I don’t answer immediately. My gaze shifts to the window, to the blur of passing lights, to the city that always looks better at night. “She won’t like it. But she’ll understand.”
The car turns toward the estate. I feel the shift as we near it, the way the air changes, the quiet that settles around it like a shield. The guards move aside when we approach. Inside, the house is dim but warm, lit by the low glow of hallway sconces and the flicker of the fire in the drawing room. I find her there, curled into the corner of the couch, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, a blanket drawn up over her legs. She doesn’t look up right away, but she knows I’m there. I can see it in the way her fingers pause on the spine of her book, in the way her body shifts slightly toward me.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, crossing the room.
Her head lifts, and she shakes it once. Not asleep. Just waiting.
I sit beside her, reaching for her hand. It’s warm, soft, the kind of touch that makes something settle low in my chest. I bring it to my mouth, press a kiss to her knuckles.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” I say, watching her face. “And something I’ve arranged.”
She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes hold mine.
“First, a doctor. He's trusted. He’ll come here. No records. No risks.”
There’s a flicker in her eyes. Surprise, maybe. Gratitude, though she doesn’t say it. Her free hand lifts, fingers spelling out a simple yes.
“Second,” I continue, “we’ll be hosting a gathering. A small one. A show of normalcy.”
Her brow arches. Her hands move again. Why?
“Because it’s safer,” I say. “Greco is watching. Others too. If we pretend to hide, they’ll find a reason to chase. But if we stay in the open, controlled and visible, they won’t know where to aim.”
She considers it, her expression thoughtful. I know she doesn’t like it. She prefers the quiet, the calm. But I also know she trusts me. That part is new, and I don’t take it for granted.
Will I have to speak?
“No,” I say softly. “You’ll just need to be seen. That’s all.”
Her nod is small but certain. Her fingers squeeze mine, and I don’t let go. The trust she gives isn’t loud. It never is. But it’s there, steady and sure.
I shift closer, brushing a hand along her jaw, letting my thumb trace the edge of her cheek. “It won’t be forever,” I say. “Just long enough to send a message.”
Her hand rests over mine. There’s a calm in her gaze, but I can see the worry beneath it. I can feel it, too. The way she folds into me when I draw her closer, the way her head settles against my chest. The house is quiet, the night thick around us, but I don’t feel the weight of it tonight. Not with her like this. Not with the warmth of her skin and the soft, slow rhythm of her breathing pressed against me.
“I’ll protect you,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Whatever it takes.”
She doesn’t sign anything in return. She just closes her eyes, her breath steadying. And I sit there with her, the fire low beside us, the danger outside pressing closer, but not close enough.
Not yet.
20
LILIANA
The knock comes earlier than I expected. Giovanni is already up, standing at the edge of the room like he’s been waiting for it. I sit straighter, my hands folded over my lap. The door opens, and the doctor walks in—older, with silver at his temples and eyes that don’t wander. He doesn’t stare, doesn’t linger on anything too long. Just offers a nod and moves with practiced ease.
He doesn’t ask me to get up. Instead, he pulls a chair closer, opening his leather bag with quiet hands. Giovanni stands behind me, his palm resting lightly on the back of my chair. I don’t have to look to know he’s watching everything.
The doctor explains what he’s doing, voice calm, without theatrics. I nod, signaling that I understand. I can feelGiovanni’s gaze move over me, steady and unreadable, but not cold. The man draws blood, checks my pressure, makes notes in a small black journal. His hands are sure, his questions few.
When he’s done, he leans back slightly and meets my eyes.
"Your hormone levels are a bit higher than the standard range," he says, tone even. "But that doesn’t mean anything dangerous. Some women have strong early responses. It’s nothing to worry about. You’re healthy. So is the baby."
Giovanni’s hand shifts on my chair. I glance up at him, then back at the doctor.
"What should she be doing?" Giovanni asks.
