I wake up in Matteo’s arms. For a moment, I let all the doubt slip away and allow myself that one singular moment of reprieve.
His warmth surrounds me, the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back grounding me in the early morning stillness. His arm is draped over my waist, his hand resting just above my hip, holding me close even in his sleep.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to sink into it—to close my eyes and pretend that nothing is wrong. That there isn’t a flash drive hidden in my nightstand, waiting to unravel everything. That I’m not holding a secret inside me, a possibility that could change my life forever.
But the moment doesn’t last very long because I feel movement behind me.
Matteo shifts slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the back of my shoulder. “You’re awake,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice thick with sleep.
I force a small smile, even though my stomach twists uncomfortably. “I was just enjoying the quiet.”
He hums in response, his hand skimming lightly across my stomach before settling against my waist again. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him studying me, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“You’re tense,” he finally says, his voice still low, but sharper now.
Crap.
I stiffen slightly, but then I school my expression, turning in his arms to face him. “Just tired.”
Matteo’s eyes search mine, and for a second, I think he might push—might call me out on the lie. But then he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll have someone bring you breakfast in bed.”
I shake my head, sitting up. “No. I’ll be fine once I’m up.” I force another smile. “Besides, I don’t like people preparing food for me anymore.”
I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. I shouldn’t have said that. The last thing either of us needs is to be reminded of the Emily incident.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter under my breath.
“I understand. The fridge has everything you could want. But I’ll ask Valerio to make any runs you need—for anything. I don’t want you wandering outside for too long.”
He brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. I lean into his touch and revel in its warmth for a moment longer. I close my eyes and will myself to hush the internal voice that keeps roaring loudly in my head.
When my eyes open, I meet his raging pupils that stare into the deepest parts of my soul. “You should get to work.”
His eyes flick over me once more before he finally nods.
I watch as he rises from bed, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves toward the closet. Matteo is not a man who misses anything, and I know that even though he’s letting this go for now, it won’t be for long.
So I do what I have to.
I fake another smile. I kiss him goodbye. I let him think that everything is fine. And then, as soon as the door closes behind him, I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
I fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it’s even worth looking at the flash drive—or if it’ll just bring new battles we’ll have to face.
The house is quiet as I make my way to the kitchen. A few of Matteo’s men nod in greeting, but I barely acknowledge them—my mind too tangled in itself. At first, the extra security bugged me, especially with the fact that they were now inside the house.
But as the days moved on, I got used to them. Now, I barely notice their presence unless they speak.
I brew a cup of tea, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic, hoping it will steady me. It doesn’t.
My stomach churns, and for a moment, I think it’s just the stress—the weight of everything piling onto my shoulders. But then a sharp nausea rolls through me, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching into the toilet.
I gasp for air, my forehead pressing against the cool porcelain as my body betrays me. My mind runs with wild ideas of what could have possibly upset me this bad. Is it that drive? Or is it the fact that I’m hiding something from my husband?
The flash of my ring against the light makes me pause. I flush the toilet and get myself back on my feet. My ribs scream in agony from the force they just underwent. I can’t remember the last time I got sick like this. Maybe it was what I ate yesterday—barely anything at all.
“Stress, it has to be stress,” I say to myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the edge of the sink, my hair curtains my face as I blink back the moisture. My reflection in the mirror is pale, my lips slightly parted as I take slow, measured breaths.
The wave of nausea passes, but my mind won’t quiet. Could I be…?
I shake my head, the blaring of my phone breaking my internal freak-out. I grab it with unsteady hands and see Ginny’s name flashing on the screen.
I hesitate for only a second. “Hey.”
The moment she hears my voice, she knows something isn’t right. “What is it?” This woman has begun to know me all too well now.
I close my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple. “I just don’t… I don’t feel well.”
Ginny is silent for a moment. “Are you sick?”
“A lot on my mind, I guess… and I just threw up, so maybe it was the tea? Or something I ate last night. I don’t know.”
Ginny remains silent on the other side of the line. I remove my ear from my phone to see if maybe she hung up. No, she’s still there.
“Ginny?”
She clears her throat but says nothing at first. Then she finally speaks, “Maria… when was your last period?”
The question lands like a punch to the stomach.
I blink. My mouth suddenly feels dry. It was the same thought I’d had just before she called—but one I refused to believe.
“I… I don’t remember.” I try to think back. I count back the weeks, and then I pause. “Oh, shit. Almost eight weeks ago, I think.”
“Oh my God,” Ginny breathes. “You need to take a test.”
A heavy, sinking weight settles in my chest. “No,” I say quickly. “It’s just stress. It’s—”
“Maria,” Ginny cuts me off, her voice firm but gentle. “Just take the test. I can bring one to your house right now if you want me to and—”
“No, don’t. You don’t have to do that. I can just have one delivered here.” I rush out, run a frantic hand through my hair, and then look up at the mirror. My eyes are wide, and I can see the fear floating in them.
Pregnant.
I grip the edge of the counter. My heart pounds so loudly, I can hear it echoing in my ears. A single word—pregnant—and it terrifies me more than anything I’ve faced before.
“You’re scared to find out you might be pregnant?”
I open my mouth to give her an answer, but the truth is I don’t know. With the flash drive nonsense still swimming in my head, I don’t know if I want to be pregnant right now. Giacomo is still a problem, and Emily is wandering the streets of New York, likely biding her time.
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the phone. “I don’t know. Matteo and I only just started getting along, and with him still at odds with Daniele, I don’t know if now is the best time to… have a baby.”
“Aww, honey. Whatever the outcome of the test, I am sure that he will stand by your side. The man loves you with everything he has in him.”
“I know.” The words slip past my lips, but I don’t even know if I believe them myself. “Look, I need to go, I will text you later, okay?”
I hang up before she can say anything else. Immediately, I order the test online and have it delivered to the penthouse.
“Ten minutes.” I check the delivery app—that’s how long it says it’ll take. My eyes lift back to my reflection, meeting it once more.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at myself, my pulse echoing in my ears. My hand finds its way to my flat stomach, and this sudden warmth overtakes me at the thought of a little life growing inside of me.
A baby. Our baby.
Being a mother has always been one of my greatest goals in life. I know that I was put on this earth to be one.
Then, without another thought, I step out of the bathroom and walk to the foyer to await my delivery. The guards watch me curiously, but they say nothing to me.
The doorman finally calls, and I allow the delivery man up. He hands me the box, and I make my way back to my room. I close the door behind me and head into the bathroom to pee on the damn stick. All the while, my mind goes round and round in circles trying to think out all the different scenarios.
I read the instructions—three minutes. That’s all it takes to rewrite my life.
I cap the stick, set it aside, and lay on the bed, trying to breathe through the storm building inside me.
The seconds tick by like minutes. Then my gaze snaps to the side table.
The flash drive—still hidden where I left it after the gala.
For days, I’ve gone back and forth, debating whether to open it.
“I need to know what’s in this thing.” I open the drawer and pull out the flash drive with shaking hands. I look back down at the pregnancy test that is still processing. “Let’s do this.”
I walk over to the desk where my computer sits, and with anxiety gripping my chest, I plug the drive into my computer. It’s now or never.
I stare at the screen, my breath caught somewhere between my ribs. My hand hovers over the trackpad, the small, blinking folder taunting me. With a deep breath, I double-click the folder.
A single video file sits inside. Antonio.mp4
My stomach churns violently. Why would Giacomo give me a video with my brother’s name on it? I already know that whatever is on this is going to shatter my heart. I can feel it.
My hand hovers over the play button, my fingers shaking. Every part of me is screaming to stop. To shut the laptop. To walk away.
But I can’t. I have to know.
I press play.
The screen flickers, grainy footage filling my laptop. The timestamp in the corner is from that night—the night he died. Oh my God…
The camera is shaky, like it was taken from a security feed or a hidden vantage point. The warehouse in the background is familiar, but what catches my attention first is him.
Antonio.
My breath stutters as I see my brother alive again, even if just on a screen. He looks worn—tense, on edge. He stands with a few men.
Suddenly, a canister clatters across the concrete floor, spinning before releasing a thick cloud of gas that quickly spreads through the warehouse. The men inside react instantly—hands going to masks, bandanas, anything to shield themselves. Antonio pulls his biker mask over his face, eyes narrowing as the haze swallows the room. The edges of the footage blur slightly from the fog, but the tension only sharpens. This wasn’t just a meeting. It was an ambush.
Then the warehouse door bursts open with a loud metallic bang. Figures step through the thick haze—shadows at first, until the camera adjusts.
My world tilts.
“He was there…” I barely hear my own voice.
I watch in a trance as he strides forward, his presence commanding even in the grainy footage.
Matteo emerges from the smoke like it parts just for him, moving with the kind of confidence that makes everyone else seem like background noise. His son is right behind him with a few other men, hands resting on their weapons.
As soon as they cross the threshold, they pull masks over their faces in one smooth, practiced motion—like they’ve done this before. Like they knew exactly what they were walking into.
Behind Matteo, his men fan out in swift, deliberate strides—ghostlike through the swirling gas, their silhouettes distorted in the flickering light. Everything is chaos: smoke clings to the floor, the hum of static from the footage cuts in and out, and every figure is masked, indistinct. It’s impossible to tell friend from foe.
Suddenly, a man lunges from behind a support beam, grabbing Daniele and pressing a gun to his head. Matteo reacts instantly—raising his weapon, aiming directly at the man.
“Put the gun down!” Matteo’s voice is firm, commanding, even through the haze of static audio. His gun doesn’t waver. He’s trying to talk the man down, waiting for the moment.
Daniele’s eyes are wide, locked on Matteo.
And then—before Matteo can shoot, another figure leaps into the frame from behind, moving fast, colliding with him.
Even through the grainy footage, I recognize the way he moves.
Antonio.
My breath stops.
He slams into Matteo with full force, knocking him off balance. The two of them crash to the ground, grappling as Daniele seizes the distraction. He slams his elbow into the attacker’s ribs, twisting hard, and manages to knock the gun away.
The fight splinters in two directions.
Daniele wrestles with the armed man, fists flying, until he grabs a broken pipe from the ground and slams it into the man’s skull. The body slumps.
But Matteo is still struggling.
He and Antonio are locked in a brutal, fast-paced fight. Blows land hard. Grunts, the scuff of boots, the static buzz of the footage. Neither is holding back.
Antonio throws a punch that nearly connects, but Matteo ducks, slamming him into a crate.
The camera shifts just enough to catch the flash of a blade in Antonio’s hand.
Matteo knocks it aside and reaches for his gun—but Antonio grabs his wrist. They wrestle, limbs locked, struggling for control. Somewhere in the blur—a gun catches the light. It shifts between them, caught in both their hands.
The camera trembles too hard to follow, turning the moment into a fever dream of chaos.
A shot rings out. Loud. Sudden.
A single, deafening crack that cuts through the static and smoke.
“No…” My fingers brush the screen just as someone pulls the trigger.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. No one breathes. The smoke swirls like a curtain over a stage, obscuring the cost.
I can’t tell who fired.
Can’t even tell, at first, who was hit.
But then—one of them drops.
Antonio.
Blood pools beneath him like ink spreading across paper.
Matteo stumbles back, breath caught in his chest, gun still trembling in his grip.
Antonio drops to his knees, then collapses to the floor, the mask still covering his face.
A sharp, gasping sob rips from my throat. I slap my hand over my mouth, my entire body locking up as the video keeps playing. Antonio lies motionless, but his chest lifts in short, shallow bursts. Still breathing. Still here.
Matteo scrambles forward, falling to his knees. His hands shake as he reaches out slowly—like something inside him already knows. He pulls the biker mask from the man lying in a pool of spreading red and freezes.
My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat.
He sees the face. The face of my brother.
Matteo goes pale. He recoils—his expression cracks—and for a single second, I see something flicker in his gaze.
Horror. Realization. Guilt.
Then the video cuts off.
The screen turns black, and it’s all over.
Silence.
Five minutes, thirty-four seconds.
That’s how long it took for my world to fall apart.
I sit frozen, staring at the black screen, my pulse hammering against my skull. For the first time, my mind is quiet, still reeling from shock of what I just witnessed.
No.
This can’t be real.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
It has to be manipulated—edited—something. Matteo wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But I saw it. I saw him do it.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, and before I can stop myself, I shove the laptop aside and sprint toward the bathroom. I barely make it before I’m on my knees, emptying what little’s left in me.
Everything inside me rebels, my body rejecting what I just saw, what I now know. When there’s nothing left, I slump against the wall, gasping for air, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I grip my stomach, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.
The timer on my phone goes off in my room. The test. The test is done.
I quiver against the cold tiles, but I find the strength to get back onto my feet. With shaking legs, I make my way back to my bed. I barely have the strength to hold myself up at the moment. I look down at my duvet, and I pause.
“Shit.” The curse leaves my lips softly, but the gravity of sorrow that it carries is immense. I look down at it again, making sure that I am seeing things correctly.
Pregnant: 8-9 weeks.
My world shatters. The word screams at me. There it is in big, bold letters. My body feels disconnected from my mind, as if I’m floating outside of myself, watching this moment from a distance.
A baby.
Matteo’s baby.
The man I just watched kill my brother.
A broken sigh escapes me as I stumble back against the counter, my stomach twisting into knots. My mind is a tangled mess of thoughts, none of them making sense, none of them offering relief.
Five minutes and thirty-four seconds. That’s how long the video was. That’s how long it took for my husband to shoot down my brother.
What the hell am I going to do?
I shake my head, whispering to myself, “No. No, this isn’t real.”
My brother is dead, and the man I love—the man whose child I am carrying—pulled the trigger. For weeks, I have mourned the death of my brother—my father’s sole heir. The entire reason I had to get married in the first place.
Now it all makes sense. Giacomo’s words to me the gala ring loudly in my head like a resounding gong. They clang against my skull with no remorse.
A sob claws up my throat, but I swallow it down, pressing my hand over my mouth. I can’t afford to break. Not yet. I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at nothing, lost in my own storm. Eventually, a soft knock at the door startles me back to reality.
“Signora?” One of Matteo’s men speaks from behind my door. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
A pause. Then, “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No. I just need a moment.”
Another hesitation. “Very well, Signora. I can send for a doctor if you need it.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay, you can just call if you need anything.” I hear the footsteps retreat from the door.
I release a slow, shaky breath, forcing my body to move. I can’t stay here.
With trembling hands, I walk back into the bathroom, and I wrap the pregnancy test in tissue and tuck it deep into the trash bin, as if hiding it could make it less real. As if pretending it doesn’t exist will stop the reality from closing in on me.
I move on autopilot, walking back to the bedroom. The laptop is still on the bed, the flash drive plugged in, the black screen like a gaping void, pulling me back into the nightmare. I force myself to shut it, tucking the drive away where Matteo won’t find it. Not yet.
Not until I know what to do.
Because right now, I don’t.
I have no answers. No plan. No idea how to move past the crushing weight of knowing that my child’s father is also my brother’s killer.
All I have is this secret growing inside me. And a truth that could destroy everything—that has destroyed everything.
What the hell am I supposed to do…
Carry his child while burying my brother?
Love a man I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive?
And the worst part?
I don’t even know if I want to.
