Chapter 125 125

Chapter 125 125
Mia
Luca is already there, leaning back in his chair at the foot of the table, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looks like Alessandro—same dark hair, same imposing build—but where Alessandro is ice, Luca is fire. He grins as we enter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"About time," Luca jokes, standing up to kiss the backs of the girls' hands with exaggerated charm. "I was beginning to think Sandro got lost on the way."
Alessandro pulls out my chair at the head of the table, opposite Luca. I sit, and he takes the seat to my right. Our friends fill the spaces between, their chatter bubbling up again, excited and loud.
For the next hour, the world outside these walls ceases to exist. We eat. Marta’s food is better than anything in Palermo, a labor of love that warms the stomach and loosens the tongue. We drink red wine that stains our lips deep crimson.
Luca and my husband are seated at the table, their guards lowered just enough to allow them to be men, not just bosses. They talk about soccer, a topic so mundane it sounds foreign coming from them. They argue over a penalty call from a game last week, gesturing with their forks, their laughter deep and resonant.
I watch Alessandro. The harsh lines of his face are softened by the candlelight. He takes a bite of the pasta, closes his eyes for a brief second, and nods at Marta, who is hovering in the doorway. He looks… content.
I look at my friends. Aria is recounting a disastrous date she went on last year, using her hands to act out the scene, sending Sofia into a fit of giggles. Bridget is listening intently, her eyes wide.
We are all having fun. Talking, giggling, laughing. The sound swirls around me, a symphony of normalcy that I have starved for. Life has never felt good like this. The fear is still there, humming in the background like a low-voltage current, but it is drowned out by the warmth of the wine, the food, and the laughter.
I reach for my glass, my fingers brushing the crystal stem. I feel light, weightless. For the first time in years, I am not the Chicago Capo’s daughter, I am not the Mafia Don’s captive. I am just Mia, sitting at a table with people who care about me.
Then, the sharp trill of my phone cuts through the noise.
It’s sitting on the table beside my plate, face down. The screen lights up, casting a pale blue glow on the white tablecloth. A notification. A simple beep, but it feels like a gavel striking a sounding block.
The conversation continues, unaware. Luca is pouring more wine. Aria is laughing. I stare at the phone. I haven't checked my email in days. I was waiting for this.
I reach out, my hand trembling slightly. I flip the phone over and unlock it.
New Message: Dr. Guilia - Test Results.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I had almost forgotten about the test. The blood work I did before the trip, a routine check-up that Alessandro had insisted on. He wanted to know everything about my health, down to the smallest detail. He said it was for the family.
I open the email. The text is formal, medical jargon that blurs together until my eyes catch the keywords at the bottom.
HCG Levels: Elevated.
Diagnosis: Pregnancy Confirmed - 6 Weeks.
The air leaves the room. I can’t breathe. The words swim on the screen, pixels rearranging themselves into a reality that is too big, too terrifying, too wonderful to comprehend.
Pregnant test positive.
A child. Alessandro’s child.
My eyes well up with tears. It’s not a slow trickle; it’s a flood. The tears blur my vision, turning the candlelight into streaks of gold. My chest heaves, a sob clawing its way up my throat, choking me.
"What happened?"
Alessandro’s voice cuts through my panic. It’s not a question; it’s a demand for information. The table goes silent instantly. The laughter dies as if someone pulled a plug.
I look up from the screen, my vision swimming. Alessandro is already moving. He pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor, and he is by my side in a heartbeat. He drops to one knee beside my chair, his hands gripping my shoulders, his gray eyes searching my face, wild and fierce.
"What is it?" he asks, his voice low, urgent. "Who sent that? Is it a threat?"
He scans the room, his body tensing, ready to attack an enemy that isn't there. Luca is halfway out of his chair, his hand drifting toward his waist, instinct taking over.
I shake my head, clutching the phone tight against my chest. I can't speak. The sobs are wracking my body, shaking me to the core. I look at Alessandro—at the fear in his eyes, the fear for me. He thinks I am hurt. He thinks someone has threatened me.
"Alessandro," I gasp out, but it comes out as a broken cry. “Not everything is a threat! Stop you’re your Don’s instincs!”
He pulls me closer, enfolding me in his arms, shielding me from the room. "Talk to me, Mia. Tell me."
I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, grounding myself in the strength of him. I feel the scratch of his beard against my cheek, the steady thud of his heart against mine. I hug him hard, my fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. I just sob, letting the fear and the joy pour out of me.
The table goes silent. It’s a suffocating, heavy silence. No one moves. No one speaks. They are watching the drama unfold, confused and terrified. Marta freezes in the doorway, her hands clutching a towel.
I have to share this news. I can't keep it inside. It’s too big. It changes everything.