Olivia
I sit on my couch, staring into space. No TV, no music. Just a jumble of thoughts and a profound feeling of emptiness.
Everything I believed about my life has been a lie. My father, my hero, was on the take.
My boss is very likely a thief and a murderer.
The foundation of my identity is crumbling beneath me.
My phone sits on the coffee table where I tossed it after my call with Blackwood. That conversation keeps replaying in my mind as I try to decipher any clues or maybe I’m just paranoid.
"Agent Ricci," he'd said, his voice carrying that familiar authoritative tone. "Your absence has been noted. Care to explain?"
I'd decided to test him, to see his reaction. "I was attacked outside my apartment, sir. Someone warned me to stop digging."
The pause that followed lasted only seconds but felt much longer.
"Attacked? Why wasn't this reported immediately?" His concern sounded genuine, but something in his voice didn't sit right.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
Maybe Dom has warped my mind.
Was that his goal this whole time?
"I was unconscious. By the time I came to, I needed time to process what happened."
"Where have you been staying?" His question told me he knew I wasn’t home. Did Dom lie to me when he said no one was looking for me?
"I stayed with a friend. Didn't want to be alone.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Rattled but fine. I like a few more days off.”
He didn’t say anything at first. I was prepared for him to say that my cases can’t afford for me to be away. “Take the time you need. We’ll make do without you.”
I can’t decide if his words suggested I’m not needed or he wanted me away, so I don’t poke my nose where I don’t belong. God, I’m such a mess.
Now I sit here, feeling like I’m in a three-way tug of war between two worlds. Dom's world, where justice and morality bend to protect family.
My father's world, which it turns out I never truly knew.
And my professional world, which might be just as corrupt as Dom’s.
The worst part isn't even the betrayal or danger.
It's that when Dom looked at me with those intense eyes, telling me I was nothing without the FBI, part of me feared he was right. Without my work, who am I?
And the even more terrifying thought: what if the only person I can truly trust now is the very man I've been trying to put behind bars?
I run my fingers over the bruises on my arm, wincing slightly at the tenderness.
My mind drifts to Dominic, his touch, his protection, his certainty about who was behind my attack.
Despite everything, I miss him. The thought is unwelcome but undeniable.
Needing a change of scenery, I move to the window, peering through the blinds at the street below.
A dark sedan is parked across the street. Has it been there all day?
Dom's men, most likely.
I should be annoyed at the surveillance, but instead, I feel an odd comfort knowing they're watching.
I need to be smarter than this. More careful. Whatever game Blackwood is playing, I'm clearly a pawn he's willing to sacrifice.
The nausea hits me again, a sudden wave that sends me rushing to the bathroom. Nothing comes up, but that’s because I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.
It seems like by now my head should be healed enough not to be causing nausea. The fact that it isn’t is a concern.
I splash water on my face and study my reflection in the mirror. The bruising along my temple has faded to a sickly yellow-green, but the fatigue persists as well as nausea.
I have to consider that something is wrong. I find my phone, looking up a local clinic and making an appointment. I can walk there, so I don’t have to work about driving and passing out.
I clean up and head out into the cold December day. The lights and decorations remind me that it’s the Christmas season.
I used to love Christmas.
My father always made it so special.
Christmas Eve traditions that involved making cookies for Santa and leaving him a note.
The tree was always loaded with presents…presents that I now know were bought with dirty money.
I give my head a shake, still unable to think of my father as anything but the man I knew growing up.
I arrive at the clinic and after a short wait, I’m taken to an exam room. The nurse studies me and I imagine she thinks I’m the victim of domestic violence.
“I was mugged,” I say. “I hit my head and I've been experiencing fatigue and nausea... especially in the mornings."
The nurse arches a brow. “Any loss of consciousness during the attack?"
"Yes. Maybe twenty minutes?"
“What hospital did you go to?”
“Ah…I didn’t. A friend cared for me.”
She gives me a look like that wasn’t smart. “Let me take your vitals and the doctor will be in shortly.”
Shortly is fifteen minutes later.
Dr. Raposo asks similar questions and then says, "Follow my finger with your eyes, please."
I track his movements while he watches my eye response. Next comes the reflex test, then a series of cognitive questions: my name, the date, the current president. He has me stand to do a few balance tests.
"Balance seems fine," he notes. "Memory and cognition intact. When was your last menstrual cycle?"
The question surprises me. Is that standard? "I... about four or five weeks ago?” Wait, what? Then I consider all I’ve been through. “I've been stressed with work, so..."
Something shifts in his expression. "I'd like to run a few more tests, Ms. Ricci."
My stomach tightens with dread. "You think it's serious?" God. Do I have a tumor? From a fall? Maybe it’s a clot or aneurysm.
“We just need to rule out a few things, including pregnancy."
"Pregnancy?" I nearly laugh at the absurdity. "That's not possible."
Dr. Raposo's expression remains neutral as he types something on his computer. "You mentioned nausea primarily in the mornings, plus fatigue. These symptoms overlap with concussion, yes, but also with early pregnancy. Are you sexually active?"
"I'm on birth control.”
"Birth control isn't foolproof," Dr. Raposo says gently. "And stress, antibiotics, even certain foods can reduce effectiveness."
Antibiotics?
“I see in your EMR that you had a sinus infection for which you were prescribed antibiotics.”
The room suddenly feels like it’s about to spin. "I can't be pregnant."
"Let's find out for certain." He retrieves a small package from a cabinet. "A simple urine test will give us an answer."
My hands shake as I take the test kit from him. This can't be happening. Not now. Not with Dom Vitale of all people.
He leads me to a sterile bathroom where I deposit a sample into the little cup.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Raposo returns. “It seems we have an answer. You’re pregnant. Four or five weeks, judging by your last period."
I feel the blood drain from my face, my fingertips going numb. "That's not... I can't..." I can't form a coherent thought.
"Deep breaths," Dr. Raposo instructs, his voice coming from what seems like miles away. "I take it this isn’t planned?"
Planned. Nothing I’ve done the last six weeks has been planned. Especially sleeping with Dom.
“It’s normal to feel shocked at first during an unplanned pregnancy.”
Normal. Nothing about this situation is normal. I'm an FBI agent carrying the child of a mafia don I'm supposed to put in jail.
“We can discuss options. You have time to make decisions, Olivia."
A child. Dom's child. Growing inside me right now.
When I leave the clinic, I’ve got a sample of prenatal vitamins and a pamphlet about pregnancy. I arrive home, and to my spot on the couch, hands instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach.
A baby. Dom's baby. Our baby.
The reality starts to crash into me. I'll need a crib. Diapers. A car seat. I'll need to childproof everything. Find daycare. Or quit my job? The practical considerations pile up.
I close my eyes, and an image forms. A dark-haired little boy with Dom's intensity and my stubbornness. Will he have Dom's smile? My eyes? Will he grow up calling a criminal "Daddy"? Or will he never know his father at all?
What kind of mother will I even be? My own mother ran off leaving me to be raised by a man who led a double life. What do I know about creating a stable, loving home?
Yet beneath the panic and confusion, something else stirs. A fierce protectiveness. A purpose. A feeling of connection in my lonely empty life.
Dom's face appears in my mind. Not the hard-edged Don who threatens and intimidates, but the man who saved me, who tended my wounds, who sweetly touched me in the darkness of night.
I remember how his expression softened when he spoke of Elena's children, especially Rocco. His feelings for the boy are pure love.
I know from his history that he helped Elena through her pregnancy and raising triplets.
Until Luca came back into her life, Dom was essentially their father figure and he took it seriously. Family is everything.
That's the father my child would have.
Dangerous to his enemies, perhaps, but unfailingly devoted to those he considers his own.
But what kind of life would that mean? Birthday parties with armed guards? School drop-offs in bulletproof cars? The constant fear of rival families or federal raids? Our child caught in a crossfire, literal or figurative, between Dom's world and mine.
My father chose this path for us, accepting Vitale money while wearing his badge. Was it worth it?
Did he lie awake at night, torn between duty and survival, between principles and practicality? Did he ever regret the choices that may have ultimately cost him his life?
This baby changes everything. Not just my career or relationship with Dom, but my priorities. My purpose. Family is everything, and this child is my family.
I stood up, suddenly energized. There must be a path forward. First, I need to deal with Blackwood.
If he's truly corrupt, exposing him isn't just about protecting La Corona anymore.
It’s about making the world better for my child.
And if I’m truly to keep this baby safe, it means protecting it from Dom’s world too.
Guilt tries to take root, but I’m only doing what Dom says is important.
Family is everything and I need to protect what’s mine.