Chapter 15
Paola
Twenty-four hours. Viktor was giving us twenty-four hours to surrender half of Cesare's empire or Piero died.
Giulio was already on the phone, coordinating teams, checking Piero's apartment building surveillance. Cesare stood beside me in the JFK parking garage, stock-still, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin.
I touched his arm. "Cesare—"
"He has my brother." His voice was hollow. Destroyed. "I almost condemned Piero as a traitor, and now Viktor has him. Because I was chasing Matteo instead of protecting him."
"This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it? I should have seen this coming. Should have anticipated Viktor would move while we were distracted."
The guilt was eating him alive. I could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists.
Giulio approached, phone still pressed to his ear. "Boss. Surveillance confirms three men entered Piero's building at 6:47 a.m. They left at 7:03 with someone matching Piero's description. Unconscious, being carried."
While we were sleeping Viktor was taking his next piece off the board.
The drive back to the penthouse was silent, tense. I kept my hand on Cesare's arm, grounding him, keeping him from spiraling into the dark place I could see pulling at him.
His mind was clearly racing—strategy, contingencies, rage barely contained beneath the surface.
Back at the penthouse, Giulio and Rocco were already assembling the team. The dining table became a war room again. Maps. Laptops. Phones.
"Where would Viktor take him?" Cesare demanded.
Rocco pulled up locations on his laptop. "Viktor has three primary locations in New York: his Tribeca penthouse where we confronted him a few weeks ago, a warehouse in Red Hook, and a private estate in Westchester."
"He wouldn't use the penthouse. Too exposed after we were there last. My guess is the warehouse."
"We need confirmation before we move," Giulio cautioned. "If we hit the wrong location, Viktor kills Piero and disappears."
Cesare's fist slammed the table hard enough to make the laptops jump. "Then get confirmation! I want surveillance on all three locations. Heat signatures, vehicle movements, anything that tells us where my brother is."
Everyone moved with urgent purpose. I stood at the edge of the war room, feeling useless.
I wasn't tactical. Not trained for this. Couldn't contribute to the planning.
But watching Cesare fracture, watching the guilt consume him—I knew I needed to help somehow.
I found Cesare in his office an hour later, staring at security feeds, looking for any sign of Piero.
"You should eat something," I said quietly.
"Not hungry."
"Cesare—"
"I can't lose him, Paola. He's my brother. The only family I have left who matters."
I moved behind him, hands on his shoulders. "You won't lose him. We'll get him back."
"You don't know that. Viktor is smart, strategic. He's had this planned for days, maybe weeks. While I was focused on the anniversary celebration, on Bianca, on everything else—he was setting up this exact scenario, as a backup plan."
"Then we out-strategize him. We find Piero. We bring him home."
"And if we can't? If Viktor demands the fifty percent and I refuse, and Piero dies because of my pride?"
"Then you give Viktor what he wants. Territory isn't worth Piero's life."
Cesare turned to look at me, something broken in his eyes. "I already gave him and the other Dons twenty percent of New York territory. I've been bleeding assets to him for weeks—trying to satisfy his demands, trying to keep peace."
"So give him more."
"It's not that simple anymore. Giovanni's empire was leverage I could afford to lose—it was never really mine, just a temporary acquisition for exactly this purpose.
But the Monti empire? My father built it over thirty years.
My grandfather before him. If I give Viktor fifty percent of that, I'm not just surrendering territory—I'm destroying my family's legacy. I'm making the Monti name worthless."
"But you'd have Piero. You'd have your brother."
"Would I? Or would Viktor just come back in six months demanding more? Where does it end, Paola? When he owns everything and I'm left with nothing but my brother and my shame?"
I understood the dilemma now. This wasn't about pride—it was about whether surrendering would even save Piero, or just delay the inevitable whilst destroying everything Cesare had left.
"So what's the alternative?" I asked quietly.
"We find Piero before the deadline. We extract him without giving Viktor anything."
"And if we can't?"
His jaw set. "Then I make the choice no Don should ever have to make."
"I'd have you keep your brother alive. Everything else can be rebuilt."
Something shifted in his expression—gratitude, love, recognition that I understood. Got him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For being here. For not running when this gets messy."
"Where would I run? We're in this together, remember?"
He pulled me close, kissed my forehead. "Together."
We returned to the war room where Rocco was coordinating surveillance with six different teams. I felt a wave of dizziness hit suddenly—the room tilting slightly beneath my feet. I grabbed the edge of the table, steadying myself.
Must be exhaustion. I'd barely slept in thirty hours, eaten almost nothing.
"You okay?" Giulio asked, noticing.
"Fine. Just tired."
But then my stomach churned—nausea rolling through me in waves that made my mouth water.
"Actually, excuse me—"
I made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet.
Afterward, I sat on the cool tile floor, breathing hard, confused.
This wasn't just exhaustion. This was something else.
Another wave hit. I vomited again, bile burning my throat.
A knock on the door. "Paola?" Cesare's voice, concerned.
"I'm okay. Just give me a minute."
But I wasn't okay. My body felt wrong. Off.
I thought back: when was my last period? I was usually regular but with all the stress, the forced marriage, the chaos—
I hadn't paid attention. Hadn't tracked it.
When was the last time? Before the wedding? That was... about six weeks ago? Seven?
My mind raced through the timeline.
The wedding was six weeks ago. But we didn't consummate the marriage that night.
It was a couple days later.
I tried to remember exactly when. That morning when I woke in his arms, when everything shifted between us.
About five weeks ago. Maybe a few days shy of that.
And then again several times since. The anniversary celebration aftermath. The morning after the confrontation with Giovanni.
No protection. Ever. In the chaos and forced nature of our marriage, contraception never came up.
Five weeks since our first time. Nausea. Exhaustion. Dizziness. Late period.
No. It couldn't be.
But even as I denied it, I knew.
I was pregnant with Cesare's baby. The mafia Don's heir.
The realization was overwhelming—terror and wonder and impossible timing all at once.
Another knock. "Paola, I'm coming in."
The door opened. Cesare knelt beside me, concern etched deep on his face.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?"
I looked at him, and the words stuck in my throat.
How did I tell him? Now? In the middle of this crisis with Piero kidnapped and Viktor threatening and everything falling apart?
"I think I'm pregnant," I blurted out.
Silence. Cesare went completely still.
"What?"
"I'm late. Really late. And I've been nauseous, dizzy. I just threw up twice. I think—I'm pretty sure—I'm pregnant."
He stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Processing. Calculating.
"How far along?"
"A little over a month maybe? Since that first morning. When we—when everything changed between us."
I didn't need to be more specific. He remembered. I could see it in his eyes. That morning in his bed when I chose him.
"A month." He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. "You're pregnant. With my child."
"I need to take a test to be sure, but—"
"We'll get a test. Right now." He stood, helped me up. "Rocco can send someone to a pharmacy."
"Cesare, we're in the middle of a crisis. Piero—"
"Is still missing whether or not you're pregnant. But if you are, that changes everything."
"How?"
His hands framed my face. "Because you're carrying my heir. That makes you even more valuable to Viktor. More leverage. More danger."
The implications crashed over me. If Viktor found out I was pregnant—
"We can't tell anyone," I said quickly. "Not yet. Not until we know for sure, and not until Piero is safe."
"Agreed."
Rocco sent one of his most trusted men to a pharmacy—three different pregnancy tests, discreet, untraceable.
I waited in the master bedroom, Cesare pacing beside me like a caged animal.
The tests arrived within twenty minutes. I took all three into the bathroom, followed the instructions with shaking hands.
Three minutes. That's how long each test took.
I set them on the counter, set a timer on my phone, and waited.
Cesare appeared in the doorway. "Can I—?"
"Yeah. Come in."
He stood beside me, both of us staring at three white sticks like they were bombs about to detonate.
The timer went off.
I picked up the first test. Two pink lines. Positive.
Second test. Pregnant. Clear as day.
Third test. Plus sign. Positive.
All three. Undeniable.
I was pregnant.
"I'm pregnant," I whispered. Saying it out loud made it real.
Cesare pulled me against him, arms tight around me. "We're having a baby."
"Are you—how do you feel about this?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Terrified. This world, this life—it's no place for a child. I know that."
My heart sank. "Oh."
"But also..." He pulled back to look at me. "Also I can't imagine anything I want more. A child. Our child. Proof that something good came from all of this."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Really?"
"Really." He kissed me, gentle and reverent. "You're carrying my baby, Paola. That's—fuck, I don't even have words."
"Terrifying covers it," I said with a watery laugh.
"Yeah. But also incredible."