Chương 1
"""My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the pregnancy test onto the bathroom floor, because those two pink lines had turned a quiet Tuesday morning into a disaster I could not pretend away.
I sat there staring at the plastic stick until the letters on the cheap package blurred and the sound of Liam moving around the apartment became painfully clear.
The old pipes rattled behind the wall, the coffee maker clicked off, and somewhere outside a truck groaned as it stopped at the intersection below our window.
Normal things were still happening.
My life was not normal anymore.
“Emma?” Liam called again from the hallway.
I shoved the test into the pocket of my uniform before my fingers could stop trembling.
“Yeah,” I answered, and my voice sounded like someone else’s.
The bathroom door opened a few inches.
“You’ve been in there forever.”
“I’m fine.”
Liam looked at me for a second too long.
He was good at noticing things, which was one of the reasons living with him had always been both comforting and dangerous.
He noticed when I skipped meals.
He noticed when I lied about being tired.
He noticed when I was trying too hard to convince everyone that I was okay.
“You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“That’s because you worked until two in the morning.”
“I’m aware.”
A small smile touched his face, but it disappeared quickly.
“Okay.”
He stepped away, giving me space instead of pushing.
That was Liam’s way.
He had spent years learning when to ask questions and when to leave a door open.
I hated that I was about to lie to him.
I hated even more that I did not know who else I could trust.
I washed my face with cold water and stared at my reflection.
The woman looking back at me seemed familiar, but somehow younger and older at the same time.
Twenty-five years old.
Almost done with nursing school.
Working too many hours.
Living in a spare room because the apartment she grew up in had been sold after her parents died.
And pregnant by a man whose name made powerful people lower their voices.
I walked into the kitchen wearing the same stained diner uniform I had worn through a six-hour shift the night before.
Liam was standing by the counter pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs.
He always made enough for two, even when I told him I did not want any.
“You’re staring at the coffee like it offended you,” he said.
“I’m tired.”
“That answer is getting a lot of use lately.”
I looked away.
Liam noticed, but he did not comment.
The silence between us was not uncomfortable.
That almost made it worse.
A person could hide from accusations.
It was harder to hide from kindness.
“You have class today?” he asked.
“Clinical hours.”
“Can you handle it?”
The question sounded simple, but it carried everything he was not saying.
Can you handle another twelve-hour day?
Can you handle pretending?
Can you handle being alone?
“I have to.”
He leaned against the counter.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“That’s what you say when you don’t think you have another option.”
I hated that he knew me well enough to say it.
I grabbed my bag before he could see my expression.
“I’ll be late.”
“Emma.”
I stopped.
He did not look angry.
That would have been easier.
He looked worried.
“Whatever is happening, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
For one second, I almost told him.
The words reached my throat.
I almost said Alessandro’s name.
I almost admitted that the man I had tried to forget had become impossible to forget.
Then I remembered the way people looked at Alessandro Vitali when he entered a room.
Not admiration.
Not exactly fear.
Something more complicated.
Respect mixed with survival.
I remembered the stories people whispered when they thought nobody important was listening.
I remembered leaving that hotel room at sunrise and promising myself that one night would remain only one night.
I picked up my bag.
“I’m okay.”
Liam’s jaw tightened slightly.
He knew I was lying.
He let me leave anyway.
That was the first kindness I had ever received that felt like a punishment.
The hospital hallway smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.
By the time my shift started, I had convinced myself that routine could fix anything.
People came in hurt.
People left healed.
That was how the world was supposed to work.
I spent four hours helping nurses, checking charts, and trying not to think about the secret growing inside me.
Then a patient’s family began arguing near the emergency entrance.
A man in a dark coat shouted at a receptionist because someone had not updated him quickly enough.
The receptionist stayed calm, but everyone nearby became quieter.
I recognized that reaction.
Power had a sound.
Sometimes it was not yelling.
Sometimes it was the silence people created around someone important.
The man turned slightly, and I saw the tattoo on his wrist.
A black wolf.
My stomach dropped.
The Vitali symbol.
Not official.
Not something that appeared in newspapers.
Something people in Chicago’s older neighborhoods recognized.
I stepped backward before anyone noticed me.
The man looked in my direction.
For one terrible second, I thought he knew.
Then a doctor called his name and he turned away.
I escaped to the supply room and pressed my hand against the door.
Six weeks had passed since Alessandro Vitali looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
Six weeks since I had forgotten every reason I should have walked away.
Six weeks since I had learned that loneliness could make dangerous things feel safe.
I still remembered his apartment.
Not because of the expensive furniture.
Not because of the view.
Because of the quiet.
May you like
That was the part nobody would believe.
A man everyone described as ruthless had sat across from me at three in the morning drinking cold coffee and asking about my favorite childhood memory.
