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“I’ll send him a gift basket.”
The doorbell rang, and I checked my phone. “It’s about time. How does it take an hour to deliver a sandwich?” Unfortunately, it wasn’t the delivery guy. “Rosa. What a surprise.” I stepped back, and she breezed into the house.
“Sorry to drop in on you, but it’s been a week since the Fourth of July gala, and I haven’t heard from you.”
Guilt settled in my gut, and I struggled to act normally.
“Can I sit?”
I shook my head to clear it and gestured toward the couch. “Of course. Do you want a glass of water or a cup of coffee? Tea?”
“No. I’m fine.” Rosa’s voice was clipped, something I’d never been on the other side of. She sat, pulling her phone from her purse. “I need to show you something.”
“Okay.” I cautiously joined her.
She pressed play on a video. In a clear, unblurry shot, there I was, coming out of a hotel room, beaten and covered in blood, being propped up by Marco. From the doorway, Luca watched our slow progression down the hall, a pained expression twisting his gorgeous face. As he turned back into the room, the video cut.
“Rosa,” I choked out.
“Did you kill Dante?” Her beautiful brown eyes burned into me, hard and full of hate.
“It’s not what you think. I—”
“The only reason you’re not dead right now is my grandchild in your womb. I would never do anything to hurt a child, so I’ll keep this secret. But if you ever cross my son, I will gut you like the bitch you are.”
I blinked back tears, my lungs screaming for air. She stood and walked to the door as I struggled to follow. “Rosa,” I squeaked as her hand landed on the doorknob.
She turned just her head, the pure loathing on her face a punch to the gut. “The worst part? You roped my son and nephew into your lie. You turned family against each other.” With that final blow, she left.
I clutched the arm of the couch, afraid I would fall over. I’d never corrected Rosa’s assumptions that I wasn’t pregnant. The woman must have been hammered at the Fourth of July gala to not notice I was drinking. I’d never been so thankful for my nonexistent pregnancy than while being threatened by a mafia widow.
My chest was tight as I slid to the floor in front of the couch. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled to breathe.
She knows.
I laid a hand over my chest, trying to keep my heart from beating out of my body. My fingers tingled, so I flexed them until they felt more normal.
She wants to kill me but won’t because of the baby.
Staring at my stomach, the band around my chest loosened. I had some protection, even if it was based on a willful misunderstanding on her part.
My hands shook as I picked up my phone and dialed Marco. As soon as he answered, I started rambling. “She knows. Rosa knows. She had video, and then the baby, and now—”
“Sasha. Stop.” A door slammed. “I’ll be there in ten.” And then the bastard hung up on me. I was having a complete breakdown, and he hung up on me.
For ten minutes, I paced the house, trying to mentally work through every possible endgame. Most ended in Rosa killing me, sometimes so brutally they’d never find all the pieces.
“Sasha?” Marco called through the house.
“In here.” I reached up and set my empty glass on the counter.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
I patted the tile and crossed my legs to make room for his long body. “It’s as good as any place to sit.”
Marco sighed and sat across from me, leaning his back against the fridge. “The floor’s cold.”
“Refreshing in the summer heat.”
