatting might be generous—it looks more like Linda’s haughtily demanding something while Janine nods stiffly.
I pause, a new wave of nausea taking over. Linda’s visits have grown alarmingly frequent, each one unsettling me more. She casts a glance over her shoulder, and our eyes meet.
A triumphant little smile touches her lips.
I bristle. What is she doing here again? I want to march over to demand answers, but common sense wins out. She’d love the confrontation. Instead, I go around the corner, feigning an important phone call.
From there, I watch Linda sashay into Dante’s office. My stomach clenches. Is she? Are they? I slam the door on that thought. Dante might have ties to Linda as the mother of his son, but I know he can’t stand her. So what is she up to?
I hate how the possibility of her being back in his life makes my chest ache. Like a betrayal I have no right to feel, given I was the one who ended things.
Clutching my files, I stride away, ignoring the staffers who glance at me curiously. My vision blurs with a strong wave of nausea, and I barely make it into a restroom before I’m forced to lean over the sink, sweating and breathing hard.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment as two women from accounting pat my back in concern. I brush them off, offering a strained smile. “Too much stress and not enough sleep. I’m fine.”
Am I?
Because as I splash water on my face, I notice my reflection—pale skin, eyes wide with fear. Something is wrong. My body’s sending me signals I can’t ignore any longer.
The little plastic stick with the digital screen looks harmless enough, but that screen might as well be a crystal ball, showing me a future I never saw coming.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else. The instructions were simple enough, but my hands shook the entire time, every step making it more real, more impossible to ignore.
Now, I wait.
As the seconds crawl by, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess, my face white as a ghost. The stress, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, it’s all there, plain as day.
A faint beep.
I force myself to look.
A plus sign.
That tiny little symbol hits me like a freight train.
My stomach drops. My throat is dry. I press a shaky hand to my stomach, as if willing it to magically disappear.
I’m pregnant.
A million emotions slam into me all at once—fear, shock, hope, happiness, uncertainty—but mostly, sheer panic. I always wanted a family, just not like this. Not when I’m living under a fake name, tangled in secrets that could get me killed.
I pushed Dante away. What now?
My vision blurs, and I tighten my grip on the test, like holding it harder will somehow change the result. What the hell am I supposed to do? Should I tell Dante?
The idea of hiding this from him makes me sick, but the alternative of facing him, telling him he’s about to be a father scares me just as much.
Dante isn’t just ‘some guy.’ He’s Dante Bellacino. Mafia Don. CEO of the company I work for. Father to a grown son, Luca—my ex-boyfriend—who, along with his new wife, is hellbent on making my life miserable. Ex-partner to Linda Patterson, mother of said ex-boyfriend, who would love nothing more than to watch me crash and burn.
And me?
I’m Eva Petrova—the daughter of a murdered Bratva lieutenant.
I’m also now a walking, talking time bomb because if anyone finds out the truth, if they realize a Petrov is carrying a Bellacino baby…
I squeeze my eyes shut as a tear slips down my cheek. Damn it.
I could call Halsey. She’d tell me to run. Hell, she’d probably book the plane ticket herself. She’s always been the voice of reason, the one reminding me that mob life is a one-way ticket to disaster.
But this isn’t just about the mob. This is about Dante. The man who made me feel safe. The man who looked at me like I was his whole world. The man whose touch I still crave, despite everything.
The man who is the father of my child.
I grip the cold edge of the bathtub, forcing myself to take slow, steady breaths. One step at a time. No one knows yet. I have time to think, to figure this out, to decide if there’s a way forward that doesn’t end in complete disaster.
But no matter what I do, one thing is clear.
I’m carrying Dante Bellacino’s child. And sooner or later, he’s going to find out.
I squeeze my eyes shut, exhaustion pulling at me. This changes everything—my new identity, my job, all the lies I’ve built my life on.
A thousand thoughts swirl through my head, one standing out from the rest.
I can’t do this alone.
The only person who could truly help me is the one I’ve been keeping at arm’s length.
Tears slip free, silent and unrestrained.
I wash my face then pat it dry with a soft towel. The test sits on the counter, the plus sign staring back at me like a silent judge. With shaking hands, I tuck it away in a drawer. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
I grab my phone as I collapse onto the bed, clutching it against my chest. There are a hundred texts I could send, a thousand calls I could make.
But I can’t dial even one.
Maybe in the morning.
I close my eyes, letting exhaustion pull me under. A million plus signs flash behind my eyelids.
I have no idea where to go from here.
