Tears pricked my eyes. "Really?"
"Really." He kissed me, gentle and reverent. "You're carrying my baby, Paola. That's—fuck, I don't even have words."
"Terrifying covers it," I said with a watery laugh.
"Yeah. But also incredible."
We stood there for a moment, processing the enormity of it.
I wished I could call Anna. Tell her I was pregnant, panic together over coffee like we would have in my old life. She'd have screamed, probably cried, made me laugh even though I was terrified.
But Anna knew the truth now—or at least a version of it. After the anniversary celebration went public, after Viktor exposed the twin switch to three hundred witnesses, the story had hit the papers: "Art Teacher Forced into Mafia Marriage" made headlines for three days straight.
Anna had called countless times. Left voicemails ranging from worried to furious to terrified. I'd finally answered last week,given her the sanitized version: family emergency, arranged marriage, I'm safe now, please don't worry.
She hadn't believed the "safe" part. Had offered to call the police, the FBI, a women's shelter. I'd convinced her I was okay, that I'd chosen to stay, that it was complicated.
We'd agreed to meet for coffee next week—a neutral location, public place. I'd promised to explain everything.
But I couldn't tell her about the pregnancy. Not yet. Not until I'd processed it myself. Not until I knew if Piero would survive the next twenty-four hours. Not until I knew if this baby would grow up with a father or just stories about the man I'd married.
Back in the war room, we kept the pregnancy secret. But everything felt different now. I was hyperaware of my body, of the tiny life growing inside me.
Cesare kept glancing at me, protective instinct clearly intensified. If he didn’t get it under control, people were going to start wondering.
Rocco had updates: "Heat signatures at the Red Hook warehouse. Multiple people, at least one restrained. High probability it's Piero."
"When can we move?" Cesare demanded.
"We need a plan first. Viktor will have security, probably his best men. We can't just storm in."
"Why not? We did it at his penthouse."
"And he was expecting us. This time he'll be even more prepared."
Giulio added, "He wants you to try to rescue Piero. Wants you to make a desperate move so he can eliminate you both. It's a trap."
Cesare knew they were right. But patience had never been his strength.
I spoke up: "What if we give him what he wants?"
Everyone looked at me.
"Not actually give it to him," I clarified. "But make him think we're surrendering. Schedule the exchange. Use it to get close to Piero."
Cesare considered. "A fake surrender. We bring documents, make it look like we're signing over territory—"
"And while Viktor is distracted with the paperwork, we extract Piero," Giulio finished. "It could work."
Rocco: "But it requires perfect timing. One mistake and Viktor kills Piero immediately."
"Then we don't make mistakes," Cesare said flatly.
They planned for hours—every detail, every contingency, every possible complication. Where to meet Viktor. Neutral ground, somewhere public enough that he couldn't just kill us all.
Who would come–a minimal team; it couldn't look like an assault force.
How to create the distraction. Fake documents that looked real enough to pass initial inspection, actually get Viktor’s attention.
