Chapter 24 Isabella
ISABELLA
I sit at my sewing table, staring at the fabric I've been working with, but my hands remain still.
The conversation with Roman replays in my mind like a broken record.
The disappointment in his eyes guts me. At the same time, how quickly he questioned me hurts and angers me.
Trust. He doesn’t trust me.
I push away from the table and pace the bedroom. What did he expect me to do? Cause a scene in public with Angelica there?
He’d told me work had been difficult lately. I believe the word he used was “shitshow.”
I didn’t need to interrupt him about something we could deal with when he got home.
I handled it the best way I could, and still, Roman looked at me like I'd betrayed him all over again.
I glance at the clock. Roman has been gone for hours now, dealing with whatever emergency called him back to work.
Or maybe he's just avoiding coming home to face me. To face the decision of whether to believe me or not.
How many hoops do I need to jump through to prove myself?
I handed over the burner phone. I've stayed away from Blackwood. I've done everything he's asked, and still, one conversation I couldn't avoid has him questioning me all over again.
The notebook sits on the bed, my mother's words waiting to be read fully.
I change into my nightgown and slide under the covers, staring at the ceiling. The bed feels too big, too empty without him beside me. It's strange how quickly I've gotten used to his presence, his warmth.
I roll to my side, watching the door, willing it to open.
But as the hours tick by, I realize he's not coming home tonight.
As much as I want him to come back, I’m also terrified of what will happen when he does.
I wake with a start. The space beside me remains undisturbed. Roman never came home.
Sunlight filters through the curtains telling me I did sleep, after all.
My body feels heavy as I push myself up, a wave of nausea washing over me.
Great. Just what I need, to be sick on top of everything else.
I press my palm against my forehead, expecting to feel warmth. At least I don’t have a fever.
I drag myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and brushing my teeth.
The apartment is quiet as I make my way to the kitchen. Mrs. Rossi is already there, preparing Angelica's breakfast.
"Good morning," I rasp.
Mrs. Rossi gives me a sympathetic look. "You don't look well, Mrs. Ginetti."
Mrs. Ginetti. A title I never wanted but now cling to as my only protection.
"Is Roman…?" I start, scanning the apartment as if he might materialize from the shadows.
"He called early this morning," Mrs. Rossi says, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Said he had business to attend to."
Business. Is that true or is he avoiding coming home to face me? Or maybe he’s being grilled by La Corona.
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table.
Angelica bounces in. She stops when she sees me, her little face scrunching up. "Where's Daddy?"
"Working, sweetheart," Mrs. Rossi answers before I can.
Angelica's disappointment mirrors my own, though for different reasons.
She misses her father.
I miss… what? The possibility of something real between us?
I wrap my hands around a mug of tea Mrs. Rossi sets before me, letting the warmth seep into my cold fingers.
I stare at the scrambled eggs Mrs. Rossi places in front of me, the smell suddenly overwhelming. My stomach lurches violently.
"Excuse me," I mutter, pushing away from the table so quickly my chair nearly topples.
I barely make it to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet as everything comes up. Wave after wave of nausea grips me until there's nothing left but dry heaves that leave me trembling.
I rest my forehead against the cool porcelain. The stress of my life has finally caught up to me.
A soft knock on the door. "Mrs. Ginetti? Are you all right?" Mrs. Rossi's concerned voice makes me want to laugh hysterically.
All right? I'm trapped in a marriage to a man who might decide to kill me. Sure. I’m all right.
"I'm fine," I call back weakly, pushing myself up to rinse my mouth at the sink.
When I open the door, Mrs. Rossi stands there with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Her eyes, usually stoic and professional, hold genuine concern.
"Thank you," I whisper, taking both from her.
"You should rest today," she says, studying my face. "This stress isn't good for you… or the baby, if there is one."
I nearly choke on the water. "Baby? That's… That's not possible."
Mrs. Rossi gives me a knowing look. "No? You and Mr. Ginetti have been married for weeks now. Unless you’ve been using something…"
"But we've only been…" I stop myself, heat rushing to my cheeks.
God. We haven’t been using anything. We’ve never even discussed it. "It's much, too soon to know something like that."
"If you say so," she replies with a small smile. "My sister knew within days. Said her body felt different right away.”
“I don’t feel different… Well… Right now, I don’t feel well, but that’s probably stress.”
“Just in case, I picked this up a few weeks back when it was clear… well…”
I stare at her. “Clear what?”
“I wash your sheets, Mrs. Ginetti.”
I gape at her and my cheeks heat to molten lava that my sheets give away my sexual exploits.
I realize then she’s holding a box out for me. I take it and send her away, too embarrassed to look at her.
I shut the door to the bathroom wondering if I’m dreaming. A nightmare.
A baby? Roman's baby?
How did my life become this complicated?
One minute, I'm trying to avenge my mother, the next, I'm taking a pregnancy test while my Mafia enforcer husband is likely being ordered to kill me.
Mrs. Rossi knocks softly on the door frame.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Rossi.”
“Good to know. I just wanted to remind you that I'll be off for the next twenty-four hours."
Oh, right. I forgot. "Of course. Enjoy your time off.”
She hesitates, then adds, "Mr. Ginetti always hoped for more children, you know. After Angelica was born, he and Emilia talked about having a big family. Life had other plans, of course."
The information is probably supposed to help, but it doesn’t.
Roman wanted more children with a woman he loved.
Not a woman forced upon him.
"Angelica will need dinner around six," Mrs. Rossi continues. "There's pasta sauce in the refrigerator. Just heat it up and boil some noodles."
"I can handle it," I assure her. "Angelica and I will be fine."
“I know she will. She’s come to love you.”
God, another statement that hurts more than helps.
After she leaves, I stare at the pregnancy test. Could it really be possible that I'm pregnant?
"This is ridiculous," I mutter to myself. "It's just stress and illness."
But the nagging possibility won't leave me alone. I rip open the box and follow the directions.
Three minutes later, I'm staring at a single pink word.
PREGNANT.
"No," I whisper, sinking onto the edge of the bathtub. "No, no, no."
But there's no mistaking it. I'm pregnant with Roman Ginetti's child.
I press my palm against my still-flat stomach, trying to comprehend the new life growing inside me.
A strange, unexpected warmth blooms in my chest, fighting against the panic. A baby. My baby. Our baby.
"What am I going to do?" I ask my reflection in the mirror.
Roman's face flashes in my mind.
What will he do with this news?
Will he be happy?
Or will this child be another complication in our already complicated lives?
I think of Angelica, who's only just started warming up to me. How will she feel about a sibling?
Then there's the notebook, the investigation, the FBI. All of it swirls around us. What kind of world am I bringing this child into?
More than ever, I wish my mother were here. She’d know what to do. Or at least she’d be by my side to guide me.
A part of me wants to call him right now, to blurt out this life-changing news.
Maybe it would bring him home.
Maybe it would remind him of what we've been building together.
But another part of me hesitates. What if he thinks I planned this?
What if he believes I'm using this child as leverage, as protection?
I realize that this pregnancy changes everything.
It's no longer just about me finding justice for my mother or Roman protecting his family.
There's an innocent life involved now.
"Isabella?" Angelica's small voice calls from the hallway. "Are you making lunch soon? I'm hungry."
"Coming, sweetheart," I call back. I splash cold water on my face and take a deep breath.
I have time to decide what to do.
For now, there's a little girl waiting for me, my baby's half-sister, and she needs lunch.
The rest—the notebook, the FBI, Roman's absence, and now this baby—can wait.