He would come for me.
He would burn cities.
He would start wars.
He would never let me go again.
And we might be happy.
For a while.
My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking, palm flattening there as if I can already shield what’s growing inside me. The thought of Lorenzo knowing—of his enemies knowing—turns my blood cold. Because this wouldn’t just make me vulnerable. It would make the baby a weapon. A bargaining chip.
A target, just like Sienna.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the sting behind them. I love him. God, I love him so much it hurts to breathe. But loving Lorenzo Conti means understanding exactly what his world does to the things he cares about most.
And I won’t do that to my child.
“No,” I whisper, the word tearing out of me. “I can’t tell him.”
Dante watches me carefully, saying nothing.
“If he knows,” I continue, my voice shaking but steadying with each word, “he’ll never stop looking for me. He’ll never stop fighting. And people will keep dying because of me. Because of this.” I swallow hard. “I won’t let my baby be born into that.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
Finally, Dante nods once. “You’re asking for protection.”
“I’m asking to disappear,” I say. “Not forever. Just long enough for him to forget about me. Please. Let me stay with your aunt. Somewhere small. Somewhere quiet. Where no one is looking for a Conti heir.”
His jaw tightens, the wheels clearly turning. “You realize what you’re asking puts a target on my back too.”
“I know and I’m sorry to ask.” My voice breaks despite my best efforts. “And I know he’ll hate me for it. But hating me is better than burying a child.”
Dante studies me for a long moment, then straightens.
“My aunt keeps her head down. People come and go in Polignano a Mare. If you stay out of sight, use a different name… it could work.”
Hope flares, fragile and terrifying.
“You’d do that?” I ask.
“Only because someone already tried to use you to start a war. And because no child deserves to be born as leverage.”
My shoulders sag as the weight of the choice presses fully into place.
Somewhere out there, Lorenzo is looking for me. I know it in my bones. And for the rest of my life, I’ll carry the ache of not telling him the truth.
But I lower my hand to my stomach again and make myself a promise. I will protect this child. Even if it means breaking my own heart.
“Thank you,” I breathe, the words barely holding together. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Dante’s mouth tightens into a grim line, the kind that doesn’t soften with sympathy.
“I do know,” he says quietly. “And that’s exactly why Lorenzo can’t find you.”
The doctor returns and moves with practiced efficiency. An IV is hung and prenatal vitamins placed on the small table beside me like ordinary objects that suddenly feel monumental. Dante stays. He doesn’t hover, but he doesn’t leave either. When food arrives, he makes sure I eat. While I do, he steps away to make calls.
