CH- 36

CH- 36
Isabella’s POV

The morning sun spills across the stone-tiled floor like liquid gold, but it does nothing to warm the pit in my stomach. If anything, the brightness feels mocking—too cheerful for the weight settling into my chest.

I sit on the edge of the sink in the upstairs bathroom, gripping the counter so tightly my knuckles turn white.

My eyes are fixed on the second pink line that’s bloomed like a curse across the pregnancy test. It’s not the first one. I took three.

One from the estate’s medical cabinet, hidden behind expired aspirin and dusty gauze.

Two more ordered online under different names, delivered discreetly to avoid suspicion. All the same result.

I’m pregnant. I already knew before this moment, deep down where instinct lives, but I needed confirmation.

Closure. Or maybe denial. But there’s no denying what the tests say—and worse, what my body has been trying to tell me all along. The baby doesn’t lie.

My hands shake as I wrap the test in toilet paper, layer after layer, until it’s a small, unassuming bundle.

I drop it into the trash can, burying it deep beneath crumpled tissues and empty bandage wrappers.

Even then, it feels radioactive, like its presence alone could betray me. Like the walls themselves might absorb the truth and whisper it back when I least expect it.

Standing, I smooth my shirt over my still-flat stomach, though no one is here to see.

No one except the ghosts of this house—and they’ve always known how to keep secrets. Still, I move slowly, deliberately, as if noise or haste will give me away. As if the air itself is listening.

I leave the bathroom, slow and careful, like the walls might whisper my secret the moment I turn my back.

Downstairs, Dante is asleep on the veranda sofa, a book slipping from his lap. He looks so peaceful I almost forget how close I came to losing him. How close I still could.

That’s the part I haven’t figured out—how to tell the man who’s sworn to protect me from the world that I’m carrying a piece of him… in a world I don’t fully understand anymore.

I’m about to turn away when I hear footsteps.

Aria.

She’s barefoot, her hair a wild halo from sleep. "You were up early," she says, eyeing me carefully. "You okay?"

"Fine," I lie. The lie lands with a soft thud, like a bird crashing into glass. She doesn’t press, but her eyes linger on me longer than usual.

Later that afternoon, while I’m reviewing club renovation blueprints, Aria disappears upstairs. I don’t notice at first—not until I hear a quiet gasp from the hallway.

I step out. Aria’s standing there, clutching something small in her hand.

The paper wrapping.

The pregnancy test.

Shit.

Her eyes lift to mine. “Is this yours?”

I open my mouth, then close it again. Lying won’t work. Not with her.

"Yes."

She breathes out, soft and stunned. Her hand trembles slightly. “How long have you known?”

“A few days.” My voice is steady, even though my chest feels hollow. “I haven’t told Dante. Or anyone.”

For a long moment, Aria says nothing. Then she leans against the wall and slides down until she’s sitting on the floor.

“You were always the strong one,” she says, voice low. “But this... this is brave. And terrifying.”

I sit beside her. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels... complicated. What kind of life can we offer a child born into this?”

Aria doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, she says, “Maybe a better one than we had.”

That breaks something in me. I let my head fall to her shoulder. She doesn’t pull away.

We sit there in silence, not sisters by choice, but by blood—and maybe by something more now.

Shared scars. Shared fears. A shared future.

\==============

The detective arrives just before sunset.

Niccolò Vieri steps out of a matte black Alfa Romeo with the kind of grace that suggests he’s been trained not just in law enforcement, but survival.

Mid-forties, sharp suit, and eyes that flick too quickly over the estate—cataloguing exits, blind spots, threats. Not a man to underestimate.

I meet him in the study. Dante is still resting. Aria hovers in the hallway but doesn’t come in.

“You must be Isabella,” he says. “I appreciate the discretion.”

“I appreciate you not arriving with sirens and a badge,” I reply.

He smiles. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just… knowingly.

“I’m not here in any official capacity. Think of me as a man with information. And a need.”

I fold my arms. “About my father.”

He nods. “The man you think you know as Salvatore De Luca wasn’t just a mafia kingpin. He was a ghost with many names. One of them is still very much alive.”

My stomach turns, but I don’t flinch. “Go on.”

“I can give you a location. A contact. Files that prove everything. But information like this… it has weight. And I’m not the kind of man who carries it for free.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t blink. “A favor. In time. Nothing now. You’ll know when I call.”

It’s the worst kind of deal. Open-ended. Dangerous.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

“You don’t have long. Shadows move fast when light gets too close.”

He turns to go. Then pauses at the door. “Congratulations, by the way.”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”

He glances back over his shoulder, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“I know the signs. The way you hold your stomach. The way you protect something before you even admit it’s real.”

A pause.

“Your mother used to do the same.”

My mother?