"Both."
She kissed me, soft and sweet. "I'm glad we're doing this together."
"So am I."
Lucia kicked between us, making her presence known.
We both laughed, hands moving to the bump.
"She's awake," Paola said.
"She's always awake when we're together."
"She likes hearing your voice."
I pressed my forehead to Paola's, one hand on her belly where our daughter moved. "Hi, Lucia. Your room is ready. Your Uncle Piero assembled your crib—badly, but it's standing. We can't wait to meet you."
Another kick.
"Four and a half months," Paola whispered. "Then she's here."
"Then she's here."
And I couldn't wait.
CHAPTER 25
Paola
Twenty weeks pregnant.
The call came at 7 a.m. on a Tuesday morning.
An unknown number. I almost didn't answer—too early, too tired, Lucia doing somersaults in my belly and making sleep impossible.
But something made me pick up.
"Ms. Lombardo?" A woman's voice. Professional. Careful.
"It's Monti now. Who is this?"
"This is Agent Sarah Hayes with the FBI. I'm calling about your sister, Bianca."
My stomach dropped. "What about her?"
A pause. The kind of pause that means bad news.
"I'm very sorry to inform you that Bianca was found deceased yesterday evening in her apartment in Prague. The local authorities have ruled it an accidental overdose."
The words didn't make sense. Deceased. Overdose. Bianca.
"What?"
"Your sister passed away. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"No. There's—there's been a mistake. Bianca doesn't do drugs. She wouldn't—"
"The Czech police found evidence of prescription medication mixed with alcohol. The medical examiner believes it was accidental, not intentional. I'm very sorry, Mrs. Monti."
