I stared at the security feeds, at the evidence of Antonio's surveillance, at the clear escalation of his threat. I thought of Sophie upstairs, sleeping in my bed, carrying my child. I thought of Livia, dead because I couldn't protect her.
I wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"If he wants war," I said, my voice deadly quiet, "I'll send him to hell. This ends now."
Enzo nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'll alert the men."
As he left, I returned to my study and spread the surveillance photos across my desk again. I stared at the image of Sophie, at the medical chart revealing her pregnancy—revealing my weakness to the world.
My jaw clenched, determination hardening within me like concrete setting.
"He has no idea what he's really threatening," I murmured to the empty room. "But he's about to find out."
CHAPTER 12
Sophie
Isat cross-legged on the bed, hands pressed flat against my stomach. There was nothing to feel yet—no bump, no movement, nothing to indicate the life growing inside me. Just the knowledge that everything had changed.
My fingers traced small circles over the silk of my nightgown. "What am I going to do with you?" I whispered to my belly. The room swallowed my words, leaving me alone with my fears.
Vittorio hadn't returned to the bedroom since our night together. The memory of his touch lingered on my skin, but his absence spoke volumes. Had it been just relief, adrenaline, the celebration of survival? Or something more?
And now there was this—this tiny, fragile secretgrowing between us.
I'd rehearsed the words a hundred different ways.Vittorio, I'm pregnant. It's yours. We're having a baby. I know this changes everything.Each version sounded more ridiculous than the last. How could I tell a man like him—a man who calculated every move, who saw people as assets or liabilities—that I carried his child?
Would he see me differently? As a vessel, a means to an heir? As leverage in his war with Antonio?
The thought of Antonio knowing about the pregnancy before Vittorio sent ice through my veins. I'd seen the way he looked at me—like I was property that had been stolen. What would he do if he knew I carried his brother's child?
I paced the length of the room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The windows were bulletproof, the doors monitored, the entire estate a fortress. But I'd never felt more exposed.
A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," I called, quickly dropping my hands from my stomach.
Lila entered, carrying a silver tray with a teapot and a cup. Her keen eyes took in my disheveled appearance, the untouched breakfast from earlier, and the rumpled bedsheets.
"You haven't eaten," she said, setting the tray on the bedside table.
Not a question.
"I'm not hungry."
She poured tea into the delicate porcelain cup, the aroma of chamomile filling the air. "The body needs nourishment, especially when it's working twice as hard."
My head snapped up. "What do you mean?"
Lila's weathered face softened. "I've raised three children of my own, Miss Sophie. I know the signs." She pressed the warm cup into my hands. "Drink. It will help with the nausea."
Tears pricked my eyes as I accepted the cup. "Does everyone know?"
"No." She sat beside me on the bed, her small frame barely making an impression on the mattress. "But secrets have a way of revealing themselves in this house. Walls have ears, and hearts have eyes."
I sipped the tea, letting its warmth spread through me. "I don't know what to do, Lila."
"You tell him."
