Chapter 43
Chapter Forty Three
Antonio
The SUV idles at the curb in the muted wash of a streetlamp, engine humming beneath us.
I’ve been in too many of these back seats lately.
Too many rides where Elsa is beside me, tense and quiet, while the world outside the windows is treated like hostile territory.
Vito is in the passenger seat again, shoulders broad and restless under his jacket, one arm braced against the door as he watches the building.
Angelo is behind the wheel, silent as ever, hands relaxed but ready.
I’ve got a comm in my ear again, the tiny pressure of it a reminder that even something as simple as a doctor’s appointment now requires a perimeter team, a route plan, two backup exits, and a driver who knows how to get us out fast.
Elsa sits beside me with both hands folded in her lap.
She’s calm on the surface. She’s gotten very good at that. Calm face. Straight spine.
I know better.
I know the slight tension in her jaw means she’s fighting fear. I know the way her fingers lace too tightly means her thoughts are sprinting. I know the stillness itself is effort.
This isn’t the first time I’ve brought her to a building with the front door effectively off-limits and men sweeping the perimeter before she’s allowed to step out.
I hate that for her.
I hate that for us.
A quiet crackle comes through my comm.
“North side clear.”
A beat.
“Rear entry clear.”
Another voice. “Stairwell secure. No movement on the block.”
I keep my eyes on the office windows. Dark. Closed. Private. Exactly the way we need it.
The recording of Bellandi’s men in the hallway hit Northstar this morning. Enough proof to make their bid radioactive if Northstar has any sense at all.
Now we watch and wait.
They haven’t contacted Elsa yet, but it’s only been a few hours. We expected that. Boardrooms don’t move as fast as gunmen.
When they do reach out, she wants to go in.
In person.
She said it like there was never another option.
I’d objected immediately, of course. Argued for video, for counsel, for distance, for every layer of insulation I could put between her and the fallout.
She listened. Then she said no.
She wants to look them in the eye and explain it herself.
That’s the woman I fell in love with, I suppose.
Stubborn. Proud. Brilliant. Not reckless, exactly—but unwilling to let fear stop her from doing what needs to be done.
I shift my hand over hers.
She looks at me.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
Her mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Will you ever stop asking me that?”
“No.”
That gets the slightest exhale from her, almost amused.
“I’m…” She trails off, glancing at the building. “I don’t know.”
I squeeze her hand once. “That’s fair.”
Her gaze drops to our hands. “You okay?”
The question catches me off guard enough that I nearly laugh.
“Not really,” I admit.
Her fingers tighten around mine.
The comm crackles again.
“All clear. Entry team set.”
Vito turns in his seat. “We’re good.”
I nod once. “Let’s move.”
Vito is out first. I step out and pull Elsa out of the same door with me.
She takes my hand the second she’s on her feet.
We’re along the side of the building instead of the front, approaching a service entrance already opened for us by a man who gives me a short nod and steps back.
Inside, there are no front desk lights, no waiting room bustle, no phones ringing. Just quiet.
We move quickly through a side corridor, up a private stairwell, and into the office suite itself.
One of the guards stays back to guard the stairwell.
The door is already unlocked.
A woman in her forties steps out to greet us before we can even knock.
Dr. Bianchi.
Kind face. Sharp eyes. Gray threaded through dark hair pulled back neatly.
“Mr. Conti,” she says softly. Then to Elsa, “Ms. Nilsson.”
“Elsa,” Elsa says automatically.
Dr. Bianchi smiles. “Elsa, then.”
Her gaze flicks once to Vito, takes in the general energy of the visit, and wisely does not comment on any of it.
“This way.”
She leads us down the hall to an exam room. Vito stops and stands against the wall outside the door, planting himself there.
The doctor ushers us in.
The room is small, bright, and ordinary in a way that feels almost surreal. The paper-covered exam table. The rolling stool. The machine in the corner. Cabinets. Sink. A dim lamp near the monitor.
Normal.
I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted one thing about this to feel normal.
Dr. Bianchi looks to Elsa. “I’m going to have you change into the gown.”
Elsa nods.
The doctor steps out to give her privacy.
I look at Elsa, at the small line between her brows, the way she’s trying to hide the shake in her hands as she reaches for the folded gown.
“Do you want me to leave, too?” I ask.
She shakes her head immediately. “No.”
I turn a little, not because I have to, but because I want to give her whatever little dignity I can in a moment where she’s having an ultrasound with no privacy and a team of men standing outside the door.
I hear the rustle of fabric, the shift of clothes, the paper crinkle as she settles herself onto the table.
When I look back, she’s in the gown, legs tucked, hair falling over one shoulder, eyes too big.
Beautiful.
Terrified.
The doctor returns with a practiced gentleness that tells me she’s seen every kind of fear in this room.
“All right,” she says, rolling the stool closer. “Let’s take a look.”
Elsa reaches for my hand before the doctor even touches the machine. I take it and hold on.
“You said it’s only been a few weeks, so we’re better off doing a transvaginal ultrasound. It’s more precise this early on.” Elsa nods as Dr. Bianchi explains the process, covers the probe, and gels it.
I hear the words, but only in pieces. My whole body has gone tight with anticipation.
Elsa’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling as the doctor slides the probe under the gown.
I’m watching Elsa’s face more than the monitor.
After a couple of minutes, the doctor turns slightly, her gaze sharpening at the screen.
I must freeze or make some movement because Elsa’s fingers clamp down on mine hard enough to hurt. “What?”
Dr. Bianchi leans in closer, studying the image. Then her face softens into a small smile.
“Well,” she says gently, “there’s your answer.”
Elsa’s breath catches. “I am?”
“Yes,” Dr. Bianchi says.
For one second, the room disappears.
Everything in me goes still.
Pregnant.
The word detonates emotion inside me.
I look at Elsa.
Her eyes are already shining. She looks stunned, terrified, and so open it almost hurts to see.
Then Dr. Bianchi adds, “And not just pregnant.”
My head snaps to the screen.
She points, smiling now. “You’re having twins.”
Silence.
Like my brain has just blanked completely.
Twins.
Elsa makes the smallest sound—half laugh, half sob.
“Twins?” she whispers.
Dr. Bianchi nods, still looking at the monitor. “Yes. It looks like they may be fraternal, but it’s very early yet, and a blood test would tell us more.”
I stare at the screen like I can force my mind to catch up if I just look hard enough.
Two.
Not one.
Two.
Something enormous and wild tears through my chest. Joy. Fear. Awe. Protective instinct so violent it almost makes my vision blur.
My children.
Our children.
Elsa turns her head toward me, and the look on her face nearly undoes me. She looks like she’s waiting to see if I’m happy. As if that could possibly be in question.
I lean in immediately, press my forehead to hers, and laugh once—helplessly, breathlessly—because if I don’t, I might just break apart from the force of it.
“Twins,” I say, and my voice sounds wrecked to my own ears.
“I know.”
I kiss her, feeling full of every impossible thing in me that suddenly has nowhere else to go.
When I pull back, I keep my hand around hers and bring the other to her face, thumb brushing beneath her eye.
“You okay?” I ask because apparently I’ll ask her that until I die.
She laughs again, shakier this time. “I don’t know.”
I grin despite myself. “Fair.”
Dr. Bianchi is kind enough to look busy with the machine while she gives us the illusion of privacy.
I look back at the screen.
Two.
My mind jumps absurdly fast—cribs, names, tiny socks, Elsa growing bigger with them, telling my family.
And under all of it, the brutal, immediate truth:
Everything just changed.
Not someday.
Now.
I touch my lips to Elsa’s and sink into her.
She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Antonio…”
I don’t even know what my face looks like right now. I just know my chest hurts so much it feels like joy and terror are fighting to own it.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say softly against her mouth.
It’s the only thing I can say that isn’t too much.
She nods, and her lips tremble.
Dr. Bianchi clears her throat gently. “I’ll print a few—”
The comm in my ear crackles.
“Movement near the building.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
I go still, and Elsa senses it because she’s frozen, looking at me.
“One of Bellandi’s men was just spotted near the south side,” one of the guards says.
“We need to leave. Now,” Vito says.
My mind is already thinking ahead.
“We need a minute,” I tell Vito. Then to the doctor: “We need to wrap this up now. Elsa, get dressed.”
I look at Elsa, brushing a hand over her hair once, quickly.
She swallows hard and nods.
“I’ll be right back.”
I kiss her forehead and step out before I can think too hard about leaving her for even ten seconds.
Vito is waiting, body tight, eyes hard.
We head fast down the hall. At the side entrance, the two guards are already in position.
I stop just long enough to look them both in the eye.
“No one goes in or out of that stairwell until I get back,” I say. “No one. I don’t care who it is.”
They nod.
Then Vito and I head down, fast and silent, toward whatever Bellandi thinks he’s doing near my family, my woman, and my children.