Chapter 26
Birdie
There aren’t any messages from Lorenzo by the time I crawl into bed. None when I wake up, either.
I tell myself it’s fine. That he’s busy. That he’s in a different city, handling dangerous things and tying off the loose ends that got Sienna killed. I also lie and tell myself that I feel sick because I’m worried about him.
But the nausea curling hot and vicious in my stomach tells a different story.
I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching until my eyes sting and my throat burns. When it’s over, I sit on the cool tile, breathing hard.
It could be stress. It could be the knowledge of what he did with my pills. It could be anything, really. But there’s another possibility. One I haven’t allowed myself to really think about.
Am I pregnant?
The thought hits me like ice water. Sharp and real, too possible to ignore.
I stand slowly, gripping the counter as I meet my reflection in the mirror.
My skin is pale. My eyes are swollen. But there’s something else.
An uncertainty blooming like a bruise. God knows we’ve had more than enough sex to make it possible.
And without protection. Because he made sure of that.
My pulse hammers in my throat.
Does Lorenzo have a test somewhere? A doctor on standby? Something hidden in his bathroom? Surely a man so hellbent on getting me pregnant would have something on hand to check when the time came.
I change quickly, my hands shaking the whole time, and step into the hallway. Every step toward his room feels like walking through water.
When I open his door, the world tilts.
Francesca is standing near the closet.
Unpacking.
Her.
Clothes.
She turns at the sound, her expression brightening automatically then faltering when she realizes it’s just me.
Her hands drift to her stomach, small but unmistakable gesture, and I see the gentle curve pushing beneath her expensive dress.
She shields it with her palm like she’s protecting it from me.
The air leaves my lungs.
“What are you doing in here?” she asks sharply.
My mind blanks. Panic claws up my spine.
“I… I needed a band-aid,” I manage, voice thin and humiliating. “I thought Mr. Conti might have some.”
Her lips press into a cold, polite line. The kind of smile women like her weaponize.
“Ask Rosa. And please refrain from barging into my bedroom like that.”
My bedroom. The words hit harder than a slap. Because she’s right. This room is hers. The closet is hers. The space, the bed, the life—hers. And I’m just the mistake he couldn’t let go of. I nod quickly, backing out before she can see the way my chest is caving in.
But the universe has a sick sense of humor, because as I hurry back down the hall I run straight into Cesaro. He’s heading toward Lorenzo’s bedroom carrying a few boxes. Francesca’s boxes.
My voice comes out thin and cracked. “Does… does Lorenzo know Francesca is moving in?”
Cesaro stops. His face gives away nothing—not surprise, not concern, not even sympathy. Just the cool, unreadable mask of a man who knows far too much.
“I believe Mr. Conti is going to speak to you when he returns,” he says carefully.
Mr. Conti.
Something inside me breaks. A quiet, hollow snap.
“No,” I whisper. “No. This is just like New Year’s Eve all over again.”
He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t reassure me. He just stands there holding those freaking boxes like this is how things were always supposed to end.
“And when will he return?” I ask, even though I’m terrified of the answer.
“His plane lands at six,” he says.
I nod and step past him, walking the rest of the hallway like a ghost wearing my skin. When I reach the guest room, I close the door behind me and lean against it for a long moment. The silence presses in like a weight.
I look around the room. The space feels too small, too temporary, too full of everything I don’t want to face.
I can’t stay here.
I can’t—
But what if I’m pregnant?
My stomach twists again, nausea sweeping through me so hard I grip the dresser to steady myself. I try to imagine what Sienna would say, what she would do if she were here.
But I can’t because Sienna… Sienna wouldn’t be dumb enough to fall into a trap like this. She wouldn’t let a man like Lorenzo ruin her life. She wouldn’t lie awake wondering if her body had already betrayed her heart. She’d run and save herself.
And standing in this room that smells like Lorenzo, I realize I don’t even know if I can do that.
I’m deep in thought, well, more like panic looping through my mind in a tight, choking circle, when there’s a knock. Before I can answer, the door swings open and Francesca walks in like she owns the place. Maybe she does. She certainly has more of a right to be in this house than I do.
She sits on the edge of my bed, one manicured hand smoothing her skirt as if she isn’t intruding on the wreckage of my life.
“I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” she says bluntly. “Which is why I’d like to offer you an olive branch.”
My brows knit because that isn’t what I expected her to say.
“Olive branch?”
“A peace offering,” she clarifies, then adds with a cruel smile, “though we both know you should be the one offering me something since you’ve been sleeping with my fiancé.”
My eyes widen. The air catches in my throat. Oh my god. She knows?
She laughs a soft, elegant, vicious sound.
“Yes, I know all about that. I can’t say I blame you. Lorenzo is very persuasive when he wants something. Even if it was just a distraction to help him get over the loss of his daughter.”
The mention of his daughter cuts deeper than any accusation and I flinch.
Hard. Honestly, I think it hurts so much because it makes sense.
In what world does a man like Lorenzo Conti end up with a nobody like me?
Spoiler alert. They don’t. No, they end up with women like Francesca, who understand the world he runs.
Who have been trained their entire life to stand at his side.
And me? I was just something that helped him get over the tragic loss of Sienna. If I hadn’t been here, I’m sure he would have turned straight to Francesa. As he should have.
My stomach roils.
But she isn’t finished.
“Lorenzo is going to come home tonight and tell you everything is safe in Kansas City,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’ll say you can leave. Say he’s done what he promised.”
She tilts her head, watching me like a specimen under glass.
“But we both know he’s not the type of man to let someone go that easily.”
A chill climbs my spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, voice flattening into something cold and practiced, “that he will have people watching you for the rest of your life. And when the time comes that you want happiness again? A relationship? A family? You won’t get it. He will make sure of it.”
My heart stumbles. “Why would he—”
She cuts me off. “Ask me how I know.”
My voice is barely audible. “How do you know?”
“Because he did the same thing with his last mistress.”
I freeze.
“She’s off in some tiny, insignificant town. Lorenzo has men stationed there twenty-four hours a day. She’s not allowed to leave. Not allowed to date. Not allowed to live.” Francesca lifts her chin. “She’s a ghost. All because she loved a mafia Don.”
It feels like the room tilts sharply to one side. My breath comes fast and thin. If this is true…if even half of it is true—
My life is no longer my own.
Francesca smooths her skirt again, voice turning almost gentle. Almost.
“As I said, I’m here with a peace offering. One where you get more than you deserve, though, I admit, I’ll be getting something out of it, too.”
I swallow hard. “What is it?”
“I’ll help you leave.”
The words hit like a punch.
“You pick the city,” she says smoothly. “I’ll make sure you get there without Lorenzo knowing. You will be able to live your life.” Then she leans in slightly. “And we can finally move on with our life and our family.”
My breath catches.
Her bump. Her suitcase in the closet. Her certainty. She’s not offering me freedom out of kindness. She’s offering me exile so she can secure her place by his side.
But she also might be offering something else.
A chance at a life that doesn’t belong to him.
“I’d say I’d give you time to think it over, but we don’t have time,” Francesca says crisply, rising from the bed with the easy confidence of a woman who has already won.
“If you want to go, we need to be at the airport in an hour.” Her gaze sweeps the room dismissively.
“Pack lightly. And, for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid like texting him or leaving a note. ”
My heart thuds painfully. “How do you know he won’t find me?”
She smiles coldly.
“Because the moment you leave this penthouse, Elizabeth Miller goes away.” Her voice softens, mockingly kind. “I’ll even let you pick your new name. Once you’re ready, meet me in my room. And remember… one hour, or it’ll be too late.”
She leaves without another word, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering like a curse.
And I—I have no idea what the right choice is.
My chest aches with the thought of Lorenzo coming home and finding me gone. Of hurting him the way he hurt me. Of leaving without a goodbye.
But maybe it really is for the best.
Especially if I’m pregnant.
The thought wraps around me like barbed wire. Lorenzo’s world is bloodshed and shadows and consequences that ruin entire families. A child deserves safety, stability, and a life far from mafia violence and obsessive men who love too hard and too dangerously.
By leaving now I’d be protecting my baby, if there is one. And myself. And maybe even him.
God, this is madness.
Am I really thinking of leaving?
Yes. Yes, I am.
I move in a trance, grabbing only what I need. A few clothes. My passport. My phone. Photos of me and Sienna. The barest remnants of a life that never really belonged to me.
When I’m done, I sling the bag over my shoulder and step into the hallway with legs that barely feel like mine.
Lorenzo’s bedroom door is open and voices float out. Francesca and Cesaro. They’re talking in low tones that I can’t hear.
There’s a moment just outside the door when I stop. Can I really do this? I could always turn around and go back to my room and tell Francesca that I’ve changed my mind and that I want to wait until Lorenzo gets home.
But then I think of Sienna and I step inside.
“I’m ready,” I say, though my voice is thin.
Francesca beams like a queen surveying her loyal subject. “Perfect. Do you know where you want to go?”
My throat works. “I… I think I want to go to Los Angeles.”
“A city you can lose yourself in.” She nods approvingly. “It’s the perfect choice.”
Something deep in my chest twists hard—intuition, dread, love, all tangled into a knot that won’t unravel.
“Wait. I—”
“Now,” Francesca snaps.
Cesaro moves before the word fully leaves her lips.
Big hands grip me. Strong. Unyielding. A vice around my arms.
“W–wait,” I cry, but it comes out thin and useless as I try to fight him off.
A sharp sting spears the side of my neck.
I gasp, the world tilting. Blurring. Darkening around the edges like burnt paper curling inward.
My legs buckle, but Cesaro doesn’t let me fall. Each breath makes me feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack that’s going to pull me into darkness if I let it.
Francesca steps forward, serene as a saint, her hand resting delicately on her bump.
“Don’t worry, Birdie,” she says sweetly. “I’ll make sure Lorenzo never finds you.”
My vision swims.
My thoughts scatter.
My body sinks into Cesaro’s arms like dead weight.
“Wait,” I slur, reaching for something—anything—some final anchor to the life I’m being ripped away from.
But it’s too late.
The floor and ceiling flip.
My eyes close.
My world narrows to a pinpoint.
And as everything goes black, only one thought survives the collapse:
Please forgive me, Lorenzo.
Because I already know when he discovers I’m gone… he will burn the world to find me.
Coming Soon:
Freed