31. Fragments of the Past
Fragments of the Past
Nichole
I wake with a violent gasp.
It’s not just a lingering dream or the slow, hazy pull of sleep fading into reality—it’s a flood.
A dam breaking.
A tidal wave of memories crashing into me, shoving their way to the surface, demanding to be seen.
I clutch the sheets, my heart hammering as images slam into my mind, one after the other, too fast, too strong.
The alley. The fear. The man chasing me.
I was just a child. A little girl, too scared to scream, too helpless to run fast enough.
Then—Damian.
Standing between me and the man who meant me harm.
Saving me.
Again.
The memory shifts, twisting, morphing into another.
I’m older now. Sixteen. The weight of heartbreak pressing against my ribs, my chest hollow and aching as I stare down at the message on my phone.
The love of my young, na?ve life betraying me.
I remember standing there, frozen in place, trying to hold back the tears, trying to keep myself from breaking apart.
And then—Damian again.
His presence, strong and steady, watching from a distance. Not interfering, but there.
Always there.
My breath stutters, my hands shaking as I press my palm against my forehead. How did I not remember? How did I not see it before?
I lift my head, my gaze darting around the room.
I have to tell him.
I throw the sheets off and stand quickly, my pulse still erratic, my entire body humming with urgency. I know now. I finally know.
Damian has been in my life longer than I ever realized.
And I need to find him—now.
I wake with a violent gasp, my body jerking upright as if pulled from deep underwater. It’s not just a lingering dream or the slow, hazy pull of sleep fading into reality—it’s a flood. A dam breaking.
A tidal wave of memories crashing into me, shoving their way to the surface, demanding to be seen.
I clutch the sheets, my heart hammering as images slam into my mind, one after the other, too fast, too strong.
The alley. The fear. The man chasing me. I was just a child, a little girl, too scared to scream, too helpless to run fast enough. Then—Damian. Standing between me and the man who meant me harm. Saving me.
The memory shifts, twisting, morphing into another.
I’m older now—sixteen. The weight of heartbreak presses against my ribs, my chest hollow and aching as I stare down at the message on my phone.
The love of my young, na?ve life betraying me. I remember standing there, frozen in place, trying to hold back the tears, trying to keep myself from breaking apart.
And then—Damian again. His presence, strong and steady, watching from a distance. Not interfering, but there. Always there.
My breath stutters, my hands shaking as I press my palm against my forehead. How did I not remember? How did I not see it before? The connection I’ve always felt with him—it wasn’t imagined. It was real. He’s been in my life longer than I ever realized.
I scan the room, my pulse still erratic, but Damian isn’t here. I throw the covers off and slip out of bed, my mind racing. I need to find him. Because if this memory has surfaced now, what else is waiting for me?
I hear his voice before I even reach the kitchen. I slow my steps, my excitement still pulsing through me—until I catch the tone of his voice. Sharp. Cold. Deadly. I freeze just before stepping into view. Enzo is here. And they’re talking.
I take a breath, pressing my back against the wall, listening.
“This war is getting out of hand,” Enzo says, his voice heavy. “We’ve lost too many men already.”
“I know,” Damian replies. His tone is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A darkness curling beneath the words.
“If we don’t do something soon, they’re going to push harder,” Enzo continues. “Antonio is desperate. And Dante—”
A sharp scoff. “Dante has always been a problem.”
“Maybe,” Enzo says. “But now, he’s a problem we need to eliminate.”
A brief pause. Then Damian exhales. “I won’t let them near her again.”
Silence.
My breath catches in my throat.
Then—his next words shatter me.
“I don’t care how many of them have to die. Kill them all if you have to.”
A sharp pulse of shock rips through me. My stomach clenches.
This is because of me. Men are dying. Because of me. I inhale shakily, my body locking up, torn between stepping forward, telling him he doesn’t have to do this—that I can figure out another way—
Then, suddenly, the world tilts.
My stomach lurches.
A violent, overwhelming nausea crashes into me, fast and brutal. I barely make it to the bathroom before I fall to my knees, my hands clutching the toilet bowl as my body betrays me.
I heave. It’s relentless, my stomach twisting, clenching, my body purging everything inside me.
This isn’t the first time.
The realization slams into me just as hard as the memories did.
Three times.
Three times now, I’ve woken up feeling like this. Three times, I’ve brushed it off, ignored the warning signs, ignored the feeling clawing at the back of my mind.
But I can’t ignore it anymore.
My hands tighten around the porcelain, my chest rising and falling in erratic breaths as the truth settles into my bones.
I’m pregnant.
I grip the sink, my knuckles turning white as I stare at my reflection.
My breath is still uneven, my body still trembling from the aftermath of what just happened. The nausea has passed, but the truth remains.
I’m pregnant.
The words echo in my head, each repetition heavier, more real, more impossible to ignore.
This changes everything.
I press a hand against my stomach, exhaling shakily as the implications begin to take shape.
A baby. Damian’s baby.
A future I never imagined. A reality I never considered.
My heart races as I force myself to think beyond the shock, beyond the sheer magnitude of what this means.
Damian is at war.
A war that started because of me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the weight of it all pressing down on me like an anchor. Men are dying. Families are being torn apart. And now, I’m carrying the child of the man who has declared war on my family.
There’s no escaping this. No running. No pretending that everything will somehow work itself out.
I have to be the one to end this.
Because I can’t lose him.
I won’t.
I won’t raise this child alone, carrying only memories of the man I love. I won’t let this war take him from me.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
No more fear. No more waiting for things to spiral further out of control.
This war started because of me.
And I will be the one to finish it.
I steady myself with one final breath, pushing away the last remnants of hesitation. This is happening. There’s no turning back now.
As I make my way toward the living room, Damian’s voice carries through the space, low and edged with authority. Enzo stands across from him, arms crossed, nodding as they speak in clipped tones.
“She’s safe for now, but we can’t keep this up forever,” Enzo says. “Beretti won’t stop. We hit them last night, and they hit back twice as hard.”
“They won’t touch her,” Damian replies, his voice steel. “I won’t let them.”
I step into the doorway, my presence catching their attention immediately. Damian’s sharp gaze flicks to me, his expression shifting as he takes me in.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady.
Damian nods, his focus now entirely on me. Enzo glances between us, sensing the shift, before giving a short nod. “I’ll check in later.” Without another word, he leaves, the sound of the front door closing behind him echoing in the quiet space.
Now, it’s just the two of us.
Damian watches me carefully, his piercing blue eyes studying my face like he already knows something is wrong. I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair, suddenly unsure of how to begin.
“Nichole,” he says softly, stepping toward me. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, frustration twisting inside me. “Everything,” I admit. “This war. The people dying because of it. Because of me.”
Damian’s brows draw together. “Hey,” he murmurs, reaching for me, but I take a step back.
“I overheard you talking to Enzo,” I continue, my voice almost a whisper. “You said you’d kill every last one of them if you had to.”
His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t deny it.
“And I know why,” I say, my throat tightening. “I know you’re doing it to protect me. But, Damian—people are dying. And it’s because of me.”
Damian’s expression darkens. “This isn’t your fault, princess. This was coming long before you and I—”
“No,” I cut him off. “It is because of me. And I need to stop it.”
His hands flex at his sides, his posture rigid. I can see the conflict warring in his eyes—his need to protect me clashing with the cold reality of what this war has become.
I take a breath, bracing myself. “That’s not the only reason I need to stop this.”
His gaze sharpens. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate for only a second before the words spill from my lips.
“I’m pregnant.”
A stillness settles between us. A breathless, frozen moment where time seems to halt completely.
Damian doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
His expression remains unreadable, but I can feel the weight of his silence, the way his entire world has just shifted beneath him.
I swallow, my voice softer now. “I’m pregnant, Damian.”
And just like that, there’s no taking it back.
The silence stretches between us, thick and unyielding.
Damian stares at me like I’ve just told him the world is ending. His lips part slightly, his usually sharp, confident demeanor shattered in an instant.
I brace myself for anything. Shock. Denial. Maybe even anger. But what I don’t expect is the way his eyes flicker—not with fear, not with hesitation—but something raw, something devastatingly intense.
“You’re pregnant?” His voice is hoarse, like the words are foreign on his tongue.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
His gaze drops to my stomach, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wants to reach out but doesn’t know how. I see it happening in real time—the realization, the weight of it crashing over him.
And then, something shifts.
His breath shudders, his shoulders rising as if he’s absorbing the enormity of what I’ve just told him. His stunned expression twists into something else entirely. Something fierce. Something thrilled.
His chest rises and falls once before he lets out a deep, low laugh.
Not a mocking laugh. A real one. A breathless, unbelieving, almost disbelieving sound that is so rare coming from him that it stuns me.
He grins. A slow, almost dangerous smirk that turns into something real, something filled with awe.
“Pregnant,” he repeats, and this time, there’s no shock. No hesitation. Just undeniable excitement.
His hand moves, resting carefully, reverently, against my stomach. The warmth of his palm sends a wave of something through me—something safe, something unbreakable.
“I never thought—” He stops himself, inhaling sharply. He blinks once, like he’s shaking off a dream. Then, with sudden intensity, he straightens and pulls out his phone.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he presses a number, bringing the phone to his ear.
A beat of silence.
Then—“Enzo. Get back here. Now.”
I blink. “Damian—”
His eyes snap to mine, and I barely recognize the fire blazing behind them.
“Everything’s different now.” His voice is firm, absolute. “I need a plan.”
A plan.
Because this war just became about more than just survival.
Now, it’s about protecting what we’ve created.
Enzo steps through the front door, his sharp gaze flicking between me and Damian. His body is tense, alert, like he’s bracing for bad news. He has no idea.
“What’s going on?” he asks, closing the door behind him.
Damian doesn’t hesitate. “Nichole’s pregnant.”
Enzo freezes.
For a second, the weight of those words hangs in the air, stretching the silence between them. His brows lift, his eyes darting to me as if to confirm it himself. When I give a small nod, he exhales sharply and drags a hand down his face.
“Well,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
Damian doesn’t give him time to process it further. “This changes everything. I need to end this war.”
Enzo crosses his arms. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“I’m going to call Antonio.”
Enzo’s expression turns unreadable. “You’re serious?”
“I want a sit-down,” Damian says. “Tonight.”
Enzo lets out a slow breath, considering. “You think he’s going to agree to that?”
Damian doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls out his phone, presses a number, and puts it on speaker.
The line rings twice before Antonio answers.
“You’ve got balls calling me,” Antonio growls.
Damian doesn’t flinch. “We need to talk. Tonight.”
A short silence follows. Then Antonio’s voice comes through, clipped and calculating. “Is Nichole with you?”
Damian looks at me before answering. “She is.”
“I want to speak to her.”
Damian glances at me again, and I nod. He hands me the phone, and I take a breath before speaking. “Antonio.”
The way he exhales tells me he’s relieved to hear my voice.
“Nichole. Are you safe?”
“I am.”
There’s a pause before he asks, “Has he hurt you?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Damian has protected me from the moment I left.”
Another silence. This time, it’s heavier.
“You need to come home,” he says after a beat.
I swallow. “I can’t.”
His sigh is tired, worn. “Then why are you calling me?”
“Because this war has to stop,” I say, my voice stronger than before. “Too many people have already died because of me, Antonio. I can’t let this go on.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I think he’s going to refuse. But then he says, “I’ll agree to a sit-down.”
Damian and Enzo exchange glances.
“But,” Antonio continues, “Nichole has to be present.”
Damian’s grip tightens on his phone. “No violence. Just talking.”
Antonio lets out a dry chuckle. “That depends on what you have to say.”
The line goes dead.
I slowly lower the phone as Damian and Enzo share a look.
“This is a bad idea,” Enzo mutters. “You know that, right?”
Damian exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. But we have to try.”
Enzo shakes his head. “If anything goes sideways—”
“I’ll have my men in place,” Damian cuts in. “If Antonio tries anything, we’ll be ready.”
Enzo doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.
Because we all know the truth.
This is our only chance.