"The pregnancy is still viable," he says slowly. "But there was some bleeding. We've managed to stop it, and the fetal heartbeat is strong. However, the next forty-eight hours will be critical. She needs complete bed rest. No stress. No excitement. Any additional trauma could result in miscarriage."
The relief hits me so hard I nearly black out. Viable. Strong heartbeat. Still alive.
"I want to see her."
"She's sleeping. The sedatives?—"
"I don't care if she's sleeping." I wheel forward, forcing Morrison to step aside or be run over. "I'm not leaving her alone again."
Antonella
Light filters through my eyelids. Soft. Warm. Not the harsh fluorescent glare of that basement room.
I'm alive.
The thought surfaces slowly, pushing through layers of fog and exhaustion. My body feels heavy, like someone filled my veins with sand. Everything aches. My head, my ribs, my back.
But I'm alive.
I try to move my hand and feel resistance. Something warm presses against my stomach. Weight on the mattress beside me. The quiet sound of breathing that isn't mine.
My eyes flutter open.
The room is dim. Medical equipment beeps softly somewhere to my left. White walls. Clean sheets. The antiseptic smell tells me I'm in a clinic, not a hospital. One of the private facilities the Sartoris use.
But none of that matters.
Because Bruno is here.
He's slumped forward in his wheelchair, his head resting on the edge of my bed. His dark hair is disheveled. His hands rest on my belly, palms flat against the thin hospital gown, fingers spread wide.
He's holding our baby.
Even in sleep, he's protecting us.
Something cracks open in my chest. A sob builds in my throat but I swallow it down, not wanting to wake him.
I shift slightly, trying to get a better look at him.
His head snaps up.
Those dark eyes find mine instantly, sharp and alert despite the exhaustion. For a moment he just stares at me like he's seeing a ghost. Like he can't quite believe I'm real.
"Are you okay?" His voice is rough. Wrecked. "Does anything hurt? Should I call the doctor?"
I shake my head slowly, wincing at the throb of pain the movement causes. "I'm okay."
He doesn't look convinced. His hands haven't moved from my stomach. I can feel the warmth of his palms through the thin fabric, the slight tremor in his fingers.
"Bruno." I reach for him, my arm heavy and uncoordinated. "The baby. Is the baby?—"
"Alive." He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. "Strong heartbeat. The doctor said the pregnancy is still viable."
Still viable.
I try to hold it together. Try to be strong. But the tears come anyway, spilling down my cheeks in hot streams that I can't control.
Our baby is alive.
