But even with her hand in mine and peace sitting warm in my chest, I’m not stupid enough to forget the truth.
Good things don’tlast long in my world. War is brewing.
And Giacomo won’t stayquiet forever.
Next time he comes for us, I’ll be ready.
22
BEATRICE
Three months later…
“I feel enormous,”I grumble, shifting as I try to climb out of the SUV. “Since when did this get so hard?”
Matteo laughs from the driver’s seat—deep, effortless, the kind of sound that always softens something in my chest.
“I told you to wait.Stay in your seat. You’re carrying precious cargo.”
He gets out, rounds the front, and opens my door wider, offering his hand with a smug little smile.
“Mi amore,” he teases.
“If your baby wasn’t blocking the view of my feet, I’d kick you,” I mutter, glaring at him. “Why are you like this?”
He only laughs harder, and despite myself, I take his hand. I brace, inhale, and haul myself out—but instead of landing on my own two feet like a dignified adult, I fall straight into his chest. His body absorbs the impact easily, and his laugh rumbles against my cheek.
God, I’ll never get tired of that sound. He barely gives it to anyone—just Valerio, sometimes Marcello, and me. When he does, it hits me right in the heart, every time.
I lift my head, ready to throw another comment over his shoulder, when suddenly his palm covers my eyes.
“Matteo!” I squeal. “What are you doing?”
“Close your eyes or you’ll ruin the surprise.”
“A surprise? Seriously?”
“Humor me, amore.” He kisses my cheek, his hand still blocking my vision. “Just keep them shut while I put this on.”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. But remember I’m eight months pregnant, Matteo. I cannot be on my feet too long. I have cankles.”
“You do not have cankles.”
“Yes, I do.” His hand drops away but my eyes stay closed. He turns me gently, guiding me. “And if you let me trip over a pebble, I swear?—”
“Relax.” The blindfold slides over my eyes. “Can you see anything?”
“Matteo,” I draw out, “I’m already basically blind at this point. This is cruel and unusual punishment. Blindfolded at eight months pregnant? With the balance of a toddler? A safety hazard if I ever heard one. What kind of psychopath?—”
“Trust me,”he says as his palm slips into mine. He threads our fingers together, grip firm, steady. “I’m not letting you fall. Baby should be about the size of a watermelon today.”
My heart hums at the sound of it.
“Feels like she’s the size of Mount Rushmore,” I mutter—right as a sharp kick cracks into my ribs. “Ow. That one hurt, little one.”
Matteo chuckles low against my ear, his other hand settling over my belly. “Well, you did compare her to a mountain.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see. “Can we get this surprise moving? The baby is craving Hot Cheetos again.”
