When she asks how many people follow her when she leaves the house, I answer.
When she asks if she will ever be alone again, I tell her yes… once the home has been secured and inspected and she's behind locked doors.
She'd not like that answer, but she knows it's just a part of being with me now.
And she has done the same with me.
She tells me of her fears, her guilt, her anger. The way the thought of being watched in her apartment still makes her skin crawl beneath the careful composure she wears at work.
Everyone in the family is eager about the baby, especially my sons. But it does something strange to the house.
No one says too much. It is too early, and every person in this family remembers what early hope can cost.
But hope is here anyway, even if silent.
In the way a box of Victoria’s preferred tea has made it into our cabinet, and I know it’s Tomasso’s doing. It’s in the way Matteo has mused out loud while reading about particular names he likes.
The bloodwork confirmed what three little tests already told her.
Victoria is pregnant.
It’s too early for much else. We can’t know whether all will go well. It’s too early for any scans.
For a man like me, it is torture, but I keep it inside for Victoria’s sake.
But it is true.
She is carrying my child.
And she still came into the office today.
Because of course she did.
I hate it. I also know better than to tell her she cannot.
I tried once. She looked at me over her tea and said, very calmly, that being pregnant with a mafia don’s baby after surviving an attempted murder did not mean she was a kept woman.
Tomasso had choked on his coffee.
Matteo had left the room, allegedly to take a call.
I had told her the shortened hours were not optional. She had told me she would consider my position.
Then she came in from 10:00 to 3:00, stayed entirely within my building, took lunch in my office, and had enough security around her to invade a small country.
It was a compromise.
Now she is two floors below me with Benjamin and Ainsley, reviewing files in a conference room that has three of my people outside it, and a private elevator locked to everyone except family and designated staff.
She is as safe as I can make her while still allowing her to feel like a woman and not a prisoner.
It is not enough.
Nothing is enough until Emilio Bellandi is on his knees in front of me.
I set aside the report I have been pretending to read for the last ten minutes and reach for the next file.
My office is quiet. Late afternoon light falls across the dark wood floor. The city moves beyond the glass as if any of it matters.
