Chapter 6
Sophie
The world came back to me in fragments. First, the antiseptic smell. Then, the soft beep of a monitor. My eyelids felt weighted, but I forced them open, blinking against the harsh overhead light.
White walls. Metal equipment. Not my luxurious prison bedroom.
"Easy," a voice said before I could fully orient myself. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes approached the bed.
My head felt stuffed with cotton, thoughts moving like molasses. "What happened?"
"You collapsed in the garden. Mr. Ricci brought you here." He checked something on a monitor beside my bed. "I'm Dr. Rossi. We've been running tests while you were unconscious."
Tests. The word sent a spike of anxiety through the fog in my brain. "How long was I out?"
"About six hours. We've been monitoring you closely." He glanced at a tablet in his hands, then back at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Ms. Winters, I need to discuss your test results with you."
Something in his tone made my stomach clench. "What's wrong with me?"
Dr. Rossi pulled a chair closer to the bed, his movements deliberate. "Nothing's wrong, per se. Your blood work came back with some unexpected findings."
Through the window in the door, I could see guards stationed outside—more than usual. One of them kept glancing at his phone, his expression tense.
"Your condition explains the fainting spell," Dr. Rossi continued, lowering his voice. "You're pregnant, Ms. Winters. About six to eight weeks along, based on your hormone levels. Still relatively early, which explains why you might not have noticed symptoms yet."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Pregnant. The room tilted, and I gripped the bed rail to steady myself.
"That can't be right." But even as I said it, I knew it was. The timing fit perfectly—that night on Vittorio's desk. The memory crashed over me: his hands on my body, the desperate hunger between us, the moment when all our walls came down.
"The tests are quite clear," Dr. Rossi said gently, turning the tablet so I could see the results. Numbers and medical terminology swam before my eyes, but the conclusion was highlighted at the bottom: Pregnancy confirmed.
My hand moved instinctively to my still-flat stomach. A baby. Vittorio's baby. Growing inside me while I'd been trapped in this nightmare of family warfare and deadly secrets.
"You can't tell anyone," I grabbed his wrist, my fingers digging in with desperate strength. "Promise me. Patient confidentiality—this stays between us."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He glanced toward the door, then back at me. "Of course. That's your right."
"Swear it," I insisted. "No one can know. Not Vittorio, not anyone."
He nodded solemnly. "I won't be the one to tell him. Your medical records are confidential."
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by overwhelming fear. I was pregnant with the child of a mafia Underboss, caught in the middle of a war between brothers. What kind of world was I bringing a baby into?
Dr. Rossi prepared to leave but paused at the door. "Ms. Winters, given your… circumstances, I strongly recommend prenatal vitamins and reduced stress. I'll have some supplies sent to your room discreetly."
After he left, I was alone with the earth-shattering news. Through the window, I noticed a maintenance worker near the building, but something about his lingering presence made me uneasy. I shook off the paranoia—Antonio's influence was making me see threats everywhere.
Through the door's window, I caught Jonah leaning closer, his phone pressed to his ear. Had he been listening? My blood ran cold as I realized the thin walls might not have provided the privacy I'd assumed.
I'd never considered myself maternal. Never even thought about having children. But now, facing the reality of this pregnancy, a fierce protective instinct surged through me. This baby was mine. Part of me, part of Vittorio. And I would do whatever it took to keep it safe.
Through the window, I watched the guards outside. The younger one—Jonah, who the staff called "Babyface"—was speaking rapidly into his phone, his expression agitated. Something about his furtive manner made my skin crawl.
I couldn't make out his words, but his body language screamed guilt. He kept glancing around, making sure no one else was listening, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
When he ended the call, he immediately dialed another number. Then another. Whatever he was coordinating, it didn’t look like it was part of his low-level job.
My blood ran cold as understanding dawned. Jonah wasn't just making calls—he was reporting to someone. Someone who wasn't supposed to know about my condition, my location, or my status.
I watched as he spoke to the older guard, gesturing toward my room. The older man's expression grew troubled, then resigned, as if accepting something he didn't want to do.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened. A woman in white scrubs entered with a syringe in her hand and a medical tray. I'd never seen her before—not one of Dr. Rossi's usual staff.
"Time for your medication," she said, but her eyes avoided mine. Her hands trembled slightly as she set down the tray.
"What medication?" I backed away, every instinct screaming danger. "Dr. Rossi didn't mention any medication."
"Doctor's orders." She advanced on me, and I saw something guilty in her face. "You need to rest. Mr. Ricci's orders."
That was a lie. Vittorio would never order me sedated without telling me why. "I don't need medication. I feel fine." I moved around the bed, putting it between us.
"Please don't make this difficult," she said, her voice taking on a pleading tone. Her accent was different—not local. "I'm just following orders."
"Whose orders?" I demanded. "Because they're not coming from Dr. Rossi or Vittorio."
Her face went pale, confirming my suspicions. "Miss, please—"
"Who are you working for?" I pressed. "How much is Antonio paying you?"
The mention of Antonio's name made her freeze. Guilt flickered across her features before hardening into resolve.
"I can't... I'm sorry, but this has to happen."
The betrayal cut deep. Not just Jonah, but others in Vittorio's organization had been bought.
"How many of you?" I asked.
She didn't answer, just raised the syringe. "Please, miss. Don't fight this. It'll be easier for everyone."
I grabbed the first thing I could reach—a metal medical tray—and swung it at her head. She ducked, but the impact sent the syringe flying across the room.
"Help!" I screamed. "Somebody help me!"
The door burst open. Jonah filled the doorway, his hand already reaching for his weapon. For a split second, relief flooded through me—until I saw his expression. No surprise, no concern for my safety. Just cold calculation.
"No one's coming… except Antonio," Jonah said, lunging for me. "Mr. Ricci is in an important meeting. Very important. Very… distracting."
The implication was clear—they were keeping Vittorio busy while they prepared to hand me over.
I dodged around the bed, using the furniture as a barrier. "Vittorio!" I screamed again. "Help me!"
Jonah vaulted over the bed, tackling me to the floor. I fought with everything I had, clawing at his face, kicking at his knees. But he was stronger, heavier.
The fake nurse scrambled to retrieve the syringe. "She's fighting too hard. I can't—"
"Hold her down," Jonah commanded, moving toward me. "We're behind schedule."
"Stop fighting," he panted, pinning my arms. "Antonio just wants to talk. Work things out with his brother."
"Liar!" I spat in his face, my mind racing. I had to protect the baby. Had to protect my secret. Had to survive long enough for Vittorio to realize what was happening.
"You don't understand the bigger picture," Jonah continued, struggling to hold me down. "Antonio's the rightful Don—he was their father's chosen heir. Vittorio's been playing at power, but family loyalty demands we follow the true bloodline."
"So, you're choosing sides?"
"I'm choosing survival. Antonio's going to win. He always does."
The door burst open. "What the hell is going on here?"
Enzo filled the doorway, his hand already reaching for his weapon. Behind him, I could see other guards—ones I recognized as loyal to Vittorio.
Jonah stepped back from me, while the fake nurse scrambled to her feet, trying to hide the syringe behind her back.
Jonah immediately released me. "She attacked us," he said quickly. "Became violent when the nurse tried to give her medication."
But Enzo's sharp eyes took in the scene—the overturned medical equipment, my torn hospital gown, the syringe the nurse was trying to conceal.
"Is that so?" Enzo said mildly. His gaze moved between them. "And what medication would that be?"
The nurse's face went pale. "S-sedative. To help her rest. Doctor's orders," she stammered.
"Funny thing," Enzo interrupted. "Dr. Rossi left twenty minutes ago, and he never mentioned any medication. Care to explain why our guest needs sedation?"
The trap closed around Jonah like a vise. His eyes darted toward the window, calculating escape routes.
"I wouldn't," Enzo advised, pulling out his gun. "You're going to tell me exactly who you've been talking to. And you're going to tell me now."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jonah said, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
Enzo turned to me. "Miss Sophie, are you hurt?"
"No, but Enzo—this nurse isn't one of Dr. Rossi's staff. I've never seen her before. She tried to drug me, saying she was following orders." I looked directly at Jonah. "And I think Jonah's involved. She mentioned Antonio's name, and Jonah's been acting suspicious—watching me, making phone calls."
Enzo's expression hardened. "What do you know about Antonio?"
"Jonah told me. Said Antonio's coming tonight. I think there are others in the organization helping him."
Enzo spoke rapidly into his radio, then pulled out his gun. "Neither of you move. Last chance. Who else is involved?"