Page 61 of Claimed Through Deception

I stand near the edge of the ballroom. I wear a floor-length silver gown that clings to my ribs and flares at my hips. A diamond necklace rests against my skin.

Niccolò stands ten feet away, speaking with two older men, whom I believe are from the Chicago outfit due to their accent. He holds a glass of bourbon. Even in conversation, his eyes flick to me every few seconds. He checks my perimeter. He ensures I am okay.

I smile at him, a reflex that comes too easily now. He nods, the harsh lines of his face softening for a fraction of a second.

Then, my stomach violently rolls.

A vicious wave of nausea climbs up my throat. I swallow bile, my skin breaking out in a sudden, freezing sweat. The room spins, the music warping into a chaotic drone.

I press a hand to my stomach. This is the third day. The exhaustion dragging at my limbs isn't just from the late nights in his bed. The espresso I tried to drink this morning smelled like rotting copper. The scent of the roasted duck passing by on silver trays makes my mouth water in absolute revulsion.

I catch Niccolò's eye. I point a finger toward the hallway, signaling I need a minute. He frowns, his posture stiffening, but he gives a brief nod. He can't leave the people he is talking to yet.

I slip through the crowd and climb the grand staircase, leaving the music and the cigar smoke behind.

I walk into our private suite and lock the doors. I bypass the massive bed and go straight into the marble bathroom, and immediately heave into the toilet. Emptying the remnants of my dinner.

After I catch my breath by the wall, I walk to the bottom drawer of the vanity and open it with shaky hands. Underneath a stack of fresh towels sits a small cardboard box. I bought it at a pharmacy three blocks away from the bakery today, before Sofia joined me.

I rip the cardboard open and follow the instructions.

I set the plastic stick on the edge of the marble sink.

Three minutes.

I pace the length of the bathroom. The silver gown swishes around my ankles. My reflection in the mirror is a stranger. The diamonds. The expensive makeup. I am playing a role, pretending the violence outside these walls doesn't exist.

The timer on my phone vibrates on the counter.

I stop pacing. My lungs refuse to expand. I step up to the sink and look down.

Two unmistakable pink lines.

My knees buckle. I grab the edge of the sink, gasping for air.

Pregnant.

Fuck! I am carrying his child.

The honeymoon illusion shatters into a million jagged pieces. The reality of my situation crashes and the bubble pops, leaving me exposed to the freezing truth.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't see Niccolò’s face. I see my mother.

I am six years old. She is holding an ice pack to her swelling eye. She is packing a battered suitcase on the bed. She is finally leaving. And then my father walks in. He blocks the door. He cries. He drops to his knees and tells her he loves her. He tells her they have to stay together for the family. For me.

And she drops the suitcase. She stays because she thinks a child needs a father, even if that father uses his fists to communicate. She surrendered her life because she was tied to her abuser by blood.

My stomach revolts. I drop to my knees over the toilet and dry heave until my throat is raw.

Niccolò is a mafia Don. He tortures men for a living. He orchestrates executions. He rules an empire built on extortion and fear.

What will he do to a child?

He will mold a son into a ruthless, blood-soaked soldier. He will put a gun in his hand before he teaches him how to drive. He will teach a daughter that her value is tied to political alliances, trading her away for shipping routes just like he was supposed to trade himself for Caterina Falco. He will steep my baby in the same violence that destroyed my childhood.

I will not be my mother.

I will not stay with a killer for the sake of a twisted family. I will not let a child grow up behind iron gates, learning to shoot a weapon instead of learning how to be a kid. I will not let my baby become a monster.