Chapter 62 Not yet his to command
Lina’s POV
The highway feels too open. Too exposed. Cold air slices against my skin, but it isn’t the cold making me tremble.
It’s him.
Not Carlino.
The masked man.
The way he stands there like this is all rehearsal. Like he expected us to arrive exactly like this. Like he knew Carlino would step out first.
Like he knew I would follow.
I shouldn’t have come.
I shouldn’t have insisted.
But I can’t stay locked behind walls anymore. Not when every second I remain silent feels like a ticking clock inside my own body.
My hand drifts unconsciously to my abdomen.
Small. Flat. Unchanged. But not empty. I already know. The nausea. The dizziness. The missed cycle. The way the scent of coffee suddenly makes my stomach revolt. The way exhaustion clings to my bones no matter how long I sleep.
I know.
But he doesn't.
“Behind me,” Carlino orders.
I hate that I had to obey. And I did.
Because if something happens—if bullets fly—he will shield me. And right now, that protection feels less like safety and more like a prison.
The masked man speaks.
They exchange words like chess moves. Calm. Calculated. Testing.
But I’m not listening to the insults. I’m listening to the pattern. He knew Carlino would react. He knew response time. He knew I mattered. My throat tightens. He says I’m a weakness.
Carlino answers him, steady and cold, but I feel it—the shift in him. The way his body angles slightly wider in front of me. The way his shoulder blocks more of my view. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
The masked man does.
“You moved faster for her.”
My stomach flips. Not from fear. From something heavier.
If this man has been watching long enough to notice that… then he’s been watching long enough to notice everything.
Including my failed escape weeks ago. Including the way I’ve been avoiding wine at dinners. Including the way I press a hand to my stomach when no one is looking.
No.
No.
He can’t know that.
I shift slightly, adjusting my weight, and the world tilts.
“You alright?” he murmured.
“I'm fine.” I responded, even though I felt the total opposite.
The lights are too bright.
The sound of engines too loud.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
Breathe. Just breathe, Lina.
You cannot faint. Not here. Not in front of him. Not in front of Carlino. Because if Carlino senses something beyond stress—beyond weakness—he will dig. And if he digs, he will find it. And if he finds it—
My fingers dig into the SUV. The ground sways again.
“Lina,” he called closer now.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped.
I see the masked man watching me. Not with concern. With interest.
“Timing is everything,” he says later.
He’s right. And my timing couldn’t be worse. I take one step to steady myself. My body betrays me.
The world disappears. Immediately, without warning.
\~~~
When awareness returns, I’m in his arms.
Of course I am.
The scent of him—leather, steel, something dark and clean—wraps around me. My head lolls against his chest.
I hate that my first instinct is relief. I hate that I feel safe. Because safety with Carlino is conditional.
And this changes everything.
“Move!”
His voice detonates around me.
Men scramble.
The masked man speaks again, but it’s distant now. How unfortunate. If he only knew. If any of them knew.
The drive back blurs. I keep my eyes closed, pretending I’m weaker than I am, because I need time. Time to think. Time to decide.
Do I tell him?
No.
If I tell him, I lose control of the only thing that is mine.
My body.
My child.
Our child.
The thought hits me harder than the fainting did.
Our.
The word feels dangerous.
By the time we reach the house, I’m fully conscious, but I don’t move. He carries me inside anyway.
I let him.
He lays me on the bed like I might shatter. I almost wanted to laugh. If he knew what I survived trying to escape weeks ago, he wouldn’t look at me like porcelain.
“Get water. Clear the hall. Call medical.”
No.
My eyes flutter open. “Don’t.”
His expression sharpens instantly. “Don’t what?”
“No doctor.”
Because a doctor means confirmation. Confirmation means records. Records mean vulnerability. And vulnerability in Carlino’s world is leverage.
“You fainted.”
“I’m tired.” It sounds pathetic even to me.
“You don’t collapse from being tired.”
You do when you’re pregnant and stressed and terrified and haven’t eaten properly because everything smells wrong. But I can’t say that.
He lists the symptoms.
Dinner three nights ago. Coffee yesterday morning. He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He notices everything.
My heart pounds harder now than it did on the highway. “You ask questions like an interrogator,” I mutter, trying to redirect him into irritation instead of suspicion.
“Because you answer like a liar.”
That stings. Because he's right, I am lying. Every second.
I say I’m fine.
He says I’m not.
Silence stretches.
He steps closer. “Patterns.”