"That can't be right." But even as I said it, I knew it was. The timing fit perfectly—that night on Vittorio's desk. The memory crashed over me: his hands on my body, the desperate hunger between us, the moment when all our walls came down.
"The tests are quite clear," Dr. Rossi said gently, turning the tablet so I could see the results. Numbers and medical terminology swam before my eyes, but the conclusion was highlighted at the bottom:Pregnancy confirmed.
My hand moved instinctively to my still-flat stomach. A baby. Vittorio's baby. Growing inside me while I'd been trapped in this nightmare of family warfare and deadly secrets.
"You can't tell anyone," I grabbed his wrist, my fingers digging in with desperate strength. "Promise me. Patient confidentiality—this stays between us."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He glanced toward the door, then back at me. "Of course. That's your right."
"Swear it," I insisted. "No one can know. Not Vittorio, not anyone."
He nodded solemnly. "I won't be the one to tell him. Your medical records are confidential."
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by overwhelming fear. I was pregnant with the child of a mafia Underboss, caught in the middle of a war between brothers. What kind of world was I bringing a baby into?
Dr. Rossi prepared to leave but paused at the door. "Ms. Winters, given your… circumstances, I strongly recommend prenatal vitamins and reduced stress. I'll have some supplies sent to your room discreetly."
After he left, I was alone with the earth-shattering news. Through the window, I noticed a maintenance worker near the building, but something about his lingering presence made me uneasy. I shook off the paranoia—Antonio's influence was making me see threats everywhere.
Through the door's window, I caught Jonah leaning closer, his phone pressed to his ear. Had he been listening? My blood ran cold as I realized the thin walls might not have provided the privacy I'd assumed.
I'd never considered myself maternal. Never even thought about having children. But now, facing the reality of this pregnancy, a fierce protective instinct surged through me. This baby was mine. Part of me, part of Vittorio. And I would do whatever it took to keep it safe.
Through the window, I watched the guards outside. The younger one—Jonah, who the staff called "Babyface"—was speaking rapidly into his phone, his expression agitated. Something about his furtive manner made my skin crawl.
I couldn't make out his words, but his body language screamed guilt. He kept glancing around, making sure no one else was listening, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
When he ended the call, he immediately dialed another number. Then another. Whatever he was coordinating, it didn’t look like it was part of his low-level job.
My blood ran cold as understanding dawned. Jonah wasn't just making calls—he was reporting to someone. Someone who wasn't supposed to know about my condition, my location, or my status.
I watched as he spoke to the older guard, gesturing toward my room. The older man's expression grew troubled, then resigned, as if accepting something he didn't want to do.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened. A woman in white scrubs entered with a syringe in her hand and a medical tray. I'd never seen her before—not one of Dr. Rossi's usual staff.
"Time for your medication," she said, but her eyes avoided mine. Her hands trembled slightly as she set down the tray.
"What medication?" I backed away, every instinct screaming danger. "Dr. Rossi didn't mention any medication."
"Doctor's orders." She advanced on me, and I saw something guilty in her face. "You need to rest. Mr. Ricci's orders."
That was a lie. Vittorio would never order me sedated without telling me why. "I don't need medication. I feel fine." I moved around the bed, putting it between us.
"Please don't make this difficult," she said, her voice taking on a pleading tone. Her accent was different—not local. "I'm just following orders."
"Whose orders?" I demanded. "Because they're not coming from Dr. Rossi or Vittorio."
Her face went pale, confirming my suspicions. "Miss, please—"
"Who are you working for?" I pressed. "How much is Antonio paying you?"
The mention of Antonio's name made her freeze. Guilt flickered across her features before hardening into resolve.
"I can't... I'm sorry, but this has to happen."
The betrayal cut deep. Not just Jonah, but others in Vittorio's organization had been bought.
"How many of you?" I asked.
