"However, I need to discuss something with you, Mrs. Monti."
The tone made my stomach drop. "What?"
Dr. Reeves pulled up a chair, sat. Professional but kind. "Your husband's injuries are serious. Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, significant trauma. He'll need months of recovery."
"I understand."
"I'm not sure you do. He can't work. Can't engage in stressful activities. No physical confrontations. His body needs to heal completely or there could be permanent damage."
I almost laughed. "Doctor, he runs a... business empire. Stress is unavoidable."
"Then he needs to delegate. Step back. Or risk his health long-term."
"I'll talk to him."
"Good. Because there's another concern." Dr. Reeves hesitated. "The nurses mentioned you've been sick. Multiple times. Are you alright?"
I froze. The pregnancy. No one could know yet. "Just stress. I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because if you're pregnant, the stress you're under isn't good for—"
"I'm fine," I insisted. Too sharply. "Really. Just worried about my husband."
Dr. Reeves studied me but didn't push. "Alright. But take care of yourself too. He'll need you strong when he wakes up."
After she left, I sat in the quiet room and let my hand drift to my stomach. Five weeks. Barely anything. But already everything.
Past midnight. The hospital settled into that strange late-night hush where everything felt suspended.
I'd given up trying to sleep. Just sat beside Cesare, holding his hand, watching machines breathe for him.
"I'm scared," I whispered to his unconscious form. "Not of Viktor or the families or any of that. I'm scared of losing you. Of raising this baby alone. Of being in this world without you."
His monitors beeped steadily. No response. He couldn't hear me.
"I love you. I should have said it earlier. Should have said it a hundred times. But I was scared of that too. Scared of admitting how much you mean to me."
I rested my head on our joined hands. "So you have to wake up. You have to be okay. Because I need you. We need you."
Tears I'd been holding back for hours finally fell. I cried quietly, careful not to disturb the machines, letting out fear and exhaustion and love I'd kept locked inside.
Footsteps approached. I jerked up, wiping my eyes.
A nurse stood in the doorway, apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you. But there's someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."
"Who?"
"Your sister. Bianca Lombardo."
My entire body went rigid. Bianca. Here. Now.
She was supposed to be under guard at the penthouse. How did she get out? Did she escape? Was this another betrayal?
"She's with one of your security team," the nurse continued. "Said Mr. Monti—Piero—authorized her visit. Should I send her away?"
Piero authorized it. That meant this wasn't an escape—he'd deliberately sent her here.
"No." I stood, legs unsteady. "I'll see her. But not here. Not near Cesare."
