Chapter 19
GIOVANNI
Pregnant. She’s pregnant.
The words have been circling in my mind since she said them.
They’ve taken root, settled somewhere deeper than I expected, anchoring in a place I didn’t know I kept waiting for something like this.
I should be thinking of what it changes, what could go wrong, but all I can think about is her.
And the quiet fact that she will carry what’s mine.
She is lying beside me now, her breathing even, the soft rise and fall of her chest brushing warm against my side.
My hand rests over her stomach, the weight of it steady, my thumb moving slowly in small, unconscious circles.
Her fingers trace over my forearm, not hurried, not distracted—just there.
There is something different about the quiet between us tonight. It isn’t guarded. It isn’t held up by hesitation. It’s simply still.
It feels like enough.
She watches me when I turn my head toward her. Her gaze lingers, as if she is deciding whether to speak. When I ask what she’s thinking, her fingers move slowly. A secret for a secret.
I stay still, my hand never leaving her stomach. “That sounds like a fair exchange.”
Her signs are smaller this time. I thought you would be angry.
It catches something in my chest. “Angry,” I repeat, the word foreign even to me. “No. Not at you. Not at this.”
I press my palm more firmly to her, the steady weight of it grounding both of us. “I’m glad, Liliana.” The words are simple, but there’s no room for doubt in them.
Her eyes search mine for a moment longer before she signs again, slower now. I don’t want to be a disappointment.
“You won’t be.” My voice is low, certain. “You couldn’t be.”
Her hands lower, still against the sheet. I watch her for a moment, thinking of what she will need. “Would you be willing to let me bring someone in,” I ask, my voice even, “a speech therapist?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. There is no hesitation when she signs. Yes.
The knot in my chest eases. “Good.”
For a while, nothing more is said. My hand stays at her stomach, her fingers rest lightly against my arm, and the quiet folds around us in a way I could almost mistake for peace.
It doesn’t last.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand. I think about ignoring it, about letting the rest of the world wait, but I don’t.
I take the call.
The voice on the other end is low, deliberate. It’s enough to tell me the quiet I thought I had tonight won’t hold.
When I end the call, I sit back against the headboard. Liliana is watching me, her head tilted slightly, the faint crease between her brows telling me she knows something has shifted.
“It’s nothing you need to be concerned about,” I say. It’s true, but not enough.
Her hands move. You’re leaving.
“Not for long.”
The thought of leaving her now sits wrong. It is sharper than it has ever been. The idea of her here without me, carrying our baby, is something I will not leave to chance.
I make the call before I stand. More men, placed where they need to be. Every route in and out of the estate locked down. My orders are clipped, without hesitation.
When I hang up, her eyes are still on me. I move to her, my hand brushing along her jaw, holding her there in the stillness of this room. “I’ll be back soon,” I tell her. “You won’t be left unprotected.”
She signs slowly, her fingers careful. I’m not worried.
I watch her for a long moment. She says she isn’t, but I know better. And I know that whatever waits outside this house, nothing will pull me far from her now.
I press a kiss to her forehead, letting it linger before I straighten. She doesn’t follow me to the door, but her eyes do, steady until it closes behind me.
The house feels different tonight. Not quieter. Not heavier. Just sharper, like everything that moves within its walls has become more deliberate.
So has everything in me.
Tomasso waits outside, the glow from his cigarette barely lighting the shape of his face in the dark.
He flicks the butt away when he sees me coming, but neither of us says anything until the car pulls out onto the road.
I tell him what I’ve already done, the extra security measures in place, the names I’ve looped in without drawing attention.
He nods through most of it, quiet and thoughtful, then shifts to face me fully.
“There’s something else,” he says. “I didn’t want to bring it up until I was sure.”
I glance at him, and that’s all he needs to continue.
“One of our guys at the inner city checkpoint flagged a car asking about your schedule. Not press. They're not Greco’s known contacts. I'm digging around. He was subtle about it, but it was clear he wanted to know if you’d be home, and when.”
A long breath slips from me, but it isn’t surprise that settles in my chest. It’s confirmation. Another thread tugging in the wrong direction, another reach toward her.
“Do we have eyes on them now?”
He nods once. “Two men trailing. So far, they haven’t doubled back or caught on. But they’re persistent.”
I sit back, jaw tightening slightly. “Then we give them something to look at.”
His brows lift.
“A party,” I say, my voice calm. “One night. At the estate. It needs to look like everything is normal. Like I have nothing to hide.”
He thinks about it, then nods again. “Smart. Keeps the pressure off. Greco won’t move in a crowd, not with witnesses. And it gives us control. We’ll know who’s there. Who’s watching.”
“Make it quiet but intentional. Not flashy. Enough to draw attention without seeming desperate.”
“I’ll start on the list,” he says. “You’ll tell her?”
I don’t answer immediately. My gaze shifts to the window, to the blur of passing lights, to the city that always looks better at night. “She won’t like it. But she’ll understand.”
The car turns toward the estate. I feel the shift as we near it, the way the air changes, the quiet that settles around it like a shield.
The guards move aside when we approach. Inside, the house is dim but warm, lit by the low glow of hallway sconces and the flicker of the fire in the drawing room.
I find her there, curled into the corner of the couch, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, a blanket drawn up over her legs.
She doesn’t look up right away, but she knows I’m there.
I can see it in the way her fingers pause on the spine of her book, in the way her body shifts slightly toward me.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, crossing the room.
Her head lifts, and she shakes it once. Not asleep. Just waiting.
I sit beside her, reaching for her hand. It’s warm, soft, the kind of touch that makes something settle low in my chest. I bring it to my mouth, press a kiss to her knuckles.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” I say, watching her face. “And something I’ve arranged.”
She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes hold mine.
“First, a doctor. He's trusted. He’ll come here. No records. No risks.”
There’s a flicker in her eyes. Surprise, maybe. Gratitude, though she doesn’t say it. Her free hand lifts, fingers spelling out a simple yes.
“Second,” I continue, “we’ll be hosting a gathering. A small one. A show of normalcy.”
Her brow arches. Her hands move again. Why?
“Because it’s safer,” I say. “Greco is watching. Others too. If we pretend to hide, they’ll find a reason to chase. But if we stay in the open, controlled and visible, they won’t know where to aim.”
She considers it, her expression thoughtful. I know she doesn’t like it. She prefers the quiet, the calm. But I also know she trusts me. That part is new, and I don’t take it for granted.
Will I have to speak?
“No,” I say softly. “You’ll just need to be seen. That’s all.”
Her nod is small but certain. Her fingers squeeze mine, and I don’t let go. The trust she gives isn’t loud. It never is. But it’s there, steady and sure.
I shift closer, brushing a hand along her jaw, letting my thumb trace the edge of her cheek. “It won’t be forever,” I say. “Just long enough to send a message.”
Her hand rests over mine. There’s a calm in her gaze, but I can see the worry beneath it.
I can feel it, too. The way she folds into me when I draw her closer, the way her head settles against my chest. The house is quiet, the night thick around us, but I don’t feel the weight of it tonight.
Not with her like this. Not with the warmth of her skin and the soft, slow rhythm of her breathing pressed against me.
“I’ll protect you,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Whatever it takes.”
She doesn’t sign anything in return. She just closes her eyes, her breath steadying. And I sit there with her, the fire low beside us, the danger outside pressing closer, but not close enough.
Not yet.