Chapter 20 - Nico
NICO
Same night, late
I open the door and step back so she has space.
She looks wiped.
Color gone.
A hand on the rail a beat longer than it should be.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods and hangs her coat.
She does not kiss me.
She goes for the sink and fills a glass.
Small sips.
Crackers from her pocket.
She thinks I don't see that part. I do.
“One of my watchers says you changed two shifts last week,” I say. “You skipped an early. You swapped out of triage twice. You move slower some days. Paler. I had them check for a fever on the camera. Nothing. Do you want to talk to me, Elisa?”
Her back tightens.
She keeps her face toward the window.
“You watch me at the hospital now?”
“I watch the doors you use,” I say.
“The SUV that has parked on your block three times this week is not mine. I get told what matters.”
She sets the glass down.
Still no eye contact.
The room is quiet.
I see what I have been trying not to see.
The crackers.
The water.
The way she pushes a palm flat against her stomach without thinking about it.
“Are you sick?” I ask.
My voice stays even. Inside, it's not.
“No.” She looks at the floor.
That is when the last piece slides into place.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does not.
I step in slowly and lift her chin with two fingers.
Her eyes are clear.
Her mouth is set, fear and stubborn in equal parts.
It hits me.
“How far?” I ask.
Her breath catches. She pulls back and puts both hands on the counter. “don't do that.”
“I'm not guessing anymore,” I say. “You are pregnant.”
She closes her eyes once, then opens them.
No drama.
Just truth.
My first feeling is relief I hate to show.
The second is a heat that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the silence.
If I had known, I would have changed the perimeter.
I would have put distance between her and the Bureau’s sightlines.
I would have moved her out of the rotation that leaves her on the street at five in the morning.
I would have put the doctor I trust on call.
Every day she kept this in her pocket, she walked through a city that turns blood into a bargaining chip.
I take a breath and keep my hands on the edge of the table.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I was trying to figure out how,” she says. “Your world makes this complicated.”
“My world makes everything complicated, but it does not change this,” I say. “You don't hide something that puts you in play. Not from me. Not now.”
Her head snaps up.
“In play?”
“Don't twist it,” I say. “I'm not angry because you are pregnant.
I'm angry because you walked through a week of danger without the extra cover I would have put around you. If Marco wants leverage, he finds it in the dark. If the Feds want pressure, they make you sit in a room with nice chairs and ask you to be a good citizen while you are sick over a trashcan. That is how this works.”
She flinches at that picture.
I hate that I put it in her head. I keep my voice low anyway.
“I need to keep you breathing. I need to keep the baby breathing. I can't do that if you shut me out.”
She takes a step toward me and stops.
“I did not shut you out to hurt you. I shut you out because I did not know what this would make me to you. A woman you have to protect for the optics. A name you bring to a table. An heir that men think they are owed a look at.”
I hold her eyes.
“You are not a piece I move. You are mine. That should have been enough to tell me.”
She swallows.
The anger in me cools into something heavier.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “Doctor first? Quiet car? A place to sleep where no one knocks? Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
She hesitates.
That pause is the knife.
It tells me what I already know.
She has been alone with this and measuring me from a distance.
“I have a doctor,” she says. “I will make the appointment in the morning. I will not hide records or play games at work. I will do this right.”
“Good,” I say. “I know a second if you want a private consult after. She is clean. She keeps her mouth shut. No favors. Just a number when you need it.”
She nods.
She still will not look straight at me.
That turns the heat back on.
I step in until there is no more distance left and set my hands on her arms.
Not hard.
Not soft.
Firm enough that the words don't float.
“How long have you known?” I ask.
Her eyes finally meet mine.
There is fear there.
There is steel too.
“Long enough,” she says, and her voice doesn’t shake. “Long enough to know I can’t lose this baby to your world.”