45. Luna
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LUNA
I collapse onto the bed, shaking with everything I can’t say out loud.
My heads a mess and I can’t shut it off.
Why does a part of me want to keep this baby safe, and the other part of me wants it gone?
These are the kinds of thoughts that have been haunting me since I found out I was pregnant. What’s wrong with me?
I want to think it’s because this baby will be surrounded by ruthless men who hold all the power.
And their women who have learned how to survive in the aftermath.
What kind of life is that for an innocent child?
Will they ever know peace, or will their first steps be taken on blood-soaked ground?
My chest tightens with that thought. How could I possibly protect them if I’m just a prisoner serving a life sentence?
That’s why I spent months pretending this wasn’t real and avoiding the truth.
I immersed myself in helping the women, so I had an iota of control in a life that had given me none.
I never allowed myself to imagine what being pregnant in this world would be like.
Now that I am, there’s no turning back, and this baby will never truly be mine since it’s a Caputo.
And Nico made it clear that their traditions are written in stone.
Nico. Oh god, I told him I was pregnant. Now everything’s changed. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he’d killed us both. At least then, we’d be free.
Does he even want this child? Will he look at his child the way he looks at me? With venom in his gaze and hatred in his soul. Or will he see his brother—the blood I spilled, and the legacy he’s forced to carry in a way he never wanted?
Minutes bleed into hours, each one heavier than the last. I haven’t seen him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not out there, drowning in whatever grief’s tearing him apart.
I finally slip under the covers since I’m exhausted.
But it has nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with him.
Afraid that if I close my eyes, he’ll finish what he started.
He could still crash through the door, with hatred in his heart, and decide that tonight’s the night he finally takes revenge.
And what would I do?
I stare at the ceiling, but I can’t sleep. This baby’s innocent. Unaware. Growing inside of me, oblivious to the war that will dictate its future before it ever takes its first breath.
But Nico is not innocent.
And neither am I.
Memories rush in before I can stop them.
Memories I’ve spent years trying to bury.
It all started with my father. The man who dictated every step of my life long before I had a chance to take them myself.
The man who decided my fate with a single stroke of a pen, sealing me into a marriage that was never mine to decide.
He started this war.
Reuben D’Angelo set it all in motion, stringing together alliances with blood-soaked hands, signing away his only daughter like I was nothing more than a pawn in his endless pursuit of power.
And I let him because I had no choice. In our world, a daughter is nothing more than a bargaining chip; her value is measured not by who she is but by what she has to offer.
I married Giovanni because it was expected of me. Because it would strengthen our families and unite the two empires. But my father never cared about unity. He cared about control. About power. About ensuring his line continued, even if it meant sacrificing me in the process.
Now that Giovanni’s dead, I’m married to the heir to the Caputo crown. It’s proof that in this life, nothing goes according to plan. And my father’s decision so long ago was all for naught. Because no matter how much I want to believe I can change my future, one brutal truth remains.
It was never mine to decide because I was born into a story already written. And I’ve never held the pen.
The air grows clammy, settling over me like an unwelcome touch. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything except the slow, deliberate drag of footsteps across the floor.
Nico.
I turn, searching through the shadows, but he’s already there. Already watching me.
His face half-shrouded in the dim, iridescent glow of a fire I don’t remember lighting. The heat licks at my skin; the room’s too small.
He steps forward, and suddenly the fire licks at the walls. Devouring the space, inching closer and closer until the heat is horrendous.
“I almost killed you.”
His voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries through the inferno, cutting through the flames.
I want to run.
But my feet won’t move.
The fire is all-consuming, and there’s no way out.
I open my mouth to scream, but the smoke thickens, choking the sound before it can escape. The fire roars, and just before it reaches me…
My body jerks upright.
Sweat clings to my skin, and the sheets are tangled around my legs. I shove them off before pressing my palms against the mattress, centering myself. It was just a nightmare, and the fire wasn’t real. I’m not burning alive, and Nico is not here.
My heart’s pounding. And, I can still feel the heat and smell the oppressive smoke lingering in the room. The eerie sound of Nico’s voice as it pierced through the flames.
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling deeply, but I can’t shake it.
Even though it was just a nightmare, the fear is very real.
Nico is out there somewhere, drowning in his demons, wrestling with the truth I forced into his hands. Now it’s the middle of the night, and he’s still not here. But I keep telling myself he’ll come back. That he’s not done with me yet.
Now I keep wondering, will he walk through that door as my husband or as my enemy?