Chapter Forty-Eight
Miranda
“Come on, Savy,” Oliver whined, stretching out the syllables in my fake name for effect. “Why not? You need a break before your residency. I say we pack our bags and jet off to the Maldives. You know you could use a break and some sun.”
I shot him an incredulous look. “Are you saying I look like shit?”
Oliver only grinned wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” he began, unable to conceal his amusement, “you said it, not me. You know I think you’re beautiful no matter what you look like.”
I narrowed my eyes and let out a groan, shaking my head at his backhanded comment. “You need to work on your compliments.”
The truth was, I didn’t want to be anywhere except my own bedroom upstairs.
I was only outside because Oliver was adamant that fresh air would help clear my mind.
While I appreciated that he didn’t bring up Massimo or the circumstances that brought me back home to Tennessee, I hadn’t anticipated just how determined Oliver was to spirit me away from home.
I loved him—no question about that—but sometimes his energy could be a bit overwhelming.
Wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, I asked, “Did you ever get that problem fixed? You know, about the video?”
Oliver let out a grunt. “No, and I’ve decided I don’t care.”
“Oli,” I groaned, frustration tingeing my voice. “What if your parents see it?”
He only shrugged, unconcerned. “Not the first time I’ve disappointed them. Probably won’t be the last.”
I forced a shaky laugh, trying to keep my tone light even as anxiety clawed at my chest. My palms were slick, and my pulse thundered in my ears—a relentless drum that made it hard to breathe.
“Just promise me you won’t do anything reckless.
I can’t handle another crisis before residency starts.
” The words trembled out, tighter than I intended.
Oliver rolled his eyes with a boyish huff, but there was a glint of mischief in his grin as if the promise might be worth breaking just to see me smile.
“Only if you promise to spend a few weeks on the beach with me, sipping mojitos. And if you agree, I swear I won’t mention you-know-who,” he said, trying for levity, voice softer as if he knew just how close I was to breaking.
His words hit a fault line I’d been desperately holding together.
I met his gaze, and suddenly my throat constricted; the world seemed to narrow to the space between us.
Warm tears spilled over before I could stop them, hot and insistent, blurring his face.
My heart thudded so violently I was sure he could hear it.
Embarrassment and panic tangled in my chest, stealing my breath.
I pressed trembling hands to my cheeks, trying to hide the sob that threatened to escape.
Oliver was beside me in an instant, arms circling me with a fierce tenderness.
His hand rubbed gentle circles on my back, but I felt the tremor in his own chest. “Savy, I’m sorry.
I swear, if I ever see him again...” His jaw clenched, voice rough with protectiveness.
“Let’s just get away. Let me take care of you—let me help you forget. ”
My vision swam, and I drew in a ragged breath, voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not that easy, Oli.” My lips trembled as I wiped my eyes, fingers cold and clumsy.
The truth crouched at the tip of my tongue—dangerous, terrifying.
He deserves to know. You can’t do this alone.
Just say it. I forced myself to look at him, searching for the familiar trust in his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
The word hung heavy between us. Oliver froze—every muscle rigid, his lips parting in shock.
For a moment, something dark flickered across his face—surprise, maybe pain—before he smoothed it away.
He swallowed, eyes darting as if searching for the right thing to say, then forced a steadying breath and reached for my hand, anchoring me to him.
His grip was shaky, but his voice found its warmth again.
“We’ll figure this out. I promise. Are you sure? ”
I nodded. “Yeah. I suspected before I left Chicago and took the test when I got here. God, Oli, what am I going to do now?”
I tried to steady my breathing, but emotion kept catching in my throat. “He doesn’t know. When he finds out, he will never let me go.”
The silence pressed between us for a heartbeat, stretching thin and taut.
Oliver shook his head slowly, squeezing my hand as if reassurance alone could hold me together.
“I will handle him.” The resolve in his voice soothed my panic just enough for a small, trembling hope to bloom inside me.
“But the first thing we need to do is get you packed. Home is nice, but you need space. Lots of space to cry and get ready for your residency. Which reminds me, you’re gonna have to switch to another hospital. ”
“What?”
“Think about it,” Oliver continued, his voice softer but edged with urgency.
“Everyone in Chicago knows you. The second you start showing, word will get back to him—and then you’ll never be free.
This isn’t just about starting over; it’s about survival.
You need to put as much distance between you and your old life as possible.
Another hospital, another state. Somewhere he’d never think to look. ”
A cold wave of dread washed over me, sharp and paralyzing. The thought of packing up, abandoning my life and every careful plan—again—made my chest tighten until it was hard to breathe. My hands curled into fists in my lap. Was there any corner of the map far enough from his reach?
“I could pick here,” I managed, voice small. “Vanderbilt offered me a residency spot.”
But Oliver shook his head, gnawing at his thumb in restless worry. “No, Savy. You need a real fresh start. Somewhere no one knows your face, your story, anything. Not here. Not anywhere familiar.”
“That’s going to be hard, Oli. My only other offer was at New Orleans Medical Center.” My voice trembled, reality sinking in.
“That’s perfect!” Oli tried to smile, searching for a silver lining. “Mardi Gras, delicious food, jazz music, and a party that never ends.”
I shook my head, anxiety spiking higher.
“Wrong. The Bourbon Kings control half the city’s underworld, and their alliance with the Golden Skulls means no secret stays hidden for long.
The Golden Skulls have eyes everywhere—they have deep connections.
And it’s worse than that: the Bourbon Kings are close with the Sons of Hell and the Irish Mafia.
Those groups practically own New Orleans between them.
If I set foot there, I’ll be exposed before I even clock in. ”
Oli let out a low whistle. “Jesus, woman. Do the Golden Skulls know everyone?”
Bullseye approached, curiosity etched on his face as he asked, “What’s going on?”
Turning to greet him, I forced a smile and explained, “Nothing. Oliver is trying to talk me into changing my residency program. He thinks Chicago will be too hard for me considering everything that’s happened.”
Bullseye didn’t hesitate. “What do you want?”
I sighed, my shoulders drooping beneath the weight of my dreams. “Chicago was my dream, Dylan. Has been from the start. I can’t imagine settling for anything less.”
With a defiant tone, Bullseye responded, “Then screw everything else and go there.”
Oliver’s voice rose in protest, unable to conceal his aggravation. “She can’t!” His words hung heavy in the air as Bullseye’s eyes narrowed, challenging the statement.
Bullseye spoke deliberately. “That’s where you’re wrong. My sister can do whatever the fuck she wants.”
Oliver challenged him. “I thought Jackson was her brother?”
I cringed at the exchange and was about to defend my friend when Bullseye placed his hand on mine, halting whatever I was about to say when he slowly smiled. “My sister belongs to everyone.”
Oliver retorted, “Well, she’s my best friend!”
I watched as Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he slowly rose to his feet, causing my best friend to back away.
With fierce protectiveness, Dylan declared, “Look here, you little shit, I don’t give a flying fuck who the hell you are.
No one, and I mean no fucking one, will ever make my sister do anything she doesn’t want to fucking do. ”
“I agree.” The voice behind me sent a chill down my spine, the hairs at the nape of my neck prickling.
I turned slowly and saw Massimo standing there, his glare fixed on Oliver.
His brothers, Guilio and Aurelio, flanked him, while the rest of my family gathered close, forming a tight circle around us.
Stella stepped forward, but Oliver suddenly moved in behind me, his presence urgent and close. He hissed near my ear, “Come on, Miranda, you’ve outgrown these people. You don’t need them—especially Vitale. He’s just muscle for hire—he doesn’t care about you.”
His words made me pause. I turned around slowly to face my best friend, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Wait... I never told you my real name.”
Oliver blinked, raking a hand through his hair, looking uneasy. “It’s not a big deal. I figured it out a while ago. Can we just go, please?” He glanced nervously at the gathering crowd.
I held my ground, searching his face for the truth. “How do you know? Who told you?”
My brother Jackson appeared from the trees, machete in hand, and fixed Oliver with a hard stare. “Yeah, I’d like to know that too,” he said, his voice low and steady.
A flicker of uncertainty appeared on Oliver’s face, his silence stretching the moment taut.
Unable to meet my eyes, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the tension in the air nearly suffocating as everyone waited for him to speak.
My heart pounded so loudly in my chest it felt as though everyone could hear it.
Suddenly, the situation exploded—Oliver roughly seized my arm, spinning me so my back pressed against his chest. Cold metal dug into my temple as a gun appeared in his hand, his desperation now undeniable.
Instantly, my family sprang into action. Massimo and his brothers, together with the rest of my relatives, all drew their weapons, each gun aimed unwaveringly at Oliver. The standoff was immediate and electric.
“Stay back!” Oliver commanded, his voice strained as he began to edge away, forcing me to move with him.
“It didn’t have to come to this. You all could have just let her go with me.
I would never have hurt her!” he pleaded, desperation seeping into his words as he tried to justify his actions to the group.
Stunned and terrified, I gasped. “Oli, what the hell are you doing?” My eyes darted frantically, searching for Massimo’s. None of this made sense. The Oliver I knew wasn’t violent—he was always cheerful and kind. The man holding the gun felt like a stranger.
Massimo’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and steady. “Baby, just look at me,” he said, deliberately holstering his gun to show trust and diffuse the tension.
But Oliver’s grip only tightened, his fear twisting into anger. “Shut up, Vitale!” he spat bitterly. “She wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for you. Why couldn’t you just die like I planned?”