And then there’s the other thing, the results folded into the side pocket of my bag under a zipper I keep checking to make sure it hasn’t unzipped itself and spilled onto the floor, where anyone could see.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the balcony door and watch my reflection. Streetlights, a parked car, a delivery bike cutting past with a red blink. The city moves, indifferent to individual turmoil. I try to borrow some of that indifference and fail.
What am I doing waiting?
Because it’s not the right time. Because a machine is still breathing for Antonio. It wouldn’t be fair to put something else on Roberto right now. Not when they all have their brother to worry about.
And revenge.
I know it’s happening. No one said it to me, but I could feel it in the room. See it on the shoulders of everyone in there. There is going to be revenge, and if I’m going to be in Roberto’s life, I need to accept that. I press my palm to my stomach and walk away from the glass.
This isn’t how I planned my life.
I’m not some psycho who plans everything down to the minute, but I had a general idea of how it was going to go. I had an outline. Milestones. Pay off loans, build my portfolio and reputation.
Maybe get a dog someday when my hours are closer to normal. Find a person who makes me feel wanted, who makes breakfast, and asks about my day because he actually wants to know.
I didn’t pencil in “fall in love with a man whose last name makes headlines” or “donate blood and get news that changes the rest of your life.”
I walk to the bathroom and stare at the mirror like it might give me direction. The woman in the glass looks tired and too bright at the eyes. I open the medicine cabinet and take down my vitamins.
I pull the paper from my bag. I don’t want to, but I do. “RAPID HCG: POSITIVE.” The highlighter strip looks juvenile and cheerful and completely wrong for the context.
Below it, a bullet list: confirm with serum test, prenatal vitamins, avoid alcohol, schedule appointment. Ordinary language for a thing that doesn’t feel ordinary at all.
I refold it and slide it back where it was. I stand with my hands on the counter and breathe until my heartbeat steps down from a sprint to a jog.
Tell him now, my brain says.
Tell him when Antonio wakes up, my gut answers.
But how? In his office, impersonal and businesslike? In his kitchen, over the island where we ate eggplant and gelato? I don’t know if there’s a good way to say, “I know we didn’t plan this, but I’m carrying your child.”
I should sleep. I know I should. If someone calls at 4:00 in the morning, I want my head clear. If Caterina needs me, I want to be able to drive. If Roberto texts… I close my eyes. I don’t know what I want if Roberto texts.
I want him, and I don’t. I want to tell him, and I want to sit with the information alone for a few more hours when it’s just mine.
He said he loved me.
I walk to my bedroom and set my alarm. I crawl into bed and lie on my side, hands under my cheek like I’m twelve. The ceiling is there like it always is. The city outside my window is bright and alive, like it always is. Everything looks familiar. Nothing feels like it used to.
Chapter Forty
Roberto
The waiting room has thinned, leaving only the sound of quiet voices in the halls and machines beeping.
Giovanni finally let me push him out an hour ago—Bianca was fading, and Stephano’s with the nanny. Elena left to give their nanny a break; one-year-old Alessandra is just starting to walk and is a handful.
Vito was long gone, pulling more threads. Nico tried to go with him, but Luca felt it wasn’t the right time for him to be doing that. Let Vito track some leads down and call when he finds something.
Nico wouldn’t leave at first. He sat there wearing Antonio’s dried blood, eyes fixed on the ICU doors as if stubbornness alone could fix it.
Luca had to pull rank as his father to finally get Nico to go home. It still took multiple tries. He finally left, jaw locked so tight, it’s a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter.
Now it’s just me and Luca.
He sits, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, thumb rubbing a groove into his knuckle. I stand half the time, pace the rest, counting steps between the vending machines and the double doors until the numbers repeat and lose meaning.
