Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I was getting ready in the bathroom when another message from Mara appeared on my phone.

Which do you think Damian cares about more, my son or the child you’re carrying?

Before I could put the phone down, Damian’s rang in the bedroom. A few minutes later, he came into the bathroom, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and kissed my forehead.

“Something happened within the family. I need to handle it myself. The car and the doctor are ready. Go to the clinic first, and I’ll meet you there.”

He turned to leave, but I gripped the edge of the sink.

“Do you have to go now? This is our first appointment. You promised you would stay with me.”

Damian hesitated, but his phone rang again. He touched my cheek and said, “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Can’t you stay?”

“Elena, be good. I won’t miss the examination.”

After the front door closed, the house fell silent. I did not move until the driver came upstairs to remind me it was time to leave.

The Moretti family’s private clinic occupied an entire floor on the Upper East Side. The doctor drew my blood and prepared the ultrasound, but Damian still had not arrived.

My cycle had never returned to normal after the last failed treatment, so I had mistaken the delay for another effect of the hormones.

Two hours later, the examination-room door opened. Damian entered with the cold still clinging to his coat, took my hand, and apologized.

The doctor began the scan. The outline of a tiny body appeared on the screen, followed by the rapid beat of a heart.

“The baby is measuring ten weeks,” she said. “The heartbeat is strong, and everything looks healthy.”

Damian stared at the monitor, and for once, the composure of the Moretti Don completely disappeared. His eyes widened as he leaned closer to the screen.

“That’s our child?”

“Yes. The baby is developing exactly as expected.”

He kissed the back of my hand, asked the doctor to repeat every precaution, and entered my medication schedule into his phone himself.

On the way out, he was already giving Luca instructions.

“Have the room beside ours cleared. Bring in a designer who specializes in nurseries, but nothing is to be installed until Elena approves it.”

He looked down at the ultrasound image again, unable to hide the anticipation in his eyes.

“Our child will have the best of everything.”

When the examination ended, Luca was waiting outside. Damian checked his phone and told me another problem had come up.

“I thought you had already handled it.”

“This is something new.”

He straightened my coat collar, promised to return for dinner, and left with Luca.

I sat alone in the corridor, studying the ultrasound image. The baby’s small head and curled body were visible in the center, and the doctor had marked the heartbeat beneath the image.

Mara sent another message.

See? I only have to tell him his son needs him, and he comes.

A photograph followed. Damian sat on a sofa in an unfamiliar apartment with the one-year-old boy in his arms. The child clutched his shirt while Damian wiped the tears from his face. His jacket and watch had been set aside.

I had imagined him holding our child more times than I could count.

He had already learned how.

I put the ultrasound image in my bag and called the driver.

“Wait downstairs. I need some time alone.”

“Mrs. Moretti, the Don ordered me to take you back personally.”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

After a pause, he agreed.

I left through another exit ten minutes later.

Then I received a video.

It had been recorded inside the Moretti family chapel. Several lawyers stood beside a long table with a bound trust agreement. Damian sat with the child in his arms, signed the final page, and fastened the Saint Michael medallion around the boy’s neck.

Mara spoke from behind the camera.

“When he is older, everyone will know this medallion belongs to a son of the Moretti family.”

Damian looked toward her. “Turn it off.”

The video ended, and another message appeared.

You are celebrating an ultrasound picture. My son already has a family trust signed by Damian himself.

I enlarged the image until I could read the date.

Three months ago.

That was the day of my first follow-up appointment after my fifth failed round of IVF. Damian had promised to come, but Luca called before we left and said there was trouble at the docks.

Damian had not gone to the docks.

He had gone to the chapel to establish a trust for his son.

I lowered my eyes to the ultrasound image until a nurse stopped in front of me.

“Mrs. Moretti, are you all right? Should I call the doctor?”