I'm nursing my third cup of coffee when my phone finally rings. Roberto's number flashes on the screen.
My heart pounds as I answer. "Mr. Bonacci."
"Mr. Lombardi. We need to meet."
His voice gives nothing away - no anger, no approval, just the flat tone of a man conducting business.
"When and where?"
"One hour. Romano's restaurant, same room as before."
"I'll be there."
"Come alone. This conversation is between you and me."
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at the phone and trying to read meaning into those few words. He didn't sound murderous, but he didn't sound welcoming either.
I dress carefully in a tailored dark suit and tie, showing respect for the formality of the situation. Whatever Roberto has decided, I need to face it with dignity.
Even if it’s death.
The drive to Romano's takes twenty minutes, long enough for me to run through every possible scenario. Approval with conditions. Refusal with the option to leave town. Refusal with a death sentence.
I'm prepared for all of them.
What I'm not prepared for is the expression on Roberto's face when I walk into the back room. He's sitting at the same table where we met before, but there's something different about him.
Something that looks almost like... satisfaction?
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I take the seat, keeping my hands visible on the table, my expression neutral. "You've made your decision."
"I have. But first, there's something important you need to know."
"What's that?"
Roberto leans back in his chair, studying my face. "My daughter is pregnant."
Pregnant.
Everything I’ve been feeling expands and contracts at once - joy, terror, overwhelming protectiveness, and something so fierce and possessive for my unborn baby and Viviana it nearly knocks me breathless.
Viviana is carrying my child.
My hands grip the edge of the table to keep them steady. A baby. Our baby. The child we created together is growing inside her right now.
"When did she find out?" I manage to ask.
"She told her mother yesterday after three positive tests."
Three tests.
She wanted to be sure before she told anyone. The image of her taking those tests alone, maybe scared or even hopeful, makes me physically hurt for her.
"How is she doing?"
"She’s experiencing a little morning sickness. And she’s tired after everything she’s been through. Also scared about becoming a mother so young. As you know, she’s barely more than a child herself."
