44. Saverio
44
SAVERIO
I sit at my desk in Konza Elite, eyes staring out the window blankly. I thought coming here would keep me busy, keep my mind on something other than Lucia. There’s a soft hum of conversation in the office and the quiet tapping of keyboards as my employees work, but I feel a million miles away from it all. My world feels like it’s been painted in shades of gray, and everything outside my office door is colorful in a way I can’t compute.
My assistant, Trisha, knocks softly on the door before stepping inside. She wears a weak smile, knowing something is up but unable to draw it out of me. She walks in and places a bottle of water on the desk alongside a sandwich from McAlister’s Deli. I’m not hungry, but I flash her a smile of gratitude nonetheless.
“Can I get you anything else, Saverio?”
I shake my head, barely registering her presence. “No. That’s all.”
Trisha lingers for a moment, her eyes searching me to determine if she should ask again. But after a long second, she decides to leave without another word, and I’m left alone with silence and thoughts I can’t overcome.
I swivel my chair toward the expansive window, my gaze unfocused as it drifts across the sprawling cityscape before me. I’ve built an empire out there, brick by painstaking brick, pouring my heart and soul into every project I’ve commissioned. I’ve transformed barren lots into thriving communities, expanded struggling neighborhoods into prosperous districts, and created intricate infrastructure that helped propel this once-sleepy town into the vibrant metropolis it is today. My fingerprints are on every corner, every building, every success story. But now, as I sit here in my lofty office, none of it seems to matter. All these accomplishments feel hollow and meaningless when all I can think about is Lucia; her absence is an ache that no amount of concrete and steel can fill.
This isn’t the first time we’ve had a pregnancy scare; it’s just the first time the pregnancy turned out to be real.
It feels like it was just yesterday when she showed up at my door in the middle of a thunderstorm. She was soaking wet, her clothes clinging to her body, makeup streaking down her face in dark rivulets. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched her purse, knuckles white with tension. Her voice quavered as she told me she’d missed her period, the words charged with fear and uncertainty. In that moment, standing on my doorstep, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of us.
She was twenty—still in college and figuring out her life, falling for me one day and hating me the next. We alternated between talking about our future together to not talking for weeks on end, our relationship a rollercoaster of emotions and uncertainty. But the fear in Lucia’s eyes that night cut right through me.
I remember standing frozen in the doorway, my hand gripping the frame for support, as she fidgeted nervously on the porch. The rain soaked her to the bone, her clothes clinging to her shivering form like a second skin. “I didn’t think anything of it at first,” she stammered. Her voice trembled almost as much as her lower lip. “But it’s been over a week, Saverio. What do we do?”
I pulled her inside, not caring that she was dripping all over the entryway. “We love one another,” I announced as I pulled her close.
Lucia tried to pull away, her sodden clothes leaving damp patches on my shirt. “I’m wet, Saverio. I don’t want to ruin your clothes,” she protested weakly, her eyes darting to the puddle forming at her feet.
But I was desperate to touch her, to feel her warmth despite the chill of her rain-soaked skin. I needed to have my body against hers to ground me, to remind myself that she was real and here with me. The urgency of the moment overwhelmed any concern for material things. “Fuck my clothes, Dandelion,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “Let me hold you. Please. I need this.”
She collapsed into my arms a moment later, her wet hair sticking to my shirt and water soaking my socks, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to calm the storm inside her, to tell her that whatever came next, we could handle it together. I held her in my arms, feeling her body tremble against mine as she let out shaky breaths of acceptance.
It took a few minutes, but I got her to the couch. Lucia protested briefly before I pulled her on top of me. “I don’t care about the couch. I can buy a new one,” I whispered as I brushed away strands of hair stuck to her forehead. “I love you, Lucia. If you’re pregnant, we’ll figure out what to do next. There is nothing that you and I can’t do together. If being parents is next on the list, we’ll crush that, too.”
She was scared; I could understand why. Very few people dream of starting a family when they’ve just barely become adults themselves. But we spent all night on that couch, curled up and talking about our new future together. We swore we’d be better parents than our own; we talked about how we’d create a family that wasn’t defined by our past or the violence of my world. For a few hours, it felt real. The life I’d always imagined with her finally felt like it was within my grasp.
But the next morning, she took a pregnancy test, and it was negative. We both stared at the single line on the stick, a mixture of emotions swirling between us. Then, a few days later, her period arrived, confirming what we already knew.
I was disappointed, more than I cared to admit. The brief fantasy of fatherhood had taken root, and it hurt to have it yanked away so quickly. But I didn’t tell Lucia how I felt. She was visibly relieved. She acted like a death sentence had just been lifted, her shoulders relaxing and a brightness returning to her eyes that I hadn’t realized was missing. I didn’t want to take that away from her or make her feel guilty for her relief.
But deep down, in the quiet moments when she wasn’t looking, I’d already started pricing cribs online and mentally mapping out which room in the house we’d turn into a nursery. I found myself lingering in the baby aisle at the store, fingering tiny onesies and imagining a future that now seemed further away than ever.
I have the kind of power that men dream about. I could crush this city and everyone in it if I wanted to. I could afford to buy up every free plot of land and build Manhattan into the city of my dreams. The potential before me is more than most will ever see a fraction of in their entire lives.
But when it comes to Lucia, I’m powerless. I’ve always thought we’d wind up together in the end. I’ve done whatever’s required to make that happen, but for the first time in my life, I’m facing the possibility that I might not get the only thing I have ever wanted.
She’s pregnant now—really, truly pregnant. And instead of turning to me, she’s afraid of me. She’s afraid of what my influence will do to our child.
My hands tighten into fists, my knuckles a bright white against the dark leather of my chair. I’ve been in love with this woman since she turned eighteen. I’ve spent years planning a future together, years building an empire for our children to inherit, only to have it ripped away in an instant with her words.
Right now, I need to decide if I want to be the family you’ll kill for.
Her words echo in my head, and fear starts to creep in. It isn’t the kind of fear that I’m used to—the kind that comes with threats to my livelihood or my father’s legacy. This is different. This is the fear of losing the only person who’s ever made me feel whole. It’s the fear of not being enough.
I could force Lucia’s hand, pull her back into my world like I’ve always done, and make her marry me like I intended years ago when I signed the marriage contract with her father. But I’m afraid if I do that, she’ll leave me for good. And now that she’s pregnant with my child, I can’t lose her. Losing her now would destroy me.