Chapter 19 Belle
BELLE
Okay, Belle. You're the adult, and you need to act like one.
I keep telling myself that so I don't let the kid feel me shaking. I keep my body still, and my smile on, no matter how hard my stomach churns.
I lock my muscles in place so Sofia won't feel me trembling. Keep the smile painted on even as my stomach churns like a washing machine.
The panic room is a tomb dressed up as safety; steel walls, recycled air, and the cheerful knowledge that if everything goes to hell, we'll die quietly where no one can hear us scream.
But Sofia doesn't need to know that. Sofia needs me to be the adult.
Sofia's little body trembles against mine as we huddle together. She's trying to brave, I can tell.
The whole thing feels like a fever dream. I mean, I just went from balcony sex to panic room in mere minutes. Just another Tuesday in the Moretti household, I guess, but joking doesn't make it easier.
"Are they gone yet?" Sofia whispers. Her little fingers twist in my shirt, anchoring herself to me like I'm the last lifeboat on the Titanic.
"Your dad will come get us when it's safe," I tell her, smoothing down her hair.
I don't add that the knot in my stomach grows tighter with every passing minute. That each second Luca doesn't appear at that door is another second I imagine him bleeding out somewhere in this massive house.
The guilt hits like a sledgehammer to the chest. While Luca was distracted by me, while I had him pressed against that balcony rail, lost in my body, killers were scaling his walls.
The Beast of New York, legendary for his paranoia, his surveillance, his ability to sense danger three blocks away, and I turned him human for just long enough to let death slip through the cracks.
This is my fault. Sofia's terror, Luca's blood on his shirt, the gunfire that shattered our perfect moment; all of it traces back to me.
You're the distraction. You're the soft target. You're the thing that moves him out of cover because he forgets how to exist when you're around.
I try to tell it to go sit in a corner, but guilt doesn't do corners. It does center stage.
Just then, we hear some blasts.
"Is it fireworks?" Sofia's eyes widen.
"Cheap ones," I whisper back, smoothing her hair. "The kind that fizzle. Nothing special. No need to be afraid."
"I'm not scared," Sofia whispers. "Daddy always wins."
I want to believe her, but I'd seen the look in Luca's eyes when he shoved me down that hallway. I know danger when I see it.
"Of course he does," I half-lie, half-truth. "Your dad's the toughest guy I know."
Sofia shrugs. "That's why the bad men want to hurt him."
Jesus. What kind of life is this for a child? Knowing about "bad men" and panic rooms and why people want to hurt her father?
The little hand on my arm squeezes tighter. "He'll come back for us."
"I know, sweetheart."
But what if he doesn't?
What if Luca is already dead? What happens to Sofia and me and this baby that nobody knows about?
My hand drifts to my belly.
The baby. Oh God.
I've been so wrapped up in the immediate terror that I hadn't even thought of what tonight meant. If I'd been hit, if a bullet had found me instead of the wall...
Just then, the panic-room lock growls awake. Sofia tucks in closer like I'm Jodie Foster and she's got nothing to fear. I raise the gun he pressed into my palm and aim for whoever forgot to knock.
It swings open, and there he is.
Luca.
He's breathing hard, his shirt splattered with blood. There's a cut across his cheekbone, but I don't care about that. Alive's the perfect look on him right now.
"Daddy!" Sofia launches herself at him, and he drops to one knee, catching her against his chest.
"Princess." He looks her over. "You good?"
She nods, tiny arms wrapped around his neck like she's never letting go. "Belle kept me safe. She said you'd come back and cuddled me till you did."
He kisses her hair, then looks at me like I invented oxygen. "You okay?"
I nod, because the truth would crack my voice. I'm a little shaky, and very guilty.
I want to ask what happens if I get you killed because I distracted you from keeping an eye on the door? But my brain's a Rubik's cube I can't line up, so I just stay mute.
"Come on." Luca motions at me, carrying Sofia in his arms now. "Out."
I'm still clutching the gun, I realize. I lower it slowly.
"Are they gone?" I ask as I pass.
He nods. "They're gone." Then, lower, for my ears only, "Dead."
But from the tightness around his eyes, I know this isn't over. Not by a long shot.
The house is a wreck. Luca's men are everywhere, some tending to injuries, others recalibrating.
And there's blood. Not a lot, but enough to turn my stomach.
"Don't look." Luca catches me pale. "They're cleaning it up."
Sofia's eyes are closed on her father's command. He's shielding her from seeing the aftermath, and I wish someone would do the same for me.
"What happened?" I ask as we move toward the wing of the house where our bedrooms are.
"Someone wanted to send a message," he says simply.
"What message?"
"That I've got blind spots I can't see."
I can't stand the way he looks right now—like the danger is me being in his periphery. I want to cry. I want to kiss him. I want to throw myself into a lake and let the cold burn the panic off.
"Hey," he says softly. "It's over."
Guilt taps the mic. Is it? Or are you just in intermission?
"I'm not worried," I say, easy. I'm fucking guilty.
Something tells me if I hadn't been in Luca's world, he would've seen this attack coming a mile away. But Luca's got enough on his plate, and I don't need to add another conversation to it tonight.
Once we're in Sofia's room, Meatball and Bruno, too, Sofia asks if we can watch a movie.
"In a minute," Luca says, eyes still on me.
Sofia pats the bed beside her. "Belle, sit."
I sit.
Luca just watches me with those eyes. "You ok taking care of her?"
I nod.
He nods back.
"You won't stay, Daddy?" Sofia huffs.
"Daddy's got to work. I'm sure you both are hungry. I'll have the staff send up some food."
"Can I have pancakes?"
"You can have pancakes," he says, smiling in a way that reminds me why I go weak around him.
"And you?" He turns to look at me.
"Sure. Same." I don't bother saying I'm not hungry. Sofia can eat my share, too.
I'm nauseous as it is, and if I so much as smell anything, I'll see stars in a bad way. Morning sickness is a liar with no respect for clocks. It shows up when it wants, which apparently includes nine at night after gunfights.
We do a movie. Some animated classic. Sofia's head drops to my thigh before the second act. I tell myself if I just sit still long enough, peace will seep into me like tea. It doesn't.
At some point, Luca checks on the world and comes back to tell me to go to bed.
"I've got her," he says and insists I go to bed like a naughty little girl.
By the time dawn peels the night off, the house feels like it's been revamped. There are more men than I can count and every corner looks dangerous.
But I'm starving and need something to eat before I faint.
The kitchen smells like heaven. Normally I'd float, smile, steal a spoonful, kiss whoever made it. Today, one step inside and my stomach files a formal complaint.
Forget about the goddamn eggs.
I pivot like a figure skater and make it to the nearest bathroom in time to hurl my guts out. The baby has very strong opinions about eggs.
Noted.
The door creaks. Tiny footsteps. "Belle?"
I squeeze my eyes closed. Dear God, please let her not think anything of this. I turn and it's Sofia, all big eyes and worry, hugging my waist from behind like she can anchor me to feel better by force of will.
"Don't worry," she whispers into my back. "I won't tell Daddy."
That sentence is a little bomb. I sit back on my heels, wipe my mouth, and face her. "Tell Daddy what?"
She blinks like I'm cute. "I'm going to be a sister, right?"
The heart crawls up my throat. I plant my hands on the floor to steady myself, staring at this kid who just blew my biggest secret wide open.
"I'm not—" I stop, because lying to a kid on her face feels like kicking a puppy. I try again. "I ate something weird."
She rolls her eyes. "No, silly! You're going to be a mommy."
"Sofia, I—" What do I even say? "What makes you think that?"
She shrugs. "You're sick in the morning. You don't eat breakfast. You cry at cartoons now. And you hold your tummy like this." She demonstrates, placing her small hand protectively on her belly. "Emma's mom did all that, too. She told me so at school."
I laugh and almost cry at the same time.
"Come here," I whisper, and she does, stepping into my arms. I hold her close, this child who somehow already has a piece of my heart. "You're very smart, you know that?"
"Thank you." She nods against my shoulder. "Can I have a sister? Or maybe a brother. I don't mind."
I can't breathe for a second. Love is such a stupid, reckless thing. It shows up with pigtails, announces a plan, and now you're all-in.
I then pull her into my lap on the tile, and she tucks her head under my chin.
"Listen," I say, very serious. "We do not tell Daddy anything until I say so. I want to tell him when I think the time is right."
She leans back and squints. "Secret?"
"Big one."
She thinks. "Pinky promise?"
We link fingers. Her pinky finger is warm, tiny, and full of blackmail potential. "Pinky promise," I say. "Also, we don't tell Daddy I was sick. He'll only… worry."
She considers this seriously, then nods. "I promise. But you have to promise too."
"Promise what?"
"That you'll stay." Her voice gets smaller. "With me and Daddy. Forever."
My throat closes up. This beautiful child, who's already lost one mother, is asking me not to leave her.
"I promise," I whisper, and I mean it with every cell in my body. Whatever else happens, I won't abandon Sofia, or the baby growing inside me. "I'm not going anywhere."
She hugs me fierce and tight, then pulls away. "Can I have a cookie now?"
I laugh, wiping tears I didn't realize had fallen. "Sure. Let's go raid the cookie jar. You carry on. I'll be there in ten."
She nods and runs off.
I stand up, rinsing my mouth quickly and splashing cold water on my face. I look like hell, but maybe a cookie will help bring some color back to my cheeks.
I'm halfway to the kitchen when a shadow detaches itself from the wall. Declan steps into my path, like the devil himself.
"Afternoon," he says, far too pleasant for my liking.
"Declan."
Declan's gaze holds on me. He sees too much; that's his thing. He'd make a great therapist if you didn't mind being psychologically mugged.
"You look pale," he says lightly, like he's being nice.
"Long night." I shrug.
"Right." He tilts his head. "Everything okay?"
"Peachy," I say, not giving him even a snapshot of my life, for he's not the kind to want an innocent chat.
His smile sharpens. "Is that so. You know, I've started to wonder what a girl like you could be hiding."
There it is. The question with teeth. Declan's favorite way to end a chat.
I smile, sweet as sugar, while my throat closes like he's got my neck in his hands.