ELENA

I took my time arranging myself, making sure not to rush back. The last thing I needed was someone seeing us coming out at the same time. Once I was certain enough time had passed, I returned to the dining room only to find that they had already left.

I shot a quick look at Alessia, but she averted her gaze.

“Dove sei stato? (Where have you been?)” My papà’s voice cut through the air as I sat down.

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I muttered, “The bathroom.”

“How long do you spend there?”

“On my way back, something caught my attention, so I stopped for a moment.”

He gave me one last look before pushing his chair back and leaving. My mamma followed, throwing me her own disapproving glance before disappearing after him.

I turned to Alessia. “What did I do now?”

“You left before dinner was finished. That’s bad manners especially in front of guests,” she said, unimpressed.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached for the champagne bottle and poured myself a drink.

“How did the meeting go? Why did they leave so soon?”

Alessia sighed. “He didn’t agree with Papà’s terms. A fight almost broke out. They were already reaching for their guns before Papà said he could leave if he wasn’t happy with the price.”

“Thank God it didn’t escalate,” I muttered.

Italians don’t fight barehanded. And especially not the mafia. When they fight, it’s with guns, knives, anything they can get their hands on. Someone always ends up injured.

“I’m going inside,” Alessia announced before getting up and walking away.

I stayed behind, staring into the night as the cold air wrapped around me. I tried not to think of him. I really did. But my mind refused to listen.

Avoiding him was going to be difficult, but I had to try. Today was a close call. I wasn’t sure I’d be so lucky next time.

The next few days, I buried myself in painting.

Art had always been my escape, the one place I could speak without words. What started as a hobby was now something I wanted to make a livelihood from. I was preparing for the 2025 art exhibit in New York, my biggest opportunity yet.

I had never left Italy before. I wasn’t even sure my Papà would let me go, but I could only try.

He never saw painting as anything more than a waste of time. Then again, he saw everything I did as a waste of time. He had never supported my choice to study art; he wanted me in medical school instead. But I wasn’t cut out for that life.

I had threatened to run away if he didn’t let me study what I wanted. (I wasn’t actually going to, but it worked.) I had gotten my way, but that didn’t mean I was free.

It was only a matter of time before my fears became reality.

One sunny afternoon, I was outside under the shade, lost in thought as I stared at my unfinished painting. My apron was stained with streaks of color, my paintbrush held loosely between my fingers.

I was struggling with what to paint for the exhibit. Nothing felt right.

“You paint?”

I didn’t need to turn around. I already knew it was him.

“You’re back.”

“I am. Did you miss me?”

“In your wildest dreams.”

He chuckled. “You always have a sharp tongue.”

I sighed. “Can you go take care of your business? I don’t want people seeing us talking.”

His next words made me pause. “Why do you care so much about what people say?”

I finally turned to face him. “I don’t understand what you mean.” But I did.

“You’re always worried about who says what. Why don’t you ever do what you want to do?”

His words struck something deep inside me.

“You don’t know anything about me, so don’t make assumptions,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

I regretted it instantly.

I had never spoken to anyone like that before, let alone a mafia boss.

He could kill me if he wanted to. I knew he carried a gun. I had done my research, read everything there was to know about him. If I ate up media like Alessia, I would have known who he was from the start and avoided all of this. No wonder he had been offended when I didn’t recognize him. I get it. I would be too.

The De Luca family were ruthless in the city.

The worst people to come across, no one dares go against them.

And Alessandro was the head of the family. His Papà had died when he was young leaving him a vast empire to cater for.

And he took care of the family well, building it more than his Father ever did. His mamma was everything to him.

One time last year, the news had gone viral about how he ended a man’s life for touching his mamma inappropriately in the grocery store.

It was said that Alessandro had gone to the man’s house, cut off his right hand and sent it as a gift to his Parents.

If I want a simple life, the best thing to do is to avoid him.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he lifted his hand and wiped a smudge of paint from my face.

“You’re so little, and yet so feisty,” he murmured before turning and walking into the house.

I stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared inside.

Then, without another word, I packed up my things and went inside as well. I didn’t want to be here when he left.

The days passed, one after another, blending into a routine that felt almost… normal.

He was gone. I had overheard whispers about a business trip. It was good. Necessary even.

I focused on my painting, finally deciding on the perfect piece for the exhibition. Weeks turned into months, and I let myself believe that life had settled.

Until the morning everything changed.

I woke up with a wave of nausea so strong I barely made it to the bathroom before collapsing to my knees, heaving into the toilet.

A cold sweat covered my skin. My stomach twisted violently. My hands shook as I gripped the sink for support, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

I stumbled back to my room, my pulse thundering in my ears as I grabbed my phone. With trembling fingers, I started counting.

Two months.

I hadn’t had my period in two months. I was too busy to notice.

A sharp panic cut through my chest.

I forced myself to my feet, barely able to think as I rushed to Alessia’s room. She was still sleeping, curled under the blankets. I didn’t care. I couldn’t wait.

“Alessia,” I gasped, shaking her shoulder. My voice was tight, panicked.

She groaned, swatting at me. “What is it? It’s too early. Let me sleep a little longer.”

I took a breath. And then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out the words that made my entire world shift.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Alessia’s eyes snapped open. She bolted upright, staring at me as if I had just spoken a foreign language.

The silence was deafening.

And then—

A voice from behind us.

Deep. Sharp. Unforgiving.

“What do you mean you’re pregnant?”