Twelve.
I typed back to Marcos first:Good. Double surveillance anyway.
Three dots appeared, then:Yes, ma'am.
Then to Elena:I'm coming. Have medical ready and get her anything she asks for. Anything.
The criminal enterprise funded the rescue operations. Lorenzo's casinos, his shipping routes, his offshore accounts—all of it repurposed. We moved product, yes. But we also moved people. Out of darkness. Into safety.
That was the difference between his empire and ours.
Ma'am. Not Jules. Not even Julietta.
Ma'am.
Power settled in my chest like warm brandy.
The restroom gleamed white and chrome, empty except for me and the Louis Vuitton bag I'd left with the attendant earlier. I retrieved it, locked myself in the largest stall, and pulled out the small box I'd purchased that morning from a pharmacy three districts away where nobody knew my face.
My hands trembled as I unwrapped the plastic.
I'd been late. Ten days late. My body felt different—tender breasts, exhaustion that sleep couldn't touch, a strange metallic taste coating my tongue. I'd ignored it, blamed stress, blamed the reorganization of two criminal empires.
But this morning I'd vomited before dawn, and Dante had pressed his palm to my forehead, concern darkening those sexy blue eyes.
"You're not sick," he'd said. "You're never sick."
"I'm fine."
His thumb had traced my cheekbone. "Liar."
Now I sat on expensive porcelain in a bathroom worth more than the house I'd grown up in, and I peed on a stick.
Three minutes. The box said three minutes.
I set a timer on my phone and stared at the test balanced on the marble counter. White plastic. Pink cap. A tiny window that would tell me everything.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
What if it was positive? What if I was carrying Dante's child—carrying a life we'd created in those hours when the world fell away and only we existed?
What if it was negative? What if this strange hope blooming in my chest was just stress and wishful thinking?
The timer buzzed.
I looked.
Two pink lines. Clear and unmistakable.
Pregnant.
I pressed my hand to my stomach—still flat, still unchanged. But inside, cells were dividing. A heart would soon beat. A person was forming from our combined DNA, our shared darkness and determination.
A laugh bubbled up, half-sob. I covered my mouth, overwhelmed.
I'd spent my whole life being used. Being moved like a chess piece. Being told my value existed only in what I could provide others.
But this… this was mine. Ours.
