Chapter 41 Reality struck at dawn
Lina’s POV
The space I asked for didn’t feel peaceful. It felt empty. Hollow. Like all the air had been sucked out of the house.
For three days, we lived like polite strangers haunting the same place. I stayed in the sunroom. He stayed locked in the office. We ate at the same table, but the only real sound was the clink of cutlery against plates — sharp and final, like a judge’s gavel. He was giving me exactly what I said I needed.
And somehow, that hurt more than if he had fought me.
Everything within me has completely gone numb. I just want to leave, leave this place.
By the fourth night, the quiet finally broke.
I was standing in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water I didn’t even want, when the terrace door shut with a heavy thud that made me flinch. Carlino stepped inside, carrying the scent of his cologne. His coat was damp. His eyes looked darker than usual, heavy with a kind of exhaustion he would never admit to.
“The space isn’t working,” he said. No hello. No softness. Just truth.
He stopped a few feet away, restless energy rolling off him like a coming storm. I leaned back against the marble counter, tightening my grip on the glass. “I didn’t realize there was a time limit on figuring yourself out.”
“There is when you’re using it as a wall,” he shot back. He moved closer, into my space, his warmth clashing with the chill still clinging to his clothes. “You’re not trying to ‘find yourself,’ Lina. You’re grieving a version of you that you think is gone. But I’m still here, we would go through this.”
“Are you?” My heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt. “Because all I see is the Don. The strategist. The man who treats his Donna like a risk that needs to be controlled.”
“I treat you like the only thing I can’t afford to lose!” he snapped, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone that always meant his control was slipping.
His hand came up and gently held my jaw. I should have stepped back. I should have held on to the distance I’d worked so hard to build.
I didn’t.
I leaned into his touch instead.
All the anger I’d been holding cracked, replaced by a deep, aching need to feel something real — something that wasn’t strategy or damage control or survival.
“Then stop trying to control me,” I whispered, my breath catching as his thumb brushed my lower lip. “Stop being the King. Just… be you. Even if it’s only for five minutes.”
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t wait for an invitation.
His mouth crashed against mine—not with the polished grace of a Mafia king, but with the starving desperation of a man who’d been wandering in a desert. It tasted of salt. I dropped the glass of water, it shattered on the tile, but neither of us cared.
He hoisted me onto the counter, his hands sliding up my thighs, bunching the silk of my robe. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against me. I wanted to disappear into him. I wanted to burn the Donna and the Mafia king title away until there was nothing left but skin and heat.
“Still want space?” he growled against the sensitive skin of my throat.
“Shut up,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to my lips.
He carried me to the bedroom, the journey a blur of discarded clothes and frantic touches. When we hit the mattress, the world outside—the failing investors, the threats, the crumbling empire—ceased to exist.
He came into me with a slow, agonizing possessiveness. It wasn't just sex; it was a reclamation. Every thrust felt like he was rewriting his name into my soul.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice strained.
I opened my eyes, my vision blurred with tears I couldn't explain. He was watching me with an intensity that felt like it was stripping my soul bare.
“Carlino…” I moaned his name, a broken sound that vibrated through both our bodies. The pleasure was too sharp, too localized, radiating from where we were joined until my entire body felt like a live wire.
“You’re mine,” he muttered, his pace quickening, his muscles corded and slick with sweat. “War or peace, Tesoro. You don’t get to choose a different life. You are the life.”
I couldn't argue. I couldn't even think. I arched my back, my fingers digging into his shoulders as the climax hit me like a physical blow. I felt him shatter a second later, his weight grounding me, his face buried in the crook of my neck as our breathing leveled out in the dark. the skin of my neck.
\~~~
When I woke up the next morning, the world hadn’t magically fixed itself — but something between us had shifted. The distance felt thinner. Fragile, but thinner.
He was already gone, called into the city early for a meeting. In his place was a small note on my pillow.
Don’t go back to the sunroom.
I smiled to myself, warmth flickering in my chest for the first time in weeks.
Then I stood up and the room tilted.
Not just a little dizziness. The kind that makes your stomach drop and your vision blur at the edges. I grabbed the bedstand to steady myself, breathing slowly.
Perhaps I am just stressed out, I told myself. Too little sleep. Not enough food. Overthinking. Drowning in my own ocean.
Still, the nausea lingered.
By afternoon, I was in the small garden shed with Bella, helping her sort winter bulbs. Usually, I loved the smell of damp soil and fresh earth.
Today it made my stomach turn. “You look pale, Donna,” Bella said, trimming stems without even glancing up.
“I think I’m coming down with something,” I muttered, wiping cold sweat from my forehead. “I’ve been feeling off since morning.”
“Hmm,” She finally looked at me, eyes sharp and assessing.
“Probably just flu or fever,” I added quickly. “Everyone’s been sick lately.”
I reached for a crate of tulips, but the movement sent another wave of dizziness through me. I dropped onto a wooden stool before my knees gave out.
“I was just starting to feel normal again,” I said weakly. “Figures.”
Bella set her shears down with a slow, deliberate clack. She walked over and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.
“No fever,” she said quietly.
“It comes and goes,” I insisted, though I could hear how unconvincing I sounded. “I just need tea. Maybe some medicine.”
She didn’t step away. She studied me, my face, my posture, the way I was holding my stomach without realizing it. The silence stretched, heavy with a thought I wasn’t ready to think.
“Donna,” she said gently.
I forced a laugh. “Stop looking at me like I’m some science experiment.”
She leaned in slightly, her eyes steady, certain. “You’re not sick,” she said. “And it’s not the flu.”
A cold feeling settled in my chest. “Then what is it?”
Her expression softened, but her words still hit like a gunshot. “Donna… you’re pregnant.”
Everything went quiet. The thin ice I’d been standing on for weeks didn’t just crack. It disappeared, completely into the fog.