Chapter 35
“You made me proud long before you ever showed up in this world, sweetheart.”
— ROBERT MONROE
Constance
The antiseptic scent of hospital air is becoming an all too familiar one as I lay in the emergency room yet again. Sharp florescent overhead lights drill into my skull like knives.
I try to sit up, but the pounding in my head sends a fresh wave of dizziness crashing through me. A nurse’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, easing me back onto the pillows. I think she’s the same one who cleaned the minor abrasions on my arm.
“You likely have a concussion,” she says softly, voice calm but firm. “You need to take it easy and relax.”
I blink, trying to clear the fog. A concussion. That explains the pressure behind my eyes and the cotton-thick haze clinging to every thought.
For a second, I can’t remember how I got here. Then it clicks back into place. The explosion, the elevator—
“Where’s Maximo? The man they brought in with me, Maximo Luciani?” I demand.
“You’ll be able to see him soon. He’s being checked out as well. Don’t worry, you’re both going to be fine,” she says.
The nurse leaves a moment later, and the doctor comes in, tablet in hand, his white coat rustling as he pulls up a chair beside my bed. His expression is professional yet gentle, with the weary edge of someone who has delivered bad news too often.
“Your scans don’t show any internal bleeding, which is good,” he begins. “You do have a concussion. That means rest, no screens, and someone needs to stay with you for at least the next few days in case your symptoms worsen.”
I nod, half-relieved, half-exhausted. But the doctor isn’t done. He clears his throat, glances at his chart again, and says, “There’s something else, Ms. Monroe. Your bloodwork suggests that you’re…you’re in the very early days of pregnancy.”
For a moment, the words don’t land. Pregnancy? The word means nothing to my shell-shocked brain at first. Then, my breath catches as the meaning sinks in.
The doctor keeps talking…timelines…follow-up with an OBGYN… warnings about stress, but his voice fades into the background as my mind spins.
Pregnancy. A baby. I’m pregnant with Maximo’s baby.
I don’t know if I’m shocked or numb. Maybe both.
I press my hands against my lower belly, as if I can feel the truth beneath my skin. I can’t. Not yet. But knowing is enough to send a tidal wave of emotion through me, a dizzying mix of fear, disbelief, and something deeper I’ve never experienced and can’t yet name.
The doctor stands. “You’re free to go once you’re discharged, but you’ll need someone with you until you’re past the worst of the concussion symptoms. Do you have someone to watch over you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. My voice sounds strange, distant even to my own ears. “I do.”
With a nod, he pats my arm and leaves the room. Something seems to leave with him, maybe my peace of mind. Whatever it is, the room feels colder and emptier when I’m left alone with my thoughts.
I barely have time to take a deep breath and try to gather myself before the door swings open again.
Maximo steps inside, still in the same clothes he’d been wearing at the tower. Dirt and faint streaks of blood cling to him like merit badges of survival. His jaw is hard, his expression murderous, but when his eyes land on me, something in them softens. Just slightly.
“We’re leaving,” he says. No preamble. No tenderness, just the raw edge of a man who’s done being a target.
“Okay. I just saw the doctor. They should be getting ready to discharge me.”
“Good. The hospital is too exposed.” He crosses the room in two strides, fingers brushing lightly along my wrist. “Leonard is still here. The old man’s a wreck, so we’re giving him a ride home once you’re ready.
I’ve already given my statement to the police.
They’ll want to talk to you tomorrow, but tonight we’re not fucking staying here another minute. ”
For a moment, I want to argue. I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is sink into the pillow and let sleep take me.
But the thought of staying here, in these glaring lights with strangers walking the halls, makes my skin crawl.
Especially with the urgency in Maximo’s voice when he said, “We’re too exposed. ”
I force a weak smile. “Fine. But next time, I’m booking a hotel for us. One of the nice ones, with room service and ridiculously thick bathrobes, like at your house.”
To my surprise, his mouth twitches, almost a smile. “That’s an idea I can get behind. A hotel where no one knows us is a great plan. I’ll make some arrangements under a false name.”
Before I can reply, a knock sounds at the door. It opens without waiting for permission, and two men in suits step inside, flanking a tall, broad-shouldered figure I don’t recognize.
But Maximo does. “Salvatore Bianchi. While I appreciate the personal visit, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Salvatore Bianchi, the man Maximo had called The Diavolo Bianco, one of Maximo’s peers, or more accurately, his rivals.
“Well, well,” Salvatore says, his voice smooth and heavy with an accent. “I had to see for myself. The woman who has got Maximo Luciani turning this city upside down.” His eyes linger on me, sharp as knives, before shifting back to Maximo. “We need to talk.”
I don’t like his smile. I like it even less when he reveals the truth.
“Maximo, you know I have interests in the shipping business out west. The Volkovs and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement helping them move goods and bypass all those pesky sanctions. When they told me they wanted to expand into New York, I warned them they’d be stepping on your toes, but I agreed to stay out of it as long as they didn’t interfere in my territories. ”
“You did more than give them permission,” Maximo practically spits the words.
“You called me yourself with that load of horse shit about the Chinese trying to branch out. The Volkovs have done a hell of a lot more than try to ‘branch out’, Salvatore. They’ve tried to kill us, repeatedly.
Tell me why I shouldn’t blame you for everything that’s happened? ”
My stomach drops as his words sink in. My head pounds and vision blurs thanks to my concussion. Another betrayal, standing here smiling like he’s proud of himself.
“You sold him out,” I snap. “You sold all of us out you son of a bitch, so you could keep lining your pockets. My father died for your profit margins!”
My father who used to joke on my past three birthdays about wanting to be a grandfather. He would tell me, “Another year older, and still no grandkids? I’m not rushing you, sweetheart. Just hurry up before I’m too old to remember all of their names.”
That’s one more thing the bastards took from me. From him. My son or daughter will never know the man who loved and raised me.
Salvatore’s gaze sharpens on me, and then he smirks, like he’s been waiting for me to speak.
“Ah, Constance Monroe. You’re every bit as beautiful as I was told.
Such a tragedy, what happened to your father.
But surely, you must see that you set this whole war in motion.
Your father’s death was an accident, but everything you’ve done to avenge him has been very intentional, and very disruptive.
The Volkovs made a mistake and exposed themselves with their carelessness. ”
He goes on, voice smooth as silk while my fists clench at my sides. “I’ll arrange a meeting, Maximo, between you and the Volkovs. I’ll mediate the discussions, and we’ll come to terms. This has to end with words, or it ends with all of us buried. Think carefully on which outcome you’d prefer.”
And then, just like that, he’s gone, his cologne hanging heavy in the air to mark his passage.
Maximo stands silent by my bed, his shoulders tense, expression unreadable as he stares at the empty doorway. For once, he looks shaken. Lost. I know how he feels. The word pregnant has rattled me to my core, but this isn’t the time to bring it up.
I reach out to touch his arm, trying to ground him. My hand slips down to his, and I squeeze, even though the effort makes the pounding in my head spike to a roar.
I lick my dry lips. “No,” I say, firmly. “Don’t listen to him, Maximo. Not after everything they’ve done. My father. Enzo. Luca. All of them. This doesn’t end with peace.”
He looks down at me, his dark eyes sunken and exhausted. I know he’s considering it, weighing the cost of continuing this war for vengeance, or letting himself be forced into peace with the Russians.
And I know what I want to choose. “Only blood pays for blood,” I whisper.
Maximo nods slowly, and I see his jaw clench as he comes to a decision. “Blood for blood,” he agrees, squeezing my hand.