Chapter 57 - The Weight Of New Life

The morning sunlight bled gently through the villa’s arched windows, golden rays kissing the silk curtains and the cool marble floors. In the stillness of dawn, while most of the estate still slept off the lingering haze of the previous night’s chaos, Gianna sat alone in the garden, wrapped in Lorenzo’s oversized linen shirt.

She had woken hours before him, heart racing, mind spinning.

The scent of lavender hung in the air, calming, but it did little to steady the storm that now lived inside her. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the iron bench, eyes fixed on the blooming roses before her.

Three days late. It wasn’t like her. Her body was a clock, always had been. Until now.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, uncertain whether the flutter she felt was real or just anxiety taking shape in her nerves. But there had been other signs too, the dizziness, the sudden sensitivity to smells, the sharp ache in her breasts when he touched her last night. Signs she’d been too consumed with danger, escape, and survival to notice until now.

Her other hand reached into the pocket of the robe, pulling out the small white box she’d tucked away after one of the maids discreetly provided it. She’d asked in whispered Italian, avoiding eye contact.

She was Gianna, fierce, vibrant, untamable. But right now, she felt small. Frightened. Vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the Morelli enemies or the ghosts they all carried.

She bit her lip and stood, walking toward the hidden corner of the garden where a small guest bathroom could be accessed through a sliding stone panel. She needed answers.

Minutes later, she stared down at the test in her hand. Two pink lines. Her breath caught, sharp and unsteady. Her legs gave out beneath her and she slid to the floor, back pressed against the stone wall. The birds chirped faintly in the distance. Somewhere inside, she could hear footsteps, the household beginning to stir.

She was pregnant with Lorenzo de Luca’s child.

A man who could kill without blinking, whose hands had taken lives but had also held her as if she were made of stars and silk. A man who once thought himself too cold for love, until her.

Gianna didn’t cry. Not at first. She just sat there, stunned, as if her entire existence had shifted without warning. Then came the heat behind her eyes, the tears falling silent and unchecked.

Her hand once again rested on her belly. "What the hell are we going to do, little one?"

Lorenzo found her in that exact spot nearly thirty minutes later.

He had awakened to an empty bed, her scent still lingering on the sheets, and a gnawing in his gut. His first instinct had been to check the perimeter—old habits—but when he couldn’t find her in any of the usual places, he followed her scent through the corridor to the garden.

There she was, curled up in the corner of the stone alcove, test still clutched in one hand, face pale, eyes red.

“Gianna?” His voice cracked like thunder in the morning peace.

She looked up, lips parted.

He moved to her instantly, kneeling in front of her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she whispered, trying to smile, failing. “Not hurt. Just… overwhelmed.”

His eyes flicked to the stick in her hand. He recognized it immediately. A slow breath left his chest, but he didn’t speak. Just looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said.

He reached forward, taking her trembling hand in his, lifting the test between them. “Is it real?”

She nodded, tears slipping again. “Yeah.”

Lorenzo exhaled sharply, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Say it.”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “With your child.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then came his voice, raw, reverent. “Dio santo… I never thought—” He cut himself off, holding her tighter. “You’re going to be the mother of my child.”

His hands were shaking now too, but his eyes had changed. The stoic mask had fallen. There was something wild in his gaze, protective, terrified, fiercely tender.

“I don’t know what this means,” she said honestly, voice cracking. “We’re in the middle of a war. Your world… my world… this isn’t safe.”

“I’ll make it safe,” he swore. “For both of you.”

She met his eyes. “Lorenzo…”

“I’ve killed men for less than the threat of losing you,” he said, voice firm. “Now I’ll kill to protect what we created.”

Gianna blinked. “You’re not angry?”

He smiled, something dark and beautiful. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

She exhaled, a broken laugh escaping. “You’re sure?”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, soft, full of promise. “I’m sure cara mia, and if it’s a girl, I hope she’s just as dangerous as her mother.”

Lorenzo hadn’t let go of her since she told him. He held her close as they sat on the garden bench beneath the shade of an olive tree, the test resting quietly between them like a fragile secret on the verge of igniting a storm.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” Lorenzo murmured, brushing his knuckles along her jawline. “But I do. I’ve already decided. You come before everything.”

Gianna studied him. The way the morning sun caught in the flecks of green in his eyes. The tightness in his jaw that betrayed his fear, even if his words didn't.

“I don’t want you to choose me over the war,” she said softly. “But I need to know you’ll protect us, without dying for it.”

He leaned closer. “I don’t plan on dying. Not when I’ve got something worth living for.”

She closed her eyes, chest rising with the weight of it all. Everything’s changing. She could feel it in her bones. Not just within herself, but in the world around them. The tides were shifting.

Gianna glanced at the villa behind them. “We have to tell them.”

Lorenzo followed her gaze. “Massimo first?”

“And Talana. They’ll find out eventually. Better it come from us.” She paused. “And I want her to know. She’s like a sister to me.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll tell them together.”

Later that afternoon, in one of the smaller salons of the Morelli villa, Gianna stood near the window, her fingers twisted together in nervous knots as Massimo poured himself a drink. Talana sat on the edge of a velvet chaise, already sensing the tension that clung to the air.

Lorenzo stood behind Gianna like a silent wall of strength, though his sharp gaze tracked every flicker of emotion on Massimo’s face.

Gianna’s heart pounded. She had faced traffickers, bullets, and betrayal, but this felt far more terrifying.

“Are either of you going to say something?” Massimo asked dryly, lifting his glass. “You’ve both been standing there like statues since we walked in.”

Gianna licked her lips, then took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

The words dropped like lead in the room. Talana’s eyes widened. Massimo froze mid-sip.

“Say that again?” Talana whispered, her voice caught between awe and disbelief.

Gianna straightened her shoulders. “I’m pregnant. Lorenzo is the father.”

A long silence followed.

Massimo set down his glass carefully. “When did you find out?”

“This morning,” Lorenzo answered, his voice calm but commanding. “We’ve confirmed it.”

Talana stood slowly, crossing to Gianna and placing both hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay? I mean… truly okay?”

Gianna nodded, her lips trembling into a smile. “I think I am now.”

Talana pulled her into a hug, tight and warm. “Then I’m happy. So damn happy. This child will have so many people to fight for them, they won’t know peace.”

Massimo, meanwhile, had turned his attention to Lorenzo. “You understand what this means?” His voice was quiet, dangerous.

Lorenzo nodded. “I do. It means I have something more than revenge to protect now. It means I’ll burn the world down if anyone so much as looks at her wrong.”

Massimo stepped forward. The tension between them pulsed like heat. And then, Massimo extended his hand.

“Good,” he said simply. “Because you’ll need that fire. We’re going to end this war, and you’re going to walk into fatherhood with your soul intact.”

Lorenzo clasped his hand firmly. “With my family standing.”

Massimo’s expression softened only slightly as he looked at Gianna. “If I’d ever had a sister, I would have wanted her to be like you. Don’t let anything touch you. Not now.”

Gianna swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

Talana looped her arm through Gianna’s. “You’re not alone in this. Not for a single second.”

But even as laughter returned and tentative smiles formed, a silent understanding bound them all, this wasn’t just a pregnancy. It was the turning point in a world painted with blood and silk.

Gianna’s child wasn’t just born from love. It would be born into war.