The thought keeps circling through my mind, over and over, like a record stuck on the same devastating note. Every moment I spent with her—every touch, every kiss, every time I buried myself inside her—all of it was built on a lie so fundamental that I can't find solid ground anywhere.
I move to the couch and sit down heavily, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. None of it was real. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars, trying to force my brain to process what this means. What I've done. What she's done. What happens next.
She's pregnant.
The words echo in my head with the finality of a death sentence. Giulia Ciresa—Romeo's little sister, Dante's daughter, the woman I've been guarding and protecting and trying desperately not to want—is carrying my child. And I didn't know.
I didn't know I was touching Giulia, didn't know I was betraying every oath I've ever sworn with every kiss, every touch, every moment I spent worshipping a woman who was wearing someone else's face.
The nausea rises sharply and suddenly, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm retching into the toilet, my body trying to purge the poison of this revelation even though I know it's already in my bloodstream, already destroying me from the inside out. When there's nothing left, I sit back against the cool tile wall and stare at the ceiling, my breathing ragged and uneven. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. And I can't make it stop.
I've been with Romeo since we were teenagers. His family took me in when I had nothing, gave me purpose when I was drowning, and made me part of something bigger than myself. I've killed for him. I've bled for him. I've sworn an oath that goes deeper than blood, deeper than family, deeper than anything I've ever known.
And I broke it. I broke it so thoroughly, so completely, that there's no way to put the pieces back together.
The fact that I didn't know doesn't matter. The fact that she lied doesn't matter. What matters is that I touched her, I claimed her. I put my child inside her while she was engaged to another man.
Romeo is going to kill me.
The thought should terrify me, but instead it brings a strange sense of relief. At least then it would be over. At least then I wouldn't have to live with what I've done, with the knowledge that I betrayed the man who saved my life because I was toofucking blind to see through a wig and a mask and a lowered voice.
I push myself up from the floor and splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I need to tell Romeo.
I need to tell him before Giulia does and confess everything—every meeting, every lie I unknowingly participated in, every moment I spent falling for a woman who was using me to escape her own life. If I go to him first, if I'm honest about what happened, maybe—maybe—there's a chance he'll believe that I didn't know, that I wasn't deliberately betraying him. That this was manipulation on her part, not treachery on mine.
It's a slim chance. But it's the only chance I have.
I straighten my clothes, run my hands through my hair, and try to compose myself into something resembling the soldier Romeo knows. The man he trusts. The man who would never, ever betray him.
Except I did betray him. And now I have to face the consequences.
—
The driveto Romeo's house outside of the city takes about an hour, but it feels longer. Every red light is an eternity, and every turn brings me closer to a confrontation that could end with a bullet in my brain and my body dumped in the river. I've seen Romeo kill men for less than what I've done. I've helped him kill men for less than what I've done.
He opens the door in sweatpants and a t-shirt. His expression shifts from alert to confused to concerned in the space of a heartbeat. "Luca? What the fuck?—"
"I need to talk to you. It's about Giulia."
His entire demeanor changes. The concern vanishes, replaced by something cold and dangerous that makes my survival instincts scream at me to run. But I don't run. I step into his house when he moves aside, and I hear the door close behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.
"Talk." He leads me into the living room and crosses his arms.
I stand there with my hands loose at my sides, my body language deliberately non-threatening. If this goes badly—when this goes badly—I don't want him to think I'm reaching for a weapon. "I've been seeing someone," I start, and the words feel like they're being dragged out of me. "For months. A woman I met at a club in Manhattan. Her name was Valentina."
Romeo's expression doesn't change, but I can see the calculation happening behind his eyes, already putting pieces together and seeing where this is going.
"Was?" he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Her name wasn't Valentina." I force myself to meet his eyes, to not look away from the fury I can see building there. "It was Giulia. Your sister. I didn't know. I swear to God, Romeo, I didn't know until tonight."
The silence that follows is absolute. Romeo doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there, staring at me with an expression that makes my blood run cold. Then, very slowly, he narrows his eyes. "Explain."
I tell him everything. Every detail, every moment, every lie I unknowingly participated in. I tell him about the first night at the club, about how she approached me and how she was wearing a wig and makeup that made her look nothing like herself. I tell him about the meetings that followed—the conversations, the way I fell for her without ever knowing who she really was, the sex without going into detail… just that ithappened, since I know he has no desire to hear more about that than he has to.
And finally, I tell him about tonight, how I showed up, and it was Giulia there, how she confessed everything. Including the fact that she’s pregnant.
Romeo listens without interrupting, his face an unreadable mask. But I can see the rage simmering beneath the surface. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, the muscle ticking in his jaw as he processes what I'm telling him.
