Chapter 2

The next day, I went to Maria Hospital, the private one the family owned.

Armed guards lined the hall outside Dario's room. When they saw it was me, they hesitated—then stepped aside. In the Marchetti family, I'd never carried less weight than Dario did.

I pushed the door open. Dario lay there white as a sheet, the lower half of him bandaged up tight. Bianca sat by the bed, eyes red, holding a cup of water to his lips like the whole world had wronged her.

The second he saw me, his face darkened, and something flickered in his eyes—panic. The kind you get when someone hits a nerve. "What are you doing here? Come to gloat?"

"As your ex-wife, I figured checking whether you're dead yet was fair enough." I dragged over a chair, sat down, and crossed my legs.

"I'm doing just fine." He gritted his teeth, holding on to what was left of his pride. "Doctor says a few months of rest and I'll be good as new."

Good as new. Half of him down there had been mangled by a steel rod and cut away. With what, exactly? I laughed to myself, but I didn't bother correcting him.

I pulled the morning's test result out of my bag and set it gently on his nightstand.

"There's something you should know, Dario." I looked him in the eye, my voice level. "I'm pregnant too. Seven weeks."

The room went dead quiet.

The cup tilted in Bianca's hand, water spilling onto the blanket. She stared at that slip of paper, and the tears in her eyes were gone in an instant—nothing left but venom.

Dario's face was something to watch. Shock first, then doubt, and finally his eyes drifted to Bianca's belly on their own—and there was a lot going on behind them.

His own line had ended. If what I'd just said was true, the child I was carrying was the only one of his blood he'd ever have.

I watched him and gave him one last opening.

"Think carefully. This child—you really don't want it?" I said. "Give me back control of the South Side, and I'll consider keeping it."

It was a test, and the last chance I'd give those five years together. If there was a shred of decency left in him, maybe I'd have ended things some other way.

Dario looked at me, then turned to Bianca.

She grabbed his hand at once, tears coming on cue, falling one after another. "Dario, you promised me. Our baby is the family's only heir... She's lying to you. She just wants the South Side back!"

Dario drew in a long breath. I watched the flicker of hesitation in his eyes get smothered by calculation.

He thought the damage was just below the waist. As long as he had the kid in Bianca's belly, his seat in the family was safe—and he wasn't about to give up an inch of the South Side.

"Don't play games with me, Renata." He raised a hand and pointed at the door, spelling it out word by word. "I only want Bianca's kid. The one in you—I don't want it. Get rid of it now, and don't go thinking you'll use it to come after my money later. Get out."

I looked at that face of his, selfish down to the bone.

Strange thing was, I didn't feel let down. I felt lighter.

I nodded, stood up, and tore the test result to shreds right in front of him before dropping it in the trash. "Fine. You said it yourself—don't come crying about it later."

I didn't go home. I had the driver take me across town, to a black-market doctor the family trusted.

The clinic lights were a harsh white. I lay on the table, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles square by square, listening to the instruments clink against the metal tray.

I didn't make a sound.

When it was over, the nurse helped me sit up. A dull, dragging ache came in waves low in my belly. I glanced down at it—empty now—and the tears came out of nowhere, landing on the back of my hand.

I wiped them away.

This was my choice. Dario had said it to my face—he didn't want it. So this was where the child ended. And with it, the part of me that still went soft over love.

I got dressed and walked out of the clinic with one hand on the wall.

Gemma's car was parked out front. She was leaning against the door, none of her usual easy grin on her face. When she saw me come out, she came over and steadied me.

"Get in." She opened the door for me, her voice soft for once. "I'll take you home."

We'd driven a good ways before she said anything.

"That bastard," she said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Sooner or later, he'll be the one crying."

I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. "No rush," I said. "He'll keep digging his own hole deeper. I can wait."