Chapter 11
That night, Alessio lay beside Daniela as usual, cradling her against his chest, his palm resting on her swollen belly.
“Marco,” she murmured, tracing circles on his chest, “who do you think our baby will look like?”
His hand froze mid-stroke. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever makes you happy.”
But unbidden, Noemi’s face filled his mind.
Our children would have her eyes. Her spirit. A daughter to spoil alongside her mother. A son to help me protect them both.
The fantasy was so vivid-a dark-haired child running into their arms-that his harsh features softened into something almost tender.
Daniela caught his expression. Emboldened, she pressed closer, her fingers slipping beneath his shirt.
“Marco…”
She gazed up through her lashes, every gesture calculated to seduce. Despite himself, heat pooled low in his belly.
No. Mission accomplished. She’s pregnant. Time to end this charade.
He caught her wandering hand, but pregnancy had made her ravenous. She wouldn’t be denied.
“We’re husband and wife,” she breathed against his lips. “The doctor said it’s safe now…”
Husband and wife.
The words slammed into him like a fist. He wasn’t Alessio anymore-hadn’t been since that fake funeral. He was Marco Moretti, Daniela’s husband. And husbands had obligations.
Just until the baby’s born. Then I’ll fix everything. Make it right with Noemi.
His eyes darkened. He claimed her mouth, careful of her belly as he eased her onto her back.
Rain lashed the windows. Thunder split the sky. He yanked the curtains shut, leaving only the bedside lamp to cast their writhing
shadows on the wall.
“Easy,” she gasped. “The baby…”
“I know.” He kissed her throat. “I’ve got you.”
This means nothing. Just playing a part. Soon I’ll be home with my real wife.
Even as he lost himself in Daniela’s body, he clung to that lie like a drowning man clutches driftwood.
Dawn brought clear skies. Sunlight dappled the garden through rain-washed leaves. Street sounds filtered up-vendors calling, bicycles bells, life resuming.
Alessio untangled himself from Daniela’s sleeping form and dressed silently. Time to check on Noemi. She should’ve reached Rome
hours ago.
In the hospital’s courtyard, he found a quiet corner and dialed the Bianchi residence.
Ring after ring. His jaw clenched tighter with each unanswered tone.
Chapter 11
Finally: “Hello?”
Relief flooded him. “Dad-” He caught himself. “Mr. Bianchi. It’s me, Mar-Alessio’s brother.”
“Oh.” A pause. “What can I do for you?”
