"I'm okay. Just give me a minute."
But I wasn't okay. My body felt wrong. Off.
I thought back: when was my last period? I was usually regular but with all the stress, the forced marriage, the chaos—
I hadn't paid attention. Hadn't tracked it.
When was the last time? Before the wedding? That was... about six weeks ago? Seven?
My mind raced through the timeline.
The wedding was six weeks ago. But we didn't consummate the marriage that night.
It was a couple days later.
I tried to remember exactly when. That morning when I woke in his arms, when everything shifted between us.
About five weeks ago. Maybe a few days shy of that.
And then again several times since. The anniversary celebration aftermath. The morning after the confrontation with Giovanni.
No protection. Ever. In the chaos and forced nature of our marriage, contraception never came up.
Five weeks since our first time. Nausea. Exhaustion. Dizziness. Late period.
No. It couldn't be.
But even as I denied it, I knew.
I was pregnant with Cesare's baby. The mafia Don's heir.
The realization was overwhelming—terror and wonder and impossible timing all at once.
Another knock. "Paola, I'm coming in."
The door opened. Cesare knelt beside me, concern etched deep on his face.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?"
I looked at him, and the words stuck in my throat.
How did I tell him? Now? In the middle of this crisis with Piero kidnapped and Viktor threatening and everything falling apart?
"I think I'm pregnant," I blurted out.
Silence. Cesare went completely still.
"What?"
"I'm late. Really late. And I've been nauseous, dizzy. I just threw up twice. I think—I'm pretty sure—I'm pregnant."
He stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Processing. Calculating.
"How far along?"
"A little over a month maybe? Since that first morning. When we—when everything changed between us."
I didn't need to be more specific. He remembered. I could see it in his eyes. That morning in his bed when I chose him.
