I took a deep breath. My heart hammered at the base of my throat, fingers twisting together. I'd rehearsed this line a thousand times in my head, but now that I had to say it out loud, my tongue felt like lead.
"I'm pregnant." I looked at him expectantly.
Enzo
Chloe was half-lying on the dining table, hair spread across the dark surface, eyes holding the most complicated light I'd ever seen. Nervous. Hopeful. Scared. And a little bit of pleading she probably didn't even realize.
I stopped. My chest was still heaving from our intimacy, but I couldn't hear anything anymore. Blood rushing to my head drowned out everything else.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
The woman I loved was carrying my child.
I was about to become a father. After a brief flash of joy, something deeper surged up.
No. Worst possible timing.
Valentina's face flickered through my mind. The engagementhadn't been called off. It couldn't be. Valentina's family was currently the only ally powerful enough to help me completely crush the conservative faction.
Truth was, I had zero plans to marry Chloe anytime soon. At least not before I buried Julian and the conservatives. I'd only said those things because her eyes had gone red when she asked about the engagement, and I just couldn't stand seeing her cry.
Now she was about to cry again.
"The baby's yours." Chloe's voice shook. "Three months."
She was waiting for my reaction. I could see it clear as day.
All those chess moves, all those calculations precise enough to suffocate—when I heard "three months," they all faded into background noise. What replaced them was one very simple thought. So simple it was almost stupid.
Three months. She'd carried this alone for three months.
During those three months I didn't know about, she'd been living alone in that basement apartment where sunlight didn't reach. She'd been dancing on a strip club stage, dealing with Silvio's harassment, enduring drunk hands reaching for her and filthy comments. She'd handled morning sickness alone, gone to appointments alone, faced an uncertain future alone. And she'd been carrying my child the whole time.
I looked down at Chloe's stomach. She wore a loose T-shirt. Nothing showed. Three months was too early for any visible changes. But I knew what was growing in there. Half her, half me. Right now, maybe just the size of a fist, not really anything yet, but already real. Already undeniable.
My child.
Tears spilled down Chloe's face.
"Don't scare me." Her voice trembled badly. "Say something."
"Why are you crying?" When I spoke, I realized my own voice was off, rough like I'd swallowed broken glass. I cleared my throat. Didn't help. "I'm just overwhelmed."
Chloe froze. Then she laughed, tears mixing with laughter, but still devastatingly beautiful.
I had a very strong urge—to lock her somewhere no one could find her, never let anyone touch a hair on her head again.
"You sure?" She sniffled. "You're really happy?"
"Do I not look it?"
"Your expression looks the same as when you're pissed. Seriously, how many expressions do you even have?"
She tapped my chest lightly, no force behind it. Like she was being playful.
"Enough to last you a lifetime."
