Chapter 2 #2
For a fleeting, reckless second, I picture Lorenzo finding out.
I imagine his face when I tell him—shock first, then that dark, lethal focus sharpening in his eyes.
I can almost hear his voice, low and fierce, promising protection, promising that no one would touch me or our child as long as he draws breath.
He would come for me.
He would burn cities.
He would start wars.
He would never let me go again.
And we might be happy.
For a while.
My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking, palm flattening there as if I can already shield what’s growing inside me. The thought of Lorenzo knowing—of his enemies knowing—turns my blood cold. Because this wouldn’t just make me vulnerable. It would make the baby a weapon. A bargaining chip.
A target, just like Sienna.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the sting behind them. I love him. God, I love him so much it hurts to breathe. But loving Lorenzo Conti means understanding exactly what his world does to the things he cares about most.
And I won’t do that to my child.
“No,” I whisper, the word tearing out of me. “I can’t tell him.”
Dante watches me carefully, saying nothing.
“If he knows,” I continue, my voice shaking but steadying with each word, “he’ll never stop looking for me. He’ll never stop fighting. And people will keep dying because of me. Because of this.” I swallow hard. “I won’t let my baby be born into that.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
Finally, Dante nods once. “You’re asking for protection.”
“I’m asking to disappear,” I say. “Not forever. Just long enough for him to forget about me. Please. Let me stay with your aunt. Somewhere small. Somewhere quiet. Where no one is looking for a Conti heir.”
His jaw tightens, the wheels clearly turning. “You realize what you’re asking puts a target on my back too.”
“I know and I’m sorry to ask.” My voice breaks despite my best efforts. “And I know he’ll hate me for it. But hating me is better than burying a child.”
Dante studies me for a long moment, then straightens.
“My aunt keeps her head down. People come and go in Polignano a Mare. If you stay out of sight, use a different name… it could work.”
Hope flares, fragile and terrifying.
“You’d do that?” I ask.
“Only because someone already tried to use you to start a war. And because no child deserves to be born as leverage.”
My shoulders sag as the weight of the choice presses fully into place.
Somewhere out there, Lorenzo is looking for me. I know it in my bones. And for the rest of my life, I’ll carry the ache of not telling him the truth.
But I lower my hand to my stomach again and make myself a promise. I will protect this child. Even if it means breaking my own heart.
“Thank you,” I breathe, the words barely holding together. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Dante’s mouth tightens into a grim line, the kind that doesn’t soften with sympathy.
“I do know,” he says quietly. “And that’s exactly why Lorenzo can’t find you.”
The doctor returns and moves with practiced efficiency.
An IV is hung and prenatal vitamins placed on the small table beside me like ordinary objects that suddenly feel monumental.
Dante stays. He doesn’t hover, but he doesn’t leave either.
When food arrives, he makes sure I eat. While I do, he steps away to make calls.
When he comes back, he studies me for a moment, as if seeing the outline of the life I’m about to shed.
“We’ll need to do something with your hair,” he says.
“My hair?” I echo, distracted.
“A blonde woman will stand out too much,” he explains. “We need to dye it. Maybe cut it.”
I don’t hesitate.
“Okay,” I say.
Because if disappearing is the price of freedom for me, and for the child growing quietly inside me then I’ll pay it.
The woman arrives just after sunset. She’s older, with kind eyes and practiced hands, the kind of person who’s seen enough to ask questions silently and keep secrets without being told.
She carries a small rolling case that clicks softly over the marble floors, nodding once to Dante before turning her attention to me.
She doesn’t ask my name. Just has me sit in a chair near one of the tall windows, the sea beyond it dark and endless. She drapes a towel around my shoulders, fingers gentle as she sections my hair. The smell of chemicals fills the room, and I breathe through my mouth, hands folded in my lap.
There’s no going back after this.
She works quietly, methodically, like this is just another evening appointment.
Like she isn’t helping erase someone. When she’s finished, she rinses and dries, the hum of the dryer loud in the stillness.
Snip by snip, she trims just enough to change the shape—enough that someone looking for me might hesitate.
Finally, she turns the chair toward the mirror.
I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
My hair is dark now—rich, deep brown, almost black in the low light. It frames my face differently, sharpens my features, makes my eyes look bigger, more serious. Older. Like someone who’s learned how to survive. For a second, my throat closes.
Birdie is gone.
This woman looks like she belongs somewhere else. Someone who could walk through narrow stone streets without being noticed. Someone who could vanish into a crowd and never be found.
I lift a hand, touching the unfamiliar strands, half-expecting them to fade back to gold. They don’t.
Behind me, Dante watches in silence, his expression unreadable.
“Does it look okay?” I ask quietly.
The woman meets my eyes in the mirror and gives a small, approving nod. “You look strong,” she says in accented English. “Very strong.”
Strong.
I swallow hard, blinking back the burn behind my eyes. Because strength is what this is going to take. Strength to stay hidden, to keep the truth buried, to raise a child who will never know how close they came to a war.
When the woman leaves, the room feels different. I keep staring at my reflection long after she’s gone, committing this new version of myself to memory.
This is who I have to be now.
For my baby.
I turn to Dante. “I think I’d like to go by Juliet.”
“The star-crossed lover.” His lips lift. “I think it suits you.”
“It’ll have to.”