My father had subjected my mother to this. Had left her at home, pregnant with my younger sister Isabella, while he conducted his business. Had expected her to smile and wait and never question where he went or what he did.
She'd loved him anyway. Despite everything. Despite the fear.
I'd sworn I'd never be that woman. Never love someone whose world demanded I live in constant terror of losing them. Yet here I was, wearing Luca's mother's ring. Carrying his child. Pacing an underground apartment while he faced death for me.
And I wouldn't change it. Wouldn't go back. Wouldn't choose safety over this terrifying, consuming love.
When had that happened? When had I stopped hating Luca Romano and started needing him like air?
Maybe it was the moment he'd knelt before me, pressing his forehead to my stomach and promising to protect our child. Or the night in the private lounge when he'd danced with me, sharing pieces of his past he'd buried deep. Or every small gift left on the counter, every gesture that saidI see you, I know you, I care.
Or maybe it was tonight, when he'd looked me in the eye and saidI choose youlike it was the easiest decision he'd ever made.
Love.
The realization settled over me with absolute clarity. I loved him. Completely. Terrifyingly. In a way that made tonight's waiting unbearable because I finally understood what I stood to lose.
My chest tightened. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, the recycled air suddenly not enough. I tried to breathe deeper but couldn't seem to get air into my lungs.
What if he didn't come back? What if I'd just realized I loved him only to lose him in the same night? What if our child grew up without a father because I'd been too stubborn, too proud, had pushed him into making impossible choices—
My vision blurred at the edges. The room tilted.
"Mrs. Romano?" Angelo was suddenly beside me, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. "You need to sit down. Now."
He guided me to the couch. I couldn't seem to catch my breath, each inhale short and sharp.
"Breathe slowly," Angelo instructed, his voice calm but firm. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're having a panic attack. The baby needs you to calm down."
"I can't—" The words came out choked. "What if he—"
"He's coming back." Angelo's certainty cut through my spiraling thoughts. "But right now, I need you to focus on breathing. Can you do that for me?"
I nodded, forcing myself to follow his instructions. Slow breath in. Slower breath out. Again. Again.
Gradually, the vice around my chest loosened. The room stopped spinning. My heartbeat slowed from its frantic gallop.
"Better?" Angelo asked.
I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling guilty for letting my stress affect our child. "I'm trying. But not knowing—" My voice broke. "It's killing me, Angelo. Not knowing if he's alive or hurt or—"
"He's alive." Angelo's certainty was absolute. "If something had gone wrong, I'd have been notified immediately. No news is good news in our line of work."
No news is good news. What a horrifying philosophy to live by.
I moved to the artificial windows, staring at the screen-generated city view. Somewhere out there, beyond these walls, Luca was fighting for us. For our future. For the life we were just beginning to build.
And I could do nothing but wait.
The helplessness was suffocating. All my life, I'd fought against being powerless—against my father's control, against arranged marriages, against being treated like property to be traded. Tonight, I'd made my own choice. I'd chosen Luca, chosen this life, chosen to stand by him.
But standing by him apparently meant standing still while he faced danger alone.
My phone sat on the coffee table, silent and mocking. I picked it up, checking for the hundredth time that the volume was on, that I hadn't missed a message, that the battery was charged.
Nothing.
"How much longer?" I asked, hearing the desperation in my own voice.
