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Meanwhile, Marco works himself to the bone to find Jenna. The dark circles under his eyes tell the story. He comes home late into the night when I’m in bed and always leaves before dawn.

I can’t bring myself to discuss the topics hanging over us—the wedding, the missed period—and I’m almost grateful that every time we’re in the same room long enough to talk, another crisis strikes, pulling one of us away.

He watches me warily these days, and I wonder if he can tell I’m hiding a secret.

Marco can’t know about the pregnancy. I haven’t confirmed anyway, and until I do, a baby is just a possibility, and possibilities don’t require confessions. That’s what I tell myself, at least.

Five days after my conversation with Sophia, on a Friday afternoon when I’m wrung out from a twelve-hour shift and still running on nothing, I ask for more work. I hope to attach my mind to efforts in the hospital and siphon away the worries plaguing my mind.

I’m terrified for Jenna. And dread coils in my chest whenever I consider the symptoms in my body that have become too clear to ignore.

You could just take a pregnancy test and confirm the truth.

The irony isn’t lost on me that a doctor who’s delivered hundreds of diagnoses can’t bring herself to take a simple pregnancy test.

My added shift, which I move through on autopilot, passes in a blur.

I’m cleaning a laceration on a teenager’s arm when my phone buzzes with a text from Mason.

I need to see you. It’s important. Usual place?

I text back.

Give me an hour.

I wonder what my life would be if I were still with the safe and steady Mason. He represents a world where two pink lines on a test would be cause for celebration, not terror.

Right now, a part of me wishes things could be that simple.

We meet at a coffee shop near the hospital. It’s neutral ground and public enough to feel secure. He’s already waiting with two cups on the table and a carefully blank expression.

“Double shot.” He slides one cup toward me as I walk up to his seat. “You look like you need it.”

The gesture is thoughtful, considerate, and normal, prompting my chest to ache for a life I’ve chosen to leave behind.

Ordinary is a luxury I’ll never have again in Marco’s world, where kidnapping, death, and threats are the orders of the day. I knew that going in.

But bringing a baby into that? That changes the whole dynamic. I could walk into a coffee shop like this with my child, and enemies could be lying in ambush⁠—

Mason knocks his knuckles against the tabletop to snap me out of my thoughts. “Lucia? You okay?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” I wrap my hands around the warm cup, drawing comfort from the heat. “What did you need to see me about?”

Mason scrutinizes me with the expertise of a man who’s spent years interrogating suspects. “I’ve been doing more digging into Santori and the Benedetti family. And Lucia…” He pauses, choosing his words with care. “It’s worse than I thought. I’ve seen the violence, the bodies, and the operations they initiate. This isn’t a man you can fix. He’ll drag you down with him.”

“I don’t need fixing.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “And neither does he.”

“Really?” Mason’s eyebrows rise. “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like someone who’s losing herself in a relationship that’s destroying her.”

He leans forward, his voice softening.

“I’m not going to repeat myself about Santori. I’ve said my piece. That’s not why I’m here.” He curls his hands around his own cup. “I’m here because you look like a woman who’s drowning and won’t ask for a life preserver. I still know you well enough to see that.”

My throat tightens. “I’m fine.”

“You texted me back, which means you’re not.”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know us.”