Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

Saverio

I sit in my study and ponder the situation. I don’t know how to fix this. Nicole said hi before she left. She told me Anya should be fine after the injection but that I should give her a little space to find her balance before bearing down on her again. It was a nice way of telling me my presence makes my wife sick.

So here I am, giving my wife space when all I want to do is go to her. I admit it. I deserved that. I deserved to be put in my place. Maybe her leaving me is my punishment for all the wrongs I committed when it comes to my treasure. But imagining my life without her in it is like a blade to the throat. She may as well push that knife deep and leave me to bleed out.

I clench my hands on the desk. I’m not going to force her to stay. I’m not going to lock her up or threaten her with people’s lives. We moved beyond that a long time ago. However, I’ll be damned if I let her get away without a fight. I’ll put every ounce of my seduction and manipulation skills into that war. Come hell or high water, I’ll win her back.

A knock falls on the door, disrupting my internal raving session. The object of my thoughts opens it and steps inside. I go still at the sight of her in those tight jeans and the form-fitting sweater that show off her curves. Her red hair hangs over one shoulder in fiery, silky waves. Thank goodness there’s a peachy hue on her cheeks. The freckles on her nose seem paler now that her skin has some color again.

“Anya,” I say, my voice scraping in my throat.

Her manner is almost shy. “Am I interrupting?”

“No.” I get to my feet. Ignoring the cane, I round my desk. My question is gruff, emotions clogging up my chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I can eat again.”

“Good.” I motion at her arm. “Do you need a painkiller?”

She shakes her head, her gaze moving over the gray suit and blue tie I donned while she was overseeing the breakdown of the gazebo. “Are you heading out?”

“I called a meeting at the club. I have to bring the men up to speed.”

She nods, understanding how it works. “I can come back later.”

“I’m not going before three o’clock. Dante is getting word about the meeting to the guys. It takes time to get everyone together.”

Instead of coming closer, she remains by the door, looking ready to bolt.

Afraid I’ll scare her away, I stay where I am, resisting the urge to eliminate the distance between us. “You should let me have a look at that wound.”

“Livy cleaned and disinfected it.”

I’m her husband. I should be taking care of her, damn it. I bite back a protest, weighing my words carefully. “We need to talk.”

“We do.” She takes a few steps toward me. “There’s something you ought to know.” She bites her lip before correcting herself. “Something you have a right to know.”

My instincts go on high alert. It sounds like a confession, as if she’s preparing me for news I won’t like.

A million possibilities cross my mind in a second, but the one that sticks like a spike in my ribs is that she wants to leave me because she knows a potential life partner who’s worth a shot, someone better than me.

My heart starts pounding. I don’t like where she’s going with this, but I cross my arms, giving her time to finish.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she finally says, watching me with those big, pretty eyes.

I want to tell her she doesn’t have to say a word, that all she has to do is stay and let me prove myself to her. I’m willing to work hard for her trust, a lot harder than she ever made me work for her affection or her body. I want to tell her that I love her, that I wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her, but I have no idea how to convince her. After the fiasco I made of our marriage, she’ll believe nothing that comes out of my mouth. I want to say that and so much more, but before I can open my mouth, she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and takes something out that she holds to me.

I look at her outstretched arm and the object in her hand.

A pregnancy test.

I frown.

Why would she show me a test? Confusion wars with incomprehension. Then the two lines in the window on the stick catch my attention, and confusion wins out.

Anya is pregnant?

The notion is like taking a cannon ball in the gut.

Impossible.

My hand is steady as I take the test from her, but inside, I’m shaking with the force of a ten on the Richter scale. So many emotions slash through me I can’t make sense of any of them.

I lift my gaze to her beautiful face.

Anya is going to have a baby.

Another baby.

No.

It can’t be.

Unless…

Unless it’s not mine.

It’s near impossible to push down the feelings assaulting me. It’s easier to don the emotionless mask I perfected.

I hand her back the test, clenching my jaw so hard the crunch of my teeth echoes in my skull.

“Sav,” she says, her tone holding a plea.

I hardly register my name, hardly hear her. I’m sinking, drowning in those sentiments that I can’t name. Inside, I’m one big fucking explosion. Chaos. Even so, I move on solid legs to my chair and grab my jacket from the back. I pull it on with jerky movements. I have an eerie notion of looking at myself from outside my body much like I had in the hospital after the grenade made a mess of my face. I open the drawer and blindly reach for objects that I shove in my pocket—my phone and my keys.

“Saverio,” Anya says as I grab my cane from the side of my chair, but I pay her no heed.

I can’t. Not until I’ve calmed the fuck down and gotten my head straight.

“Sav,” Anya calls after me as I pass her on my way to the door.

Her voice is like an echo. The carpet in front of me is a blur. I walk from the house like a zombie, more demon than man.

I get into the car and tell Kevin where to go, cursing the fact that I can’t drive myself yet because I have a burning need to put my foot down on the accelerator. Two cars with guards follow. On the way to Manhattan, I try to find a semblance of calm, but it’s to no avail. By the time we pull up in SoHo, I’m like a raging bull. I tell Kevin to wait and ring the bell outside the building. When the street entrance opens, I take the stairs as fast as my limp allows.

Rachele barely has the door open before I barge inside, nearly knocking her off her feet with the momentum of my palm that I push on the wood.

“What the fuck, Sav?” she exclaims, jumping out of the way.

Archibald James II looks up from behind a laptop at the island counter. His shirt is unbuttoned almost to his navel, exposing his bushy chest hair and a polished crystal that hangs on a leather string around his neck.

I lean my cane on the wall and tilt my head toward the door. “Rachele and I need to talk.”

“About what?” he asks, sliding off his barstool.

Rachele holds up a hand. “It’s okay, Arch.” She straightens her red off-shoulder dress while glaring at me. “Give us a minute.”

He goes over and kisses her cheek. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she says without breaking eye contact with me. “It’s probably about Raphael, and it’s best you’re as little involved as possible.”

The idiot grabs a gray silk jacket that matches his suit pants from the sofa and pulls it on. “I’ll take my phone.” Pinning me with a look, he tells her, “Call me if you need me.”

When James closes the door behind him, she crosses her arms and cocks a hip. “I saw it on the news. It was you who killed Raphael and his men, wasn’t it?”

I take the envelope from my pocket, extract the pages, and throw them on the counter.

She barely glances at the folded sheets with the logo of the lab printed in the corner, but I don’t miss how her cheeks lose a bit of their color.

My voice is low, dangerous. “What did you do, Rachele?”

She drops her arms to her sides and walks with a stride designed to look casual a safe distance away, putting the counter between us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I look her straight in the eye, letting her see the violence churning in mine. “Anya is pregnant.”

Fear washes over her features even as she lifts her chin and says with boldness, “You didn’t leave me a choice.”

I advance to the counter, curling my fingers into fists lest I tear her from limb to limb. I emphasize every word. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You drove me into a corner,” she cries out. “It was the only way to get out of our marriage.”

“ What the fuck did you do, Rachele ?”

She inhales and blows out a shaky breath. “A guy at the lab owed me a favor.”

Unable to believe my ears, I say it out loud to be sure I understood correctly. “You paid him to falsify my test results.”

“Technically, I didn’t pay him. I collected a debt.”

“You lied to me.” I narrow my eyes. “You deceived me in the worst way possible.”

“You forced me into a marriage I didn’t want,” she spits out, her green eyes all venom and sparks. “What the hell did you expect me to do?”

“That was low, even for you.” I didn’t think I could dislike her more after what she did, but now I can hardly look at her. “You knew I was with Anya, yet you kept your mouth shut. You knew she could fall pregnant, and you chose to say nothing.”

She stares at me with contempt. “The whores you nailed at the club said you always used condoms. How was I supposed to know you were going to fuck Anya bare?”

“Because she’s my wife,” I say, slamming a fist on the counter.

Rachele jumps. “Look, I know it must come as a shock, but isn’t this what you always wanted?”

“A shock?” My laugh is mocking. “You let me believe for all this time that I’d never father a child. Do you have any idea what that did to me? For years, I hated myself for not being able to give you a baby. I hated my body, believing I was incomplete, that what happened to us was my fault for being defective.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” She pins her arms at her sides. “You always make everything about you. Well, surprise, surprise. This wasn’t about you.” Her voice rises in volume. “This was about me.” Yelling, she stabs a thumb on her chest. “About me . I never wanted you, and I never wanted your damn child.”

“You went on birth control,” I say as the truth hits me. “That’s why you changed ob-gyns when we got married. You knew Nicole was friendly with me.”

“Yes,” she hisses. “So sue me.”

I’m trembling with rage. It takes enormous effort to reel myself in. “I was wrong in forcing you into a marriage you didn’t want. I’ll give you that. You were right when you said I made you a trophy wife. You were right when you said we weren’t good for one another. For that, I apologize. I hope you found everything you wanted in James.”

Her lips part at my honesty.

I snatch up my cane. “But what you did, Rachele, that I can never forgive you.”

She sneers. “Maybe it’s never occurred to you, but I don’t want or need your forgiveness. I never cared enough.”

“That part was always clear,” I say, turning on my heel.

“Sav.”

I stop, giving her a chance to have the last say because after all the misery I caused her, it’s only fair.

“We weren’t cut out to be husband and wife,” she says to my back. “We’re not cut out to be friends either.”

My voice is firm. “Agreed.”

With that, I walk out of her life for good, severing all the ties that bound me to the Bianchi family.

Outside, I get into the car. It’s only then that I allow the facts to sink in.

I’m not infertile.

Anya is going to have my baby.

Christ.

I scrub a hand over my mouth, noticing how much it’s shaking.

A baby. With the woman I love.

My protective instinct goes into overdrive. Like when she was pregnant with Claire, a thousand fears assault me at once. I’m going to wrap her up in cotton wool and satisfy every one of her cravings. I’m going to make damn sure she gets the best care.

Pride hits me next, swelling my chest to the point of bursting. I never thought I’d have a child. And then Anya stumbled into my life with her beautiful, pregnant belly, and I saw a chance. I saw a chance and took it, but she became so much more than that. It was never only about her baby. It was always about her . I wanted everything, the whole package deal. And now she’s pregnant again, this time with my baby, and I hope to God she can find it in herself to believe a man who only lied to her from the start.