Chapter 3

Before I could answer, Bianca folded the report and closed it inside her fist.

"She isn't," Bianca said, looking up as tears suddenly filled her eyes. "I read it wrong. It's an old test result."

She stepped back, hiding the paper behind her. Her other hand clamped around my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.

Matteo's phone rang.

One of the guards upstairs reported that the east-side security cameras had gone dark for two minutes.

He looked at me, then at Bianca.

"I'll handle it. Both of you stay here."

The moment the door closed, the tears vanished from Bianca's face.

She released me and unfolded the report.

"Seven weeks," she said. "You have remarkable timing."

"Give it back."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"That is our child."

"Our?" She laughed softly. "He already chose once in the chapel."

"Go ahead and tell him. No one knows whether a seven-week embryo will live long enough to be born. My baby already moves. The council has seen the paternity test, and the wedding is being planned."

"If only one of the two babies could survive, which one do you think Matteo would save?"

"At least my child is real."

"Real or not doesn't matter." She leaned close to my ear. "What matters is which one he believes in."

Her phone lit up.

There was no name on the screen, only a message: Is the file still in the basement?

I saw it for less than a second before she turned the screen away and typed one word.

Yes.

"What did you tell them?"

"You should worry about your baby first."

She shoved the report back into my hand. As she passed the preparation table, she deliberately knocked the silver rattle to the floor.

It struck the tile.

Her heel came down on it.

The tiny silver shell caved in. It would never ring again.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't see it."

I slapped her.

The sound cracked through the basement.

Bianca's face snapped to the side, but she did not try to avoid the blow. The next second, the door opened. She threw herself against the instrument cabinet and wrapped both arms around her belly.

"My baby..."

Matteo stood in the doorway.

He saw my raised hand. He saw the red mark on Bianca's cheek and the crumpled report in her palm.

But she cried first.

"I only came to return the rattle." Bianca clutched his sleeve. "She said my baby didn't deserve to live."

"She read my-"

"Enough, Lucia."

Matteo pulled her into his arms.

He did not even ask what had happened.

"Apologize to her," he said.

I stared at him.

"For what? Because she crushed something that belonged to my child, or because she stole my medical report?"

His gaze dropped to the wrinkled sheet of paper.

Bianca immediately doubled over with a stifled moan.

"It hurts..."

Matteo never looked at the report again.

He lifted Bianca into his arms and carried her past me.

"From now on, stay away from her."

"What if I have something more important than she is to tell you?"

His steps paused.

I gave him one last chance.

If he turned around.

If he asked me what it was.

I would tell him that the child we had waited seven years for was finally here.

Bianca buried her face against his chest and whimpered again.

Matteo did not turn around.

"Whatever it is can wait until a doctor has examined her."

The door closed in my face.

I crouched and picked up the silver rattle that would never chime again.

The lights went out.

The entire basement plunged into darkness.

Two seconds later, the first gunshot sounded upstairs.

I switched on my phone's flashlight. The east-corridor monitor showed only static, but the fire alarm remained silent.

I could already smell gasoline.

Whoever had come was not there for money.

I ran to the hidden cabinet, pulled out the black death file, and stuffed it into my bag.

The second gunshot was closer.

I raced for the stairs.

Bianca stood outside the fire door.

She was no longer in pain. There were no tears on her face.

She looked at the black file in my arms, then at the blood test in my hand.

"So you really do have everything," she said.

"Open the door."

"A name. Evidence. And his child."

A man collapsed at the end of the corridor. Blood sprayed across the hem of her dress, but she did not move.

"Bianca!"

She watched me through the narrow pane of glass.

"Matteo only needs one heir."

Then she pulled down the iron bolt on her side of the fire door.

Gasoline seeped beneath the gap.

She gave me one final look and disappeared into the gunfire.

No one but her knew I was still in the basement.

The next bullet shattered the stairwell window.

Glass rained across the floor. Flames followed, crawling beneath the door.

I called Matteo.

Once.

Twice.

He answered on the third attempt.

"Lucia?"

Screams and gunfire filled the background.

"I'm locked in the basement." I drove my shoulder into the door. "Bianca locked it. The building is on fire."

For one beat, the line went silent.

"Step back."

The voice had not come through the phone.

Matteo was on the other side of the door.

I backed away. A gunshot shattered the lock. Matteo kicked the fire door open, and smoke rushed in around him.

At the sight of him, relief loosened something inside me.

Only hours earlier, he had ended our marriage in front of the entire family.

He had chosen another woman and the child she claimed to carry.

And still, I had believed he would come back for me.

Habit dies more slowly than love.

"Come here." He held out his hand.

I gave him mine.

His palm was as warm and familiar as ever. His fingers closed around my wrist and pulled me up the steps.

"Where is Bianca?" he asked.

"She locked me in there."

"She was frightened. She may not have understood what she was doing."

Even then, he was making excuses for her.

I stopped.

"She knows I'm pregnant."

Matteo spun toward me.

Firelight struck his face.

"What did you say?"

I took the crumpled report from my bag. Sparks had blackened one corner, but the words seven weeks, three days were still clear.

"I went to the hospital today," I said. "This child is yours."

His eyes moved from the report to my stomach.

He looked as if he had not understood, or as if he was afraid to understand.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked at him.

"I tried twice."

The first time, he had ordered me not to make a scene at his father's funeral.

The second time, Bianca had said she was in pain, and he had carried her away.

Matteo's fingers slowly tightened. The paper trembled between us.

"Lucia, I-"

"Matteo!"

Bianca screamed from the far end of the corridor.

She leaned against a burning wall, her black skirt soaked in blood. Both hands clutched her belly. Her face was as white as the candles in the chapel.

"The baby... I'm bleeding."