“Big brother...”
The word carried weight and history.
Vincenzo’s entire posture changed in an instant.
The sharp lines of his face tightened, then fractured—startled, almost disarmed.
For a moment, the powerful man who commanded every room looked strangely vulnerable.
“Loretta...” His voice was rough, edged with disbelief.
“What in God’s name are you doing here in Italy? No call. No warning. You came alone—without security?”
His gaze dropped suddenly to her flat stomach, lingering there with painful intensity.
“I kept asking you... if you’d had the baby.”
The words came out quieter, heavier. “You never answered me. Where is the baby?”
His voice dropped even lower, thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.
Loretta’s hands moved instinctively to her abdomen, rubbing slow, absent circles over the fabric of her shirt.
The gesture wasn’t conscious.
It was pure instinct.
And it was grieving.
“I—” Loretta’s voice fractured as she swallowed.
“The situation is urgent.”
Her gaze rose to meet his, eyes bright with unshed tears and something close to ruin.
“I lost the baby.”
The silence that followed was devastating.
Vincenzo remained perfectly still on the surface.
But I felt the storm beneath — the violent tension that seized his muscles, the way his fingers dug into my waist like I was the last tether keeping him grounded.
Loretta kept going, the words tumbling out faster, as though she could outrun the pain.
“But there was a child... I found her. Abandoned near a dumpster.”
Her voice broke completely.
“I’ve been raising her ever since. I never told the police.”
The confession settled over us, heavy and irreversible.
“Then her father showed up.” She clenched her fists at her sides, nodding toward the tall, imposing man beside her.
“He demanded her back, but I refused. I’ve grown too attached to let anyone take her from me—not even her biological father, who appeared out of the blue.
She lifted her chin, fragile defiance shining through her fear.
