Chapter 15 #2
We stood there for a moment, processing the enormity of it.
I wished I could call Anna. Tell her I was pregnant, panic together over coffee like we would have in my old life. She'd have screamed, probably cried, made me laugh even though I was terrified.
But Anna knew the truth now—or at least a version of it. After the anniversary celebration went public, after Viktor exposed the twin switch to three hundred witnesses, the story had hit the papers: "Art Teacher Forced into Mafia Marriage" made headlines for three days straight.
Anna had called countless times. Left voicemails ranging from worried to furious to terrified. I'd finally answered last week, given her the sanitized version: family emergency, arranged marriage, I'm safe now, please don't worry.
She hadn't believed the "safe" part. Had offered to call the police, the FBI, a women's shelter. I'd convinced her I was okay, that I'd chosen to stay, that it was complicated.
We'd agreed to meet for coffee next week—a neutral location, public place. I'd promised to explain everything.
But I couldn't tell her about the pregnancy. Not yet. Not until I'd processed it myself. Not until I knew if Piero would survive the next twenty-four hours. Not until I knew if this baby would grow up with a father or just stories about the man I'd married.
Back in the war room, we kept the pregnancy secret. But everything felt different now. I was hyperaware of my body, of the tiny life growing inside me.
Cesare kept glancing at me, protective instinct clearly intensified. If he didn’t get it under control, people were going to start wondering.
Rocco had updates: "Heat signatures at the Red Hook warehouse. Multiple people, at least one restrained. High probability it's Piero."
"When can we move?" Cesare demanded.
"We need a plan first. Viktor will have security, probably his best men. We can't just storm in."
"Why not? We did it at his penthouse."
"And he was expecting us. This time he'll be even more prepared."
Giulio added, "He wants you to try to rescue Piero. Wants you to make a desperate move so he can eliminate you both. It's a trap."
Cesare knew they were right. But patience had never been his strength.
I spoke up: "What if we give him what he wants?"
Everyone looked at me.
"Not actually give it to him," I clarified. "But make him think we're surrendering. Schedule the exchange. Use it to get close to Piero."
Cesare considered. "A fake surrender. We bring documents, make it look like we're signing over territory—"
"And while Viktor is distracted with the paperwork, we extract Piero," Giulio finished. "It could work."
Rocco: "But it requires perfect timing. One mistake and Viktor kills Piero immediately."
"Then we don't make mistakes," Cesare said flatly.
They planned for hours—every detail, every contingency, every possible complication. Where to meet Viktor. Neutral ground, somewhere public enough that he couldn't just kill us all.
Who would come–a minimal team; it couldn't look like an assault force.
How to create the distraction. Fake documents that looked real enough to pass initial inspection, actually get Viktor’s attention.
When to move. During the document verification, when Viktor's attention was divided.
I watched Cesare work, saw the brilliant strategic mind that had made him Don at twenty-eight.
But I also saw the fear underneath. For his brother. For me. For the baby he now knew existed.
Late afternoon, Cesare pulled me aside. We were alone in his office, away from the team.
"I need you to promise me something," he said.
"What?"
"When we go to meet Viktor—and yes, you're coming, I know you'll insist—I need you to stay back. Behind me. Protected."
"Cesare—"
"You're pregnant, Paola. Carrying my child. Our child. I can't risk both of you."
"I know. I'll be careful."
"Not careful. Safe. If anything happens, if shooting starts or anything goes wrong—you run. You don't wait for me. You don't try to help. You run and you protect our baby."
The intensity in his eyes was almost frightening.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
He pulled me close, hand splaying across my still-flat stomach. "I can't lose you. Either of you."
"You won't. We're going to get Piero back, neutralize Viktor, and raise this baby in a world where we're not constantly fighting for survival."
"That's optimistic."
"Someone has to be."
Cesare made the call at 5 p.m.—nineteen hours into Viktor's twenty-four-hour deadline. He put it on speaker so the team could hear.
Viktor answered immediately. "Cesare. I was beginning to think you'd choose pride over family."
"I'm choosing my brother. You want fifty percent? Fine. We'll make the exchange."
"Smart man. I knew you'd see reason eventually."
"I want proof Piero is alive. Right now."
A pause. Then shuffling sounds. Piero's voice, rough but recognizable: "Cesare, don't—"
Cut off. Viktor again: "Satisfied?"
"He sounds hurt."
"Minor persuasion. Nothing permanent. Yet."
Cesare's jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. "When and where?"
"Tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. Pier 76 in Red Hook. You bring the signed transfer documents for the agreed-upon territory. I bring Piero. We make the exchange."
"How do I know you'll actually release him?"
"You don't. But I'm a businessman, Cesare. I get what I want, you get your brother. Everyone walks away."
"And if the documents don't satisfy you?"
"Then Piero dies. And I'll come for the rest of your empire piece by piece. So I suggest you make sure the paperwork is in order."
After the call, the team moved into high gear.
Rocco created convincing fake documents—transfer agreements that looked real enough to pass initial inspection.
Giulio positioned backup teams around Pier 76—snipers, extraction vehicles, medical on standby.
Matteo, still in custody, was questioned about Viktor's security protocols, his typical protection details.
Everything needed to be perfect. One mistake and Piero died.
I watched from the sidelines, hand unconsciously drifting to my stomach. There was a life growing inside me. In the middle of all this violence and chaos and danger—new life.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
Cesare approached as the sun set. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be—"
"I know. Dangerous. Possibly fatal. Standard Tuesday."
A ghost of a smile. "Standard Tuesday."
I touched his face. "We're going to survive this. All three of us."
"I'm holding you to that."
That night, I couldn't sleep despite the exhaustion.
Too much adrenaline. Too much fear. Too much at stake.
I got up carefully, not wanting to wake Cesare, and moved to the living room windows. The city glittered below—millions of people living normal lives, unaware of the war being waged in the shadows.
I placed a hand on my stomach. "I promise," I whispered to the tiny life inside me. "I'll keep you safe. We both will."
Behind me, a voice: "Talking to the baby already?"
I turned. Cesare stood in the bedroom doorway, shirtless, watching me.
"Couldn't sleep," I admitted.
He crossed to me, wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hand covering mine on my stomach.
We stood like that, looking out at the city, holding our secret between us.
Then Cesare's phone buzzed on the coffee table. A text from an unknown number.
He picked it up, read it, and went completely rigid.
"What?" I asked.
He showed me the screen. A photo. Piero, tied to a chair, beaten worse than the last time we’d heard him, barely conscious.
And the message beneath: 9 AM. Don't be late. And Cesare—come alone. If I see anyone else, your brother dies before you reach the pier.
Alone. Viktor wanted Cesare to come alone.
Which meant no backup. No team. No protection.
Just Cesare walking into a trap with no way out.
I looked up at him. "You can't go alone. It's suicide."
"I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Not when it's my brother's life." His tone was final, determined. "I go alone. I get Piero back. Whatever it costs."
And I realized: tomorrow, I could lose both the father of my child and his brother. I could lose the life and protection I’d walked into willingly, the only thing I had now that everything else was gone.
Everything we'd survived—it all came down to tomorrow morning at Pier 76.