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Gautama Buddha
Bianca
“You’recertain you are pregnant, Bianca?” He strokes my stomach in the aftermath of our lovemaking, his touch light and so full of love that I can’t stop the tears that well in my eyes.
How can I reconcile this hand, cradling me so delicately, with the one that held a gun—thatkilledpeople—only a few short hours ago?
And yet it is the same hand; the same man. The monsteristhe man I love.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m lying to myself in this moment. Of course I know what to do.
Call Felicity. Call the agent. And get out, for the sake of your baby.
I link my fingers with his on my belly, sadness overwhelming me. “I think so. I did a home test which was positive. I guess I’ll need a blood test to be sure, but…yes.”
“You have made me very happy with this news.”
His fingertips trace my abdomen, and the tiniest smile plays about his lips as he leans in and places a tender kiss on my shoulder.
I roll away from him slightly, not wanting him to look at me when my tears begin to fall, but he rolls me back to face him. There is no hiding from Rio. Not even in this moment when I’m terrified that may have been the last time we ever make love.
When I’m even more terrified he may discover that I’m considering running.
“Did you kill those men, Rio, after I left? The ones who worked for Rossi.”
He simply stares at me intently as if trying to read my mind.
“You’re not going to answer that question, are you?”
His brows come together. “You should not be involved with that side of things.” He rolls onto his back, raising up his arms and tucking them beneath his head on the pillow. “I will arrange for you to see our family physician as soon as possible. Normally, he would come out to see you at the estate, but…”
The estate. “Is everyone out there okay? What happened? Is…” I stop as he begins to shake his head and his mouth thins.
My heart lurches almost to a stop before launching into a faster than usual beat.
“No,” he says. “There was a simultaneously timed attack at the estate as well as the club. My brother is fine, as is Tommaso.”
“But…Francine…” Tears clog my throat. I already know what he’s going to say.
“My aunt is dead.”
The tone seems cold and impersonal, but I know him better now. I hear the undercurrent of raw pain in that simple statement.
“God, Rio, I’m so sorry.” I reach out and wrap my arms around him, and we lie like that for several minutes in silence.
Eventually, he sucks in a ragged breath and releases it slowly. “They tell me she stepped in front of Nicky. Stopped the bullet meant for him, apparently. She died for her family, and that act of bravery will never be forgotten.”
Abruptly, he rolls out of bed and leaves the room, heading out to the saloon area. I hear the clink of ice and then the sound of liquid pouring into glass.
I lie on my back and stare up at the timber-lined ceiling, wrapping my arms around my middle to ward off a sudden chill.
Poor Francine. I didn’t love her, but she didn’t deserve that. No one does.
And yet, it seems as if violence and death is a regular occurrence in this life.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.
