Chapter 60
The moment the paramedics roll in, I don’t let go of her.
She’s awake, then out again. In pain, but still breathing steady. Her blood stains my hands, her arm wrapped hastily with a towel one of Violette’s guards handed me. I’ve applied pressure since the second she went down. But she hasn’t opened her eyes fully again. And that’s what’s eating me alive.
“She hit her head,” I snap when they ask. “Went down hard. Marble floor.”
They nod, already moving efficiently, voices calm like this is just another routine Friday night. Maybe for them it is. But for me, this is the worst kind of fucking nightmare.
“She’ll be okay,” one of them assures me. “The bullet passed clean through muscle. The head injury will be assessed at the hospital.”
I’m already climbing into the back of the ambulance before they can finish. “I’m not leaving her.”
“She’s stable,” another medic says, securing the oxygen mask gently over her face, starting an IV. “But she might drift in and out.”
I take her hand as they load us in, the doors shutting behind me with a final bang that makes my spine lock tight.
She looks small on the stretcher. Zara—my fierce, sharp-mouthed firecracker—now pale and still beneath the flashing lights. I lace our fingers together, grounding myself with the contact.
“Hey, baby,” I say softly, leaning closer. “You’re okay. We’re almost there.”
The siren wails above us, the ride jostling. I barely register it. My eyes stay fixed on her face, waiting for another flicker, another twitch of her fingers. I need her to wake up. Simply because I can’t take one more minute not hearing her smart mouth, not seeing those defiant eyes.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You scared the shit out of me, Zara. One second you were on that stage lighting the room on fire, the next…” My jaw tightens. I press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Don’t ever drop like that again. You hear me?”
Her head shifts slightly. A groan escapes her lips. My breath catches.
“Zara?” I move in closer. “Hey. Open those pretty eyes for me.”
She blinks once, sluggish. Her face scrunches, then relaxes.
“Enzo…?”
“I’m right here, baby. You’re okay.”
She winces, her voice hoarse. “Shoulder…hurts like a bitch.”
A relieved laugh breaks from my chest. “Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you take a bullet for dramatic effect.”
She smiles weakly, but her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Then, like a whisper caught on the edge of a dream, she mumbles, “The baby…”
Time stops.
I stare at her, heartbeat slamming against my ribs. “What did you say?”
Her gaze shifts—barely—but she’s fading again, her body curling slightly against the pain as her lashes lower.
“Zara.” I brush the hair from her face, fighting to stay calm, my fingers trembling. “What did you say?”
But she’s out again. Not unconscious, just drifting—worn down from the adrenaline crash, the pain, everything. The medic beside me glances over, obviously hearing what she said.
Baby.
I don’t know if she meant it metaphorically, if she’s disoriented and talking nonsense…or if she just told me something real.
Something huge.
I sit back in the narrow bench seat, still clutching her hand, the weight of her words knocking the air out of me.
She might be pregnant.
And I didn’t know.
Emotion coils hot in my throat—fear, confusion, anger. I look at her again, at the blood still dried around her temple, at the delicate rise and fall of her chest. My queen. My future.
Whatever that meant before, it means more now.
I grip her hand tighter and press another kiss to her skin.
“You don’t get to drop a bomb like that and go quiet on me,” I whisper, voice thick. “So when we get to that hospital, you’re going to wake up. You’re going to look me in the eye, and you’re going to tell me what the hell that meant.”
I glance at her stomach, then back to her face.
“And if it’s true, baby…” I pause, heart pounding. “You have no idea how ready I am.”
The ER is colder than it should be. White walls, bright lights, that sharp antiseptic sting in the air that clings to skin and clothes like smoke.
But all I can see is her—half-conscious on the stretcher, lips cracked, hair tangled, blood soaking the shredded strap of her dress like a dark red sash.
They wheel her into the trauma bay with practiced urgency, calling out vitals, orders, assessments. I follow without permission. No one tries to stop me—they take one look at my face and know better.
Zara’s body jerks slightly when they lift her onto the hospital bed. She winces, her arm an angry mess beneath the makeshift dressing. They move around her with practiced precision—cutting fabric, pressing gauze, checking her pupils. My stomach knots tighter with every shift of her expression.
She’s not dying. I know that now. The bullet missed anything vital. The fall rattled her, probably gave her a minor concussion, but she’s here. Awake enough to hiss at the nurse trying to swab her shoulder. Still biting back pain with a clenched jaw and a scowl that would terrify most men.
All of it just makes me want to kneel beside her and thank whatever god she pissed off for keeping her in one piece.
“Vitals are stable,” a nurse says from the foot of the bed. “We’ve notified OB for a consultation—patient mentioned possible pregnancy during transport.”
I turn to Zara and she’s already watching me. No fear in her eyes. Just steady. Fierce. That impossible calm she wears with such ease, like she’s already made peace with the wildfire she lit.
I move to her side, lacing our fingers together with a grip that’s more plea than comfort. My voice is meant for no one but her. “You said something in the ambulance.”
Her lashes lower, just briefly, before she lifts her eyes again. No excuses. No evasion.
“I took a test before the gala…” she starts, her voice thin but unshaken. “It wasn’t negative.”
My pulse stutters. I search her face, needing to be sure I heard her right. “What?”
Zara draws a breath, then exhales like she’s been holding this in for days. “It was positive. I found out just before we left.”
For a beat, the noise around us stops. Just the quiet kind of shift that changes everything in an instant.
One truth heavy enough to recenter the axis of my entire goddamn universe.
I stare at her—at the perfect curve of her mouth, the soft flush returning to her cheeks, the wild strength behind her eyes.
“You’re pregnant.” The words fall from my lips like a prayer I didn’t know I’d been whispering every time I came inside her.
She nods, the smallest movement. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t have let me walk onto that stage.”
“You’re fucking right I wouldn’t have.” I drop to my knees beside her bed, chest aching. “You were already risking everything with that speech, and you still walked into that ballroom with my child inside you?”
Her voice stays soft. “See? If I had told you, you would’ve locked me in the damn bedroom.”
I can’t argue, because she’s right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Enzo, I needed to do this. When I saw those two lines, it only strengthened me. I knew I wanted to end my past, destroy my family name to be sure that our child would be born into a new era. That they would never know him as I did.”
I let my hand drift to her stomach. Still flat beneath the hospital gown. I let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t deserve you, Angel. You’re so strong, so fearless. But from now on, you have to be more careful. You carry me in there too.”
She blinks quickly, emotion catching up with her. “I was scared,” she admits. “Not of the pregnancy. Of telling you. I know you’re okay with the kink, but it’s so fast, I wasn’t sure—”
I stop her with a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face toward mine. “Do I seem like a man who isn’t ready?” My voice is steady. “Zara, I’ve fucked you on every surface possible. If I wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t have been dripping with me for the past month.”
Her lips twitch, the smallest smile breaking through the tremble. “You are filthy, Mr. Marchetti.”
“You bring it out in me, Mrs. Marchetti.” I kiss her hair, softer this time, but my hand slides down to press over her stomach, reverent and claiming all at once. “And now? I can’t wait to watch this body change. To watch you grow more beautiful every day while carrying what we made together.”
Her breath shudders, lips parting, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I whisper against her temple.
“It’s lived in my mind from the moment I touched you.
You carrying our child is everything I ever wanted.
And the thought of every man looking at you and knowing I put it there—knowing I fucked you raw, filled you, claimed you—” My words roughen, almost feral, but I don’t let go of her gaze.
“That isn’t just hot to me, Angel. That’s power. That’s forever.”
That gets a snort through her tears. “Jesus, Enzo.”
“I mean it.” My voice is rough now, the edge of it catching in my throat. “You think I wasn’t obsessed before? You’ve just activated a whole new level of unhinged.”
She shakes her head, eyes wet, smile wry. “You’re going to be unbearable.”
“Only to everyone else. To you? I’ll be at your beckon call. I’ll worship you, I’ll make sure you’re cared for, I’ll love you even harder, Zara.” I grin, leaning in to press a kiss to her jaw, then her lips. “You have no idea how much this fucks me up—in the best way.”
“I didn’t expect it to happen this fast,” she says, softer now. “Five weeks, Enzo. That’s all it took.”
I brush her hair back, reverent. “Of course it was fast. We fuck like Gods and evidently are just as fertile.”
A breath catches in her throat. She closes her eyes for a moment, lips parting. “I wanted it,” she whispers. “I didn’t realize how much until I saw those two lines.”