I glance at her stomach, then back to her face.
“And if it’s true, baby…” I pause, heart pounding. “You have no idea how ready I am.”
The ER is colderthan it should be. White walls, bright lights, that sharp antiseptic sting in the air that clings to skin and clothes like smoke. But all I can see isher—half-conscious on the stretcher, lips cracked, hair tangled, blood soaking the shredded strap of her dress like a dark red sash.
They wheel her into the trauma bay with practiced urgency, calling out vitals, orders, assessments. I follow without permission. No one tries to stop me—they take one look at my face and know better.
Zara’s body jerks slightly when they lift her onto the hospitalbed. She winces, her arm an angry mess beneath the makeshift dressing. They move around her with practiced precision—cutting fabric, pressing gauze, checking her pupils. My stomach knots tighter with every shift of her expression.
She’s not dying. I know that now. The bullet missed anything vital. The fall rattled her, probably gave her a minor concussion, but she’s here. Awake enough to hiss at the nurse trying to swab her shoulder. Still biting back pain with a clenched jaw and a scowl that would terrify most men.
All of it just makes me want to kneel beside her and thank whatever god she pissed off for keeping her in one piece.
“Vitals are stable,” a nurse says from the foot of the bed. “We’ve notified OB for a consultation—patient mentioned possible pregnancy during transport.”
I turn to Zara and she’s already watching me. No fear in her eyes. Just steady. Fierce. That impossible calm she wears with such ease, like she’s already made peace with the wildfire she lit.
I move to her side, lacing our fingers together with a grip that’s more plea than comfort. My voice is meant for no one but her. “You said something in the ambulance.”
Her lashes lower, just briefly, before she lifts her eyes again. No excuses. No evasion.
“I took a test before the gala…” she starts, her voice thin but unshaken. “It wasn’t negative.”
My pulse stutters. I search her face, needing to be sure I heard her right. “What?”
Zara draws a breath, then exhales like she’s been holding this in for days. “It was positive. I found out just before we left.”
For a beat, the noise around us stops. Just the quiet kind of shift that changes everything in an instant. One truth heavy enough to recenter the axis of my entire goddamn universe. I stare at her—at the perfect curve of her mouth, the soft flush returning to her cheeks, the wild strength behind her eyes.
“You’re pregnant.” The words fall from my lips like a prayer I didn’t know I’d been whispering every time I came inside her.
She nods, the smallest movement. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t have let me walk onto that stage.”
“You’re fucking right I wouldn’t have.” I drop to my knees beside her bed, chest aching. “You were already risking everything with that speech, and you still walked into that ballroom with my child inside you?”
Her voice stays soft. “See? If I had told you, you would’ve locked me in the damn bedroom.”
I can’t argue, because she’s right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Enzo, I needed to do this. When I saw those two lines, it only strengthened me. I knew I wanted to end my past, destroy my family name to be sure that our child would be born into a new era. That they would never know him as I did.”
I let my hand drift to her stomach. Still flat beneath the hospital gown. I let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t deserve you, Angel. You’re so strong, so fearless. But from now on, you have to be more careful. You carrymein there too.”
She blinks quickly, emotion catching up with her. “I was scared,” she admits. “Not of the pregnancy. Of telling you. I know you’re okay with the kink, but it’s so fast, I wasn’t sure?—”
I stop her with a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face toward mine. “Do I seem like a man who isn’t ready?” My voice is steady. “Zara, I’ve fucked you on every surface possible. If I wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t have been dripping with me for the past month.”
Her lips twitch, the smallest smile breaking through the tremble. “You are filthy, Mr. Marchetti.”
“You bring it out in me, Mrs. Marchetti.” I kiss her hair, softer this time, but my hand slides down to press over her stomach, reverent and claiming all at once. “And now? I can’t wait to watch this body change. To watch you grow more beautiful every day while carrying what we made together.”
Her breath shudders, lips parting, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I whisper against her temple. “It’s lived in my mind from the moment I touched you. You carrying our child is everything I ever wanted. And the thought of every man looking at you and knowing I put it there—knowing I fucked you raw, filled you, claimed you—” My words roughen, almost feral, but I don’t let go of her gaze. “That isn’t just hot to me, Angel. That’s power. That’s forever.”
That gets a snort through her tears. “Jesus, Enzo.”
“I mean it.” My voice is rough now, the edge of it catching in my throat. “You think I wasn’t obsessed before? You’ve just activated a whole new level of unhinged.”
