Chapter Five

Renzo 

I sit in the driver's seat; Emily slides into the passenger seat beside me. 

She turns to me with a curious expression, before turning her gaze to the elevator doors that the woman had just disappeared behind. "Who's she, Renzo?" she asked, her voice low and inquiring.

I raise an eyebrow, my gaze drifting from the elevator to Emily's face. "Just a nurse," I replied, my voice smooth and detached.

Emily's eyes narrow. "How do you know she's a nurse?" She asked, her brow furrowed in skepticism. "She wasn't exactly in scrubs."

“Call it instincts,” I say dismissively 

“What were you guys talking about?” she asks

I raise an eyebrow, my expression neutral. "Nothing."

Emily's questions kept coming. "Is she a friend of yours?"

I turn to her, my gaze piercing. I gave her a warning look, my eyes narrowing slightly. 

"Just a nurse."

She looks away, her lips pressing together, her eyes fixed on the dashboard.

The silence between us is palpable, but I don't break it. Not yet.

I pull out of the hospital parking lot, the fluorescent lights fading into the distance as I merge onto the busy Chicago road. 

As I drove, my mind wandered back to the events that had led me to this moment.

It had all started with a call from Emily, her voice cracking as she sobbed.

“I need you, Renzo.” I'd never received a call like that before, and something about her desperation had resonated deeply. 

Without hesitation, I'd instructed my private jet crew to prepare for a flight from New York to Chicago.

As I drove, the GPS led me to Emily's apartment building. I pulled up at exactly 3:12 a.m., and as I stepped out of the car, took the elevator to her apartment, knocked twice before the door swung open, revealing a distraught Emily. Her eyes were swollen and red, tears streaming down her face.

"Come in," she whispered, stepping aside to let me enter. 

I nodded, my eyes locked onto hers as I moved past her. "Would you like anything to drink?" she asked, her voice trembling. 

I shook my head, settling onto the couch. "No, thank you. Just talk to me, Emily. What's going on?"

The silence that followed was oppressive, the only sound being the soft hum of the air conditioning. 

Then, Emily's voice cracked as she spoke, "I'm pregnant." A fresh wave of tears followed the words, and I felt a pang of surprise. I waited, my eyes fixed on her, as she struggled to compose herself.

I didn’t believe her at first because we had only had sex twice after we had met at an art exhibition in New York. 

We became friends afterwards. Emily is nice and not clingy, unlike other women I had slept with.

“I just found out yesterday,” sniffs and composes herself before continuing, “I hadn’t seen my monthly circle since our last encounter”

I choose my words carefully, mindful of her fragile emotional state, and collect my thoughts before speaking, ensuring that my tone is both empathetic and measured.

Emily speaks up before I can articulate a response, her voice clear and resolute.

“I’m not keeping it,” she declares.

Her declaration catches me off guard. Most women in similar circumstances would likely opt to keep the child, especially given the financial stability I could offer.

Emily's gaze meets mine, her expression resolute, as she reiterates her decision. "I'm not keeping it," she says firmly. "At 22, I feel I'm too young to be a mother. My education is still in its early stages, my career is just taking off, and I'm not emotionally or financially prepared to provide the stability a child deserves. My life is just beginning, and this isn't part of the plan." Her words convey a sense of conviction and self-awareness.

"Whatever you decide," I say, and a spark of gratitude flashes in Emily's eyes. 

“Now that you've shared this with me, what's the next step you'd like to take?" I ask, my tone measured and supportive, as I acknowledge my lack of expertise in this matter and defer to her guidance.

"I wanted to inform you of my decision before proceeding with the abortion," Emily says. “I'll need your help in getting to the hospital. I would have preferred to go alone, but I require some emotional support during this time." 

I nod understandingly. "Shall we go now?" I ask, but Emily shakes her head. "No, it would be better if you could pick me up at noon." 

I nod again in agreement. 

As the conversation concludes, Emily stands, her movements signaling the end of our discussion. 

I follow suit, and in a gesture of emotional support, I offer her a comforting hug. 

“Thank you for coming when I needed you, Renzo. Please don't hate me for this,” she says, her voice barely audible as it's muffled against my chest. 

I gently pull back, meeting her gaze with a reassuring look. "I don't hate you, Emily. This was your decision to make, and I'll stand by you no matter what," I reiterate, my tone calm and empathetic. 

With a nod of gratitude, she whispers, "Thank you." I nod in response, and with a final moment of understanding, I turn to leave her apartment.

I get into my car. As I settle into the driver's seat, a tumult of emotions swirls within me. 

Relief and sympathy wrestle for dominance, mingled with a hint of uncertainty. 

I feel a pang of compassion for Emily, imagining the weight she must have carried in making this difficult decision. The gravity of her situation lingers in my mind, leaving me introspective and somewhat unsettled. 

My thoughts are a jumble of concern, understanding, and a dash of emotional disorientation, as I grapple with the complexity of the situation and my role in it.

After sending a quick booking request for a hotel room, I pulled out of the parking space and navigated through the streets of Chicago.

"Thanks for the ride and everything," Emily says, her voice piercing the haze of my thoughts.

We've arrived in front of her apartment building, and I realize I've been on autopilot for most of the drive. 

I nod, then turn to face her in the passenger seat. 

“I guess this is it," she says, a faint smile playing on her lips. I offer her a rare smile in return. 

“It was great knowing you, Renzo," she says, her voice soft, before leaning in to brush a gentle kiss on my cheek. With a quiet exit, she opens the door and steps out of my car.

          **********************************

I stepped out of my penthouse apartment, the Manhattan skyline gleaming before me like a promise of possibilities. 

My assistant, Sophia, greeted me with a warm smile as I entered the office. "Good morning, Mr. Ricci. You've got a meeting with the Silverstein team in an hour." I nodded, already mentally preparing for the negotiations ahead.

The day flew by in a blur of meetings, phone calls, and deal-making. I thrived in the fast-paced environment, my instincts and quick thinking serving me well. But beneath the surface, I was aware of the subtle undercurrents of my family's legacy. The whispered respect, the veiled warnings—all reminders that my name carried weight, for better or worse.

As the sun dipped below the Hudson River, I headed back to my penthouse, feeling accomplished but also restless. I poured myself a drink and stepped out onto the balcony, the city lights twinkling like diamonds below.

As the middle child, I've always felt a drive to prove myself. My older brother, Luca, is a successful tech entrepreneur, and my younger brother, Marco, is a talented artist. I've carved out my niche in real estate, building a reputation as a shrewd and savvy dealmaker.

I gulped down the remaining drink, making my way to the kitchen where I rinsed off the glass, setting it on the drying rack. 

As I shed my suit and slip into workout shorts, the cool fabric feels refreshing against my skin. I head to the spare room, converted into a mini gym, where my weights and treadmill await. The familiar clang of iron and thud of my footsteps on the treadmill are a welcome respite from the day's tension.

After a grueling but satisfying workout, I step into the shower, letting the warm water wash away my frustrations.

I dry off, pull on some comfortable sweats, and make my way to bed. As I lay down, I let my mind wander back where it always goes. 

I'm losing my mind. Every time I try to focus on something else, she's there, haunting my thoughts. Those piercing amber eyes, that raven-black hair, those lips... I'm consumed with visions of her. I toss and turn, trying to shake off the obsession, but it's no use. My mind is fixed on this mysterious woman, and I don't know how to stop it.

I don’t even know her name, for fuck’s sake!

What is it about her that's got me so captivated? The way her eyes sparkle with intelligence and wit? Or is it something deeper, something that resonates with me on a primal level?

I don't know, and I don't care. All I know is that I'm drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and I can't look away. I've tried to distract myself with work, with exercise, with anything that might take my mind off her. But nothing works. She's always there, lurking in the shadows of my mind, waiting to pounce.

I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I've never been like this before. I've never been one to obsess over a woman. But there's something about her that's different. Something that sets my soul on fire.

I need to know more about her. I need to know her name, her story, everything. I need to know whether she feels the same way about me. The not knowing is driving me insane.

I pick up my phone to call any woman who will help me drown this thought, but whenever I think of sticking my dick into another woman after what happened with Emily, it makes me sick. 

Instead, I pick up my phone and type out a message to Alessandro, my bro Luca's security engineer.

"Alessandro, need a list of nurses at Jesse Brown VA Medical Center, 820 S Damen Ave, Chicago, IL 60612. Get it done ASAP."

I hit send, expecting Alessandro to get to work on it quickly and to have some news by tomorrow.

I let my eyes close; I grab my phone and delete the message.

Why am I acting like a fucking madman?

Why am I so hooked on a complete stranger?

I need to get over this sudden, consuming obsession that's been plaguing me.