Page 153 of Unlock My Heart

Fabien takes the ultrasound image from my fingers, his expression falling. “No.” His hands shake violently.

“Yes,” I say, fighting back the tears. “You had family business, so I went to my gynecologist appointment alone. My urine test came back positive. I called you, but you didn’t answer. They sent me for an ultrasound. It was too early to determine the sex, but⁠—

“This is our son.”

So Fabien feels it too.

“Yes.” Despite my best efforts, the tears begin to fall, wetting my lips. “I was so excited to tell you that night, but then everything went to hell. The trauma from the rape…I miscarried.”

Fabien Calvani, boss of New Orleans, falls to his knees and wails.

Silent tears stream down my face as I retrieve the photograph and walk out. Not in victory, but in defeat.

Destroying Fabien hasn’t made me feel better at all.

Confucius got it wrong. It was never two graves, always three.

Chapter Forty-Six

Fabien

The present

I’ve finally been humbled.

My prediction all those years ago was wrong. It wasn’t Sienna that humbled me, but my own ego. And it cost the love of my life damn near everything.

And for my son, it cost him his life.

Looked at the little bundle of a blob on that ultrasound picture and knew it was a boy.

My boy.

Was my boy.

The half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand is flung against the garden wall, shattering.

But as with my tantrum earlier, this one has done nothing—other than cause someone else to be responsible for cleaning up my mess. My wife, as usual, is right about everything.

“Boss.” Saint appears with a cup of coffee. “You might want to sober up, sir. Your wife is trying to leave.”

“What time is it?” I accept the cup, taking a sip.

“A little after seven in the morning.”

“Where is she going this early?” I give my throbbing temple a rub.

“New York.”

My heart stalls. “What?”

“That editor contact of hers pulled some strings and got her an apprenticeship with a wedding designer. Sienna says she’s moving to NYC. Permanently.”

That sobers me up faster than coffee ever could.

“Don’t let her leave the house.”

Saint relaxes. “That’s good, boss. I thought you were going to do something noble and tell me to let her go.”