Chapter 23 #2
"We'd love that," Valentina said immediately.
We spent the morning painting the safe house guest room that would temporarily serve as nursery—soft yellow walls, white trim, the color of sunshine and hope.
Livia was surprisingly skilled, her brush strokes even and precise.
"Did this for my mom's shop once," she explained. "Helped her redecorate."
"You're good at this," Valentina said, examining the wall. "This is perfect."
They smiled at each other, and I felt like an outsider watching something I couldn't fully understand. Sisterhood. Connection that didn't require shared history because shared blood provided its own language.
Valentina moved to dip her brush in the paint tray, and I saw her wince slightly—her hand going to her lower back.
At thirty-one weeks, everything was starting to ache—her back, her hips, her feet.
The twins were running out of room, their kicks and rolls now visible from across the room, rippling beneath the stretched fabric of her shirt.
"You okay?" I was beside her immediately.
"Fine. Just the usual pregnancy aches." She smiled. "The babies are getting bigger, changing my center of gravity. Dr. Morrison said it's normal."
"Maybe you should take a break. Let us finish."
"I'm pregnant, not broken." But she let me guide her to the chair anyway. "Though sitting for five minutes does sound nice."
Livia set down her brush and wiped her hands on a rag. "I'll get you water. And those crackers you like."
She disappeared into the kitchen.
Valentina looked up at me, and I saw it in her eyes—the joy, the gratitude, the relief of not being alone anymore.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For letting her stay. For not… for giving her a chance despite your instincts."
"She makes you happy. That matters more than my paranoia."
"It's not paranoia. It's caution. There's a difference." She took my hand, pressed it against her belly where the twins were moving. "But I think she's real, Alessio. I think she's exactly who she says she is. My sister."
I felt the flutter beneath my palm—our children, growing stronger every day.
"I hope you're right, amore."
"Me too."
Livia returned with water and crackers, settling beside Valentina with the easy comfort of family.
They started discussing nursery themes while I returned to painting, half-listening to their conversation, half-monitoring for threats that might not exist.
My phone buzzed. Text from Domenico: Still tracing blocked number. Complex routing. Will have an answer soon.
I slipped the phone back in my pocket, picked up my brush, and tried to ignore the cold certainty settling in my gut.
Something was wrong.
I just couldn't prove it yet.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay beside Valentina listening to her breathe, watching moonlight paint shadows across the ceiling. The blocked calls nagged at me. Three calls. Brief. Hidden. Timed perfectly before Livia's appearance.
Too convenient.
Too coordinated.
My mind ran through scenarios: What if Livia was exactly who she claimed, but Marco had gotten to her? Threatened her? Offered her something she couldn't refuse? What if she'd made contact with his people not to betray us, but because she was being coerced?
Or worse: what if this was the long game? Establish trust, integrate completely, wait for the perfect moment to strike?
I looked at Valentina sleeping peacefully beside me, one hand protectively over her belly even in sleep.
If Livia were a threat and I waited too long to act, it could cost us everything.
But if I acted too soon based on paranoia alone, I'd destroy the first real family connection Valentina had found since discovering Marco's betrayal.
Impossible choice.
The kind I'd been making since the day I kicked in that motel room door.
My phone lit up on the nightstand. Text from Domenico: Blocked number traced. You need to see this. Calling in 5.
I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbed my phone, and stepped into the hallway.
Four minutes later, my phone vibrated with Domenico's call.
"Tell me," I said quietly.
"The blocked number?" His voice was grim. "It's registered to a shell company. Took serious digging, but I traced ownership back through three layers."
My jaw tightened. "And?"
"It's connected to Marco's organization.
One of his money-laundering operations that's still running despite his conviction.
" He paused. "Alessio, Livia called a number directly connected to Valentina's father three times in the week before she appeared at your door.
Each call was short—probably receiving instructions or confirming details. Or—"
"Or what?"
"Or she was being contacted by them. Receiving threats. Coerced into doing something she didn't want to do." He exhaled. "I can't tell from the records which direction the pressure was flowing. But either way, Marco's people were involved."
Everything stopped.
The peaceful domesticity. The sisterly bonding. The hope that maybe, finally, something good could come from Marco's world.
All of it is suddenly uncertain.
"She might be working for him," I said slowly. "Or she might be a victim."
"Exactly. I don't have enough to know which."
I looked back toward our bedroom where Valentina slept, completely unaware that the sister she'd come to love might be compromised—willingly or not.
"Don't tell Valentina yet," I said. "I need to handle this carefully."
"What are you going to do?"
"Find out what Livia really wants. Find out if she's here because she chose to be or because someone forced her hand."
"And if she's here to hurt your family?"
"Then I deal with it. But I need to be sure first."
"Good." Domenico's voice was quiet. "Because if you're wrong and you hurt her, Valentina will never forgive you. And if you're right but act too soon, we might never find out what Marco's planning."
He was right. Both scenarios were traps.
"I'll be careful," I promised.
"Always are, fratello. That's why we're still alive."
After we hung up, I stood in the dark hallway for a long moment.
Tomorrow, I'd confront Livia. Get the truth, whatever it took.
Tonight, I'd let Valentina sleep peacefully beside the sister she'd come to trust.
Because once I revealed what I'd found, everything would shatter again.
And I wasn't ready to be the one who broke her heart.
Not yet.
I returned to bed, pulled Valentina close, and tried not to think about what the morning would bring.