47. Victoria
VICTORIA
The drive back to the estate is quiet.
Some nights leave people without words.
Rain streaks across the windows, turning the passing streetlights into blurred ribbons of gold. Lorenzo sits beside me, one arm resting along the back of the seat. He isn’t touching me, but I can feel his presence all the same.
My mother is in the vehicle behind us with Dante.
No one speaks.
My fingers remain wrapped around the folded hospital report in my lap. The paper has softened from being handled so often, but it feels heavier now than it did this morning.
I glance down at it.
Then at Lorenzo.
He notices immediately.
“You’re pale.”
A tired smile pulls at my mouth.
“I’ve had a difficult evening.”
His expression shifts slightly, not quite amusement and not quite concern. He brushes his knuckles against my cheek as though reassuring himself that I’m really there.
The gesture catches me off guard.
Tonight came too close.
Too close to endings I don’t want to imagine.
I almost lost him.
He almost lost me.
And somewhere beneath all of that sits the truth I’ve been carrying alone for hours.
By the time we reach the estate, exhaustion has settled deep into my bones.
The gates swing open.
The house rises from the darkness ahead.
Home.
The word still surprises me.
When we step inside, a handful of staff appear almost immediately, their faces full of questions and concern. Lorenzo silences all of it with a glance.
“Tomorrow.”
They disperse without argument.
The front doors close behind us, and the house falls quiet once more.
I let out a slow breath.
For the first time all night, there is no danger, shouting, or sirens. No fear that someone is about to be taken from me.
Lorenzo gazes at me.
“What is it?”
I open my mouth, but the words refuse to come.
The truth felt easier when I was rehearsing it in my head.
His gaze sharpens.
“Victoria.”
“I’m fine.”
“You aren’t.”
I look away.
Without thinking, my hand drifts to my stomach.
The movement lasts only a second.
It is enough.
When I look back at him, he’s watching me differently.
Not with understanding yet.
But with the sense that something important is about to be said.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
I swallow.
“I went to the hospital today.”
His expression hardens immediately.
“Why?”
“Before everything happened.”
His jaw tightens.
“Were you sick?”
I shake my head.
“No.”
The silence stretches between us.
I can hear my heartbeat.
Feel it.
“I wasn’t sick,” I say. “And I wasn’t exhausted because of stress.”
His eyes never leave mine.
I take a breath.
Then another.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the room.
For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t react at all.
He simply looks at me.
I feel every second of that silence.
Every doubt.
Then he sits down.
As though his legs simply decide they need the support.
“Lorenzo?”
He leans forward, one hand covering his mouth.
I stare at him.
In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve seen him angry, ruthless, amused, protective and terrifying.
I’ve never seen him overwhelmed.
“When did you find out?” he asks at last.
“This morning.”
He nods once.
A quiet curse slips under his breath.
The sound is so unexpected that I almost laugh.
“You aren’t angry?”
His head lifts immediately.
“Angry?”
“I didn’t know how you’d feel.”
His expression changes.
Not because of the pregnancy.
Because I had reason to ask.
He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer.
“Come here.”
I step between his knees.
His hands settle at my waist.
“Look at me.”
I do.
His gaze is steady.
“Don’t ever question whether our child is wanted.”
The words steal the air from my lungs.
Our child.
The tears arrive before I can stop them.
Lorenzo sighs softly.
“Cara.”
I laugh through the tears and wipe at my face.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“What did the doctor say?”
And so I tell him.
About the test, the appointment, and confirmation.
What I felt sitting alone in that hospital room.
The joy that followed it.
The thousand questions that came afterwards.
He listens without interrupting.
By the time I finish, he looks as though he’s already planning the next ten years.
The sight makes something warm settle inside my chest.
Carefully, almost hesitantly, he places his hand against my stomach.
Neither of us speaks.
We simply stand there.
The reality of it settles over us both.
His heir.
A future.
A family.
His gaze remains fixed on the place beneath his palm.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.
Filled with wonder more than certainty.
“Our baby.”
The words are almost lost beneath the sound of rain against the windows.
But I hear them.
Now I feel safe after the nightmare.