Amara's POV

The first thing I noticed was how quiet the room felt.

No cars honking outside. No voices from the neighbors through the thin walls. Just me… and the tiny piece of plastic sitting on the bathroom counter.

Two pink lines.

I stared at them so long the world seemed to slow down. My heart slammed against my ribs, wild and terrified, but something warm bloomed underneath all that panic. I pressed my palm against my stomach, like my body already knew before my brain could catch up.

I was pregnant.

For a heartbeat, everything felt soft. I thought about the way Dante would look at me when we were alone. Not the cold, terrifying Don the city whispered about, but the man who touched me like I was the only real thing in his world. He

never promised me anything, never gave me flowers or whispered sweet words, but there were nights when I felt like I belonged to him.

And now, there was something growing inside me that tied us together in a way no one could undo.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the test. A stupid smile crept up before I could stop it. It was ridiculous, I knew. He wasn’t exactly the kind of man who dreamed about families and children. But a small part of me—maybe the last piece of the naive girl I used to be—believed this could change everything.

Maybe he’d look at me differently.

Maybe I wouldn’t just be his secret. Maybe he’d love me.

I pressed my forehead against the mirror, whispering to my reflection. “This is good news. It has to be.”

The whisper didn’t sound convincing, but I clung to it anyway. ---

The night air was colder than usual. I wrapped my thin coat tighter around me as I walked the familiar street toward the Moretti mansion. From the outside, it looked like a palace—white marble walls, black iron gates, golden lights spilling from arched windows. A fortress. A cage.

It wasn’t my home. It never had been. But I knew the guard at the back entrance. I’d memorized the rhythm of the security lights, the places the cameras didn’t see. I knew how to disappear inside like a

ghost.

I’d done it enough times.

Every time I walked into Dante’s world, I told myself I was special. Not like the others who warmed his bed for a night and vanished. I’d been there for months. I’d learned the taste of his voice when it wasn’t wrapped in power. I’d seen his face when he wasn’t wearing his crown.

I was a fool. But I didn’t know that yet.

“Miss Amara,” the guard murmured when I slipped through the side gate. He didn’t even bother stopping me anymore. “He’s in the office.”

I nodded, my heartbeat fluttering like a trapped bird. My hand went to the pregnancy test in my pocket like it was my armor. I imagined walking into his office, blurting out the news, watching that mask of his crack just a little.

Maybe he’d pull me into his arms. Maybe he’d whisper something that sounded like forever.

The mansion smelled of expensive cologne, cigars, and something faintly metallic—power had a scent in Dante Moretti’s world. I followed the sound of music down the hall. Jazz. Low. Smooth. It made the place feel more dangerous, not less.

The double doors to his office were half-open.

I froze.

Laughter floated out—his deep, rich voice mixed with a woman’s soft giggle. A chill slid down my spine. I pushed the door open.

Dante sat behind his massive desk, sleeves rolled up, cigarette between his fingers, and a crystal glass of whiskey in front of him. A woman perched on the edge of the desk, too close, wearing a dress so short it might as well have been a whisper. Her lipstick matched the red stain on the rim of his glass.

His gray eyes lifted lazily to me. And for the first time, I saw nothing warm there.

“Amara.” His voice was smooth, too smooth. “You’re not supposed to be here tonight.”

My throat went dry. “I—I had to tell you something.”

The woman smirked like she already knew this wasn’t going to end well.

She didn’t leave. Of course she didn’t. Dante never needed to tell people to stay or go—they just knew their place.

But I wasn’t just anyone. I was supposed to be different. Right?

I took a step forward. “I found out today. I’m pregnant.”

The words rushed out all at once, breathless, fragile. I’d imagined this moment a hundred times, but not like this. Not with someone else sitting on his desk, wearing his attention like a diamond necklace.

Silence followed.

Dante didn’t move. He just stared at me for a few seconds, as if he hadn’t heard me right. Then a soft, humorless laugh escaped him, low and cold.

“Pregnant,” he repeated, like it was a bad joke.

I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting the tremor in my hands. “Yes. Yours.”

Something flickered in his eyes— something sharp and dangerous— but not what I’d hoped for.

He leaned back in his chair, took a slow drag of his cigarette, and exhaled the smoke like he was trying to push me out of his world with it. “And what exactly do you expect me to do with that information?”

My heart cracked like glass under his words. “Dante… this is our baby.”

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly colder than the night outside. “This is your problem, Amara. Not mine.”

I stared at him. He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t. This was Dante. The man who whispered my name in the dark, who held me like he owned every breath I took.

“You don’t mean that,” I whispered.

His gaze hardened. “I do.”

The woman on his desk let out a soft laugh, the kind that sliced through my chest. He didn’t tell her to shut up. He didn’t tell her to leave. He didn’t care.

“I thought…” My voice cracked. I swallowed it down. “I thought maybe you’d want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Dante cut in. “We both know what this was. You were a distraction. A pretty little thing I could keep off the books. I never promised you anything.”

I took a step back like he’d struck me. The floor tilted under my feet.

“Don’t do that,” I whispered. “Don’t make it sound like I was nothing.”

His expression didn’t soften. If anything, it got sharper, crueler. “You were exactly what you knew you were, Amara. A secret. A toy. That’s all.”

For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe. The silence stretched until it was unbearable.

He stood then, slowly, like a predator rising from its throne. His presence filled the room, swallowing the air.

“Whatever fantasy you’ve built in that pretty head of yours,” he said, voice low, controlled, “kill it. If you’re looking for love, you knocked on the wrong door.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the test at his chest and make him feel even a fraction of what I was feeling. But my voice wouldn’t work. My hands were ice.

“I loved you,” I said instead. Quiet. Honest. Stupid.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “That was your first mistake.”

Behind me, heavy footsteps approached. One of his men— Marco—appeared at the door, big and silent.

“Take her home,” Dante said without even looking at me. “Make sure she doesn’t come back.” “Dante—”

“Go home, Amara.”

His words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They were final.

Marco’s hand touched my arm, not unkind but firm. I stumbled back, looking at Dante one last time, desperate for any sign that this was all a game, that he’d stop me, that he’d say something that would make it hurt less.

He didn’t. He picked up his glass, turned away, and kissed the woman on his desk.

Something inside me snapped so quietly, I almost missed it.

---

The night air hit me like a slap. The city lights blurred through my tears as Marco led me to the black car parked at the curb. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask him to.

I pressed my hand to my stomach. Two pink lines. A heartbeat that hadn’t even formed yet. A child who hadn’t asked to be a mistake.

I wanted to collapse. But something hot, bitter, and sharp rose in my chest instead.

It wasn’t just pain. It was anger.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. “You don’t get to break me,” I whispered to the night.

Marco glanced at me through the mirror as the car started, but he didn’t say a word.

I stared out the window at the mansion fading behind us. I’d walked into that house with hope. I was leaving with nothing but ashes.

No… not nothing.

There was still the life inside me.

The only good thing left.

The car slowed at my building. I stepped out, my legs shaky but moving. Upstairs, in my small, cold apartment, I closed the door, slid down to the floor, and pressed both hands to my stomach.

“I’ll protect you,” I whispered. “Even if he won’t. Especially because he won’t.”

And then I remembered the way he’d looked at me. Like I was disposable. Replaceable. Nothing.

I wiped my face again. No more tears. Not for him.

A distant sound of sirens cut through the night. Bellavita never slept. And neither would the girl who’d just lost everything.

But as I stared out the window, at the city that belonged to monsters like him, a small, dangerous thought flickered to life.

He thought he could throw me away.

He thought I’d disappear.

He thought I’d stay broken.

He had no idea.

I leaned my forehead against the cold glass and whispered, “You’ll regret this, Dante Moretti.”

Outside, the wind howled against the building like a promise. And somewhere, deep in my chest, something new was born.

Not the girl who loved him. Not the girl who begged.

But the woman who would burn his world to the ground.