Chapter 2

ROMINA

For half a second, he doesn’t move. Then he laughs softly and strokes my hair.

“Mina, don’t be silly. How could I be Jovan? Drink your milk and go to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll take you to your checkup. Cramping isn’t something to ignore.” His hand lingers. “That baby is the last of Jovan’s blood. I’ll make sure he comes into this world safely.”

I lower my eyes. I can’t look at that fake concern a second longer.

“Go,” I say. “I’m tired.”

The door clicks shut. Only then do the tears come.

I met Jovan at eighteen, at a charity gala neither of us wanted to attend. Two heirs from two families that had been bleeding each other for forty years, hiding behind the same marble column. He fell hard, and he chased harder. Six years later, the old men signed a peace because their children refused to give each other up. Our wedding was supposed to be the signature.

He proposed on Tern Island. Fireworks poured into the water, and I thought his eyes were brighter than all of them. When I found out I was pregnant, he lifted me off my feet. “Perfect timing,” he said. “He’s here to celebrate his parents’ wedding. Mina, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Six years he held me like something precious. I still don’t know why he cheated, or why he’d rather die than marry me.

Next morning, Jovan knocks. “Mina, ready for your appointment?”

We’re at the door when a voice drifts down the stairs. Tahlia, in a silk robe, one hand trailing the banister like a woman in a painting about suffering. “Dempsey, I’m not feeling well. Can you stay with me today?”

He doesn’t even glance at me. He’s already moving. “Did you forget your medication again? Go back to bed. Don’t walk around. What if you faint?”

Then he turns. “Sorry, Mina. Tahlia is unwell, so I can’t come. Marcus is waiting outside. Dr. Reyes is expecting you. Just go in.”

I shut my eyes against the sting. When I open them, I catch what flashes across Tahlia’s face. Triumph.

On the hall table sits an amber pill bottle. I read the label as I pass, without turning my head: Leonard Shaw, M.D. The name from behind Althea's door. The same name that's on Jovan's death certificate in Althea's desk.

I nod and walk out without a word. The door thuds behind me. My hand finds my stomach, and the tears fall anyway.

Marcus drives me to the Caruso clinic on Harbor Street. Jovan has briefed him and Dr. Reyes already. If I don’t show up, he’ll get suspicious.

Dr. Reyes is kind. The gel is cold. I sit through every test, and then I sit alone in the corridor, studying the sonogram. A small curled shape, a flicker at its center like a candle in a window. That’s your baby, she said.

I can’t give this child a father who lies like that.

I wipe my face. This is the Caruso family’s clinic. If I do it here, Jovan will know within the hour.

I call Marcus. “Go home. I want to walk by the water.”

“Mr. Caruso said—”

“Mr. Caruso said to take care of me. Go home, Marcus.”

I hide behind the clinic doors until his car turns the corner, then hail a cab across the river to a private clinic on Delancey Street. Dr. Leonard Shaw's clinic.

Before I go in, my phone buzzes. A video. Thirty-one minutes long.

I know what it is. I press play anyway.

It’s Jovan. I’ve never seen him like this: wild, out of control. In six years, he never once lost himself with me. He touched me like I might break. I thought that was love. Now I see it wasn’t restraint. The one who sets him on fire just never was me.

I watch it like a woman picking at a wound. I don’t know how long. I know only that I save it, twice, and send a copy to a number only my brother has.

A nurse touches my shoulder. “Ms. Falcone? Are you all right? It’s time to go in.”