Chapter 12
Night wrapped the enormous property in silence.
Outside, only the cold wind moved through the trees while the city slept.
Inside the Salvatore mansion, however, silence did not exist.
Vincenzo sat behind the huge dark-wood desk in his office, surrounded by reports and documents he could no longer read. For months his life had run on autopilot. Wake up. Work. Fulfill obligations. Sleep. And repeat it all again.
As if he were surviving instead of living.
Suddenly someone knocked on the door. Through the cameras on his computer he could see who it was and allowed them in.
Two of his men entered with tense expressions. One of them placed a folder on the desk.
“Report on Sara Romani, sir.”
Vincenzo’s heart clenched hard. It still hurt to hear that name. Even after so many months. Even after everything.
“Leave it there. I’ll look at it later.”
But neither of them moved.
Vincenzo raised his eyes, already sensing something was wrong.
“Did something happen?”
The men exchanged glances. It was the second one who spoke, his voice low:
“We thought it best that you see it now.”
Worry turned into instant fear. Vincenzo pushed the chair back and opened the folder in a hurry.
His first thought was terrible.
Someone tried to kill her.
His eyes raced across the pages.
Stopped.
Went back.
Read again.
And again.
As if his mind refused to understand those words.
Pregnant.
Sara was pregnant.
The report slipped from his fingers and fell onto the desk.
“What…?”
The entire office fell silent.
“What do you mean she’s pregnant?!” His voice exploded, rough with shock and rage while still staring at the papers.
He stood up so fast the chair slammed hard against the wall behind him.
“Who was in that house? Which son of a bitch touched my woman?!”
The men remained motionless.
“We don’t know, sir. From the cameras, there has been no male movement in her house in the last few months.”
“How not? My Sara wouldn’t turn into some whore and get pregnant by some street bum. Is she married?”
“No.”
“Dating anyone?”
“We have no record of any man.”
Vincenzo ran his hands over his face, his chest rising and falling violently.
“You’ve been monitoring that house for months and never saw anything?!”
He paced from one side to the other like a caged animal. Images began to rise in his head without mercy: another man touching her, kissing her, sleeping beside her, doing with her what only he had the right to do.
The mere idea made something brutal rise in his chest.
But then another possibility appeared.
One he tried to push away, but that refused to leave.
He did the math mentally.
Seven months.
Almost eight.
The period when they were still together.
The dates.
The last time he had touched her.
The last night they had slept together.
The blood drained from his face.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Without saying another word, Vincenzo abandoned the folder on the desk and left the office like a man possessed. The men ran after him, but he answered no one.
He crossed corridors, went down stairs, didn’t even notice the employees staring in fear.
Didn’t even notice Eleonora calling his name, worried from the other side of the room.
He kept walking.
Almost running.
Until he reached the garage.
Minutes later, the Corvette was roaring through the Italian night.
The entire way, his thoughts destroyed him.
What if it’s mine?
What if it’s another man’s?
What if she moved on?
What if she’s with someone now?
Each possibility was a stab.
When he finally stopped on her street, it was already past midnight. The house was dark and silent. He stayed inside the car for a few seconds, hands gripping the steering wheel hard, trying to gather the courage to get out.
Then he got out.
The spare key his men had obtained still worked. The door opened without a sound.
Her scent invaded everything immediately — a perfume a little different from what he remembered, sweeter, warmer. His heart clenched so hard he had to stop in the hallway to breathe.
Everything still looked the same.
But at the same time it felt completely different.
He walked slowly. That was when he saw a door slightly open at the beginning of the hallway.
He stopped.
Pushed the wood gently.
And froze.
It was a nursery.
A girl’s nursery.
The walls were a soft shade of light pink. A small white crib stood in the center. Tiny clothes carefully folded on a dresser. A stuffed teddy bear sitting on the armchair. Everything simple. Everything modest. Everything made with love.
Vincenzo’s eyes filled with tears instantly.
Because that was his dream.
The fantasy he had built with her in secret.
Seeing her carrying his children.
Seeing her preparing a little room like this for their daughter.
And now she had prepared all of this… for another man’s baby.
The pain was so strong he had to brace one hand against the wall so he wouldn’t fall. A tear escaped. Then another. He wiped them away angrily, but he couldn’t stop.
Even so, he kept walking.
Until he reached her bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar.
He hesitated for a second, afraid of what he might find. But when he pushed the door open and entered…
She was there.
Sleeping.
Alone.
No man beside her.
No new ring on her finger.
Just Sara.
She was sleeping on her side, one hand resting on her rounded belly. Her dark hair spread across the pillow. Her face peaceful, but with visible dark circles even in the dark. She looked tired. She looked like she had suffered.
Vincenzo approached slowly, his hands trembling. He stopped beside the bed. For long seconds he simply watched her breathe. Then, with an almost reverent delicacy, he pulled the fabric of the blanket just a few centimeters.
Enough to see.
Enough to confirm.
His breath failed completely.
She really was pregnant.
A tear slid down his face. Then another. And another. Because in that moment something inside him spoke the truth he had been trying to deny since he read the report.
That child could be his.
It had to be his.
Seven months.
Seven months he had lost.
Seven months of his own child’s life.
Or daughter’s.
Seven months of the woman he loved more than his own life.
The tears fell onto his hands while he looked at her belly. He slowly extended his hand, almost touching, but stopped a few centimeters away. He didn’t have the right. Not after everything he had done.
It was precisely the small muffled sound of a sob that woke Sara.
She stirred. Opened her eyes slowly. It took her a few seconds to focus on the male silhouette beside the bed.
Her heart raced.
In a pure survival instinct, she rolled on the bed and reached for the knife she kept hidden on the nightstand.
She pointed it at the figure in the dark, her voice trembling and frightened:
“Who are you? How dare you break into my house, you bastard?!”
The man didn’t move. He only sighed.
He simply remained still.
Then the moonlight crossed the window and illuminated part of his face.
And Sara froze.
The knife almost slipped from her fingers.
Because she recognized those eyes.
She recognized that face.
She recognized the man who had destroyed her heart and disappeared.
“Vincenzo…?” The name came out like a broken whisper.
He lifted his eyes.
Red. Full of tears.
Locked on her belly.
Then he answered with a completely destroyed voice, almost unrecognizable:
“Sara…”
The floor seemed to disappear beneath her feet.
Vincenzo took a hesitant step forward. The tears kept falling, silent. He looked at her belly once more, as if he couldn’t look away, and when he spoke again, his voice came out so low and pained that it seemed to tear the air:
“Is it mine?”
Sara couldn’t answer right away.
Tears were already streaming down her face too.