I stare at the test again, just to be sure. Two lines. Clear and undeniable.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst. I clutch the little plastic stick against my chest, shaking with relief and joy and fear all at once. After everything the doctors said—after being told it might never happen—it happened. And yet, the joy is immediately chased by a sharp, cold wave of fear asalltheir words come echoing back to me,If you do get pregnant, there’s a high chance you won’t be capable of carrying to term… You’ll most likely miscarry.
My hand goes protectively to my stomach, even though there’s nothing to feel yet. “Please,” I whisper. “Please stay.”
I sit there for what feels like forever, just breathing, the reality of it sinking in.
Then the fear of telling Sandro creeps in like a shadow.
He’s already angry. Already convinced I’m a distraction.How do I tell him this now?
If I miscarry—if I tell him and then lose the baby—how will he ever look at me again?
My throat tightens. No. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.
29
SANDRO
The gym smells like metal and sweat—a scent that drives and invigorates me. Every strike echoes off the steel beams, the rhythm of fists hitting flesh louder than I’m prepared for this morning. So I grit my teeth and dig in my heels.
“Harder,” I say, bracing for the next blow.
Miko doesn’t hesitate. His punch slams into my ribs with a sound that’s half impact, half thunder. My arm stings, and my shoulder burns from the effort to block him. Still, I can feel the ache of his blow all the way through to my spine.
“Better,” I mutter.
Raf sits on the bench at the far wall, his usual tailored suit traded out for a casual T-shirt that won’t constrict or rub against the stitches in his arm. He’s pretending it doesn’t hurt, but I know better. I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his left hand flexes and curls like he’s testing what still works. Kenji’s bullet damaged a good chunk of muscle last night, and watching my brother be stoic about it only intensifies the guilt.
That should’ve been me taking the hit. Not him.
I never should have left his side.
Miko throws another jab. I catch it, deflect, drive my fist forward and land a solid hit in his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t back down.
“Sloppy,” I say.
“You’re just pissed,” he fires back, voice steady despite his breathing. “You take risks when you’re pissed.”
“Maybe I’m pissed because our brother almost got his head blown off.” I circle him, breath hard. “Because Kenji Tanaka walked into our house and made us look weak.”
Miko exhales sharply. “You’re thinking with your temper again.”
“Does it matter if it gets the job done?”
Before he can answer, Raf’s voice cuts through the room like a whip. “Enough.”
We stop, our fists dropping at the cold command in his voice.
Raf leans forward, his expression carved out of stone. “We do need to have a response for what happened last night,” he says quietly. “Kenji’s still breathing, and the Italians who just pledged their loyalty to me are watching. If we look weak now, we lose everything.”
The words settle heavily into my chest.
Miko wipes sweat from his temple. “Then we take the fight to Kenji.”
Raf nods slowly, his face creased with indecision and doubt. “But we still don’t have the numbers.”
“We can’t keep waiting on the Irish, hoping their alliance will crumble,” I counter, ripping off the gloves. “They’ll drag their feet until the day we die. No more waiting. No more strategizing. We go for the throat. Now. Before the Yakuza see it coming.”
