8. Cara

Chapter eight

Cara

T he beeping of the heart monitor drills into my skull, a metronome marking the sluggish crawl of time. Everything aches - my head, my ribs, the deep, unnamed place behind my navel where my child rests.

My child. Our child.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging. I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. I've cried enough, a lifetime's worth of tears in the span of a few short months. Since June...

No. I can't think about that now, can't let the memory of his face, twisted in agony as they dragged him away, consume me. I have to be strong. For our baby. For the precious little life that's depending on me.

"Mia figlia, my poor baby," My mother murmurs from her perch at my bedside, her fingers gentle as she brushes a stray curl from my forehead. "I should have been there. I should have protected you from that... that strega puttana!" She spits the last words like venom, her accent thickening with rage.

A weak laugh bubbles up in my throat. Ever since Papa died, Mama's been pulling double duty on the overprotective parent front. But as much as her constant clucking and fussing grates on my nerves, I'm grateful for her presence, for the steadfast bulwark of her love.

"I'm okay, Ma," I rasp, my voice scraped raw from screaming, from the sobs I couldn't seem to stop once they started. "We're okay." I smooth a hand over the swell of my stomach, taking comfort in the solid weight of my child cradled within.

Mama huffs, her expression caught conflicted. "You and your 'okay.' Okay is not lying in hospital bed black and blue! Okay is not that figlio di puttana putting hands on my baby!"

I wince, both at the volume of her voice and the truth of her words.

She's right. Nothing about this situation is okay.

But what other choice do I have? I can't afford to fall apart, not when June is still out there, not when our baby needs me to be strong.

"The doctor said it's just some bumps and bruises," I remind her gently. "And a touch of preeclampsia, but nothing bed rest and monitoring can't handle."

Mama's eyes narrow, her lips pursing like she's bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

"Doctors," she scoffs. "What do they know? In my day, we didn't need fancy degrees to know when an expectant mother needs rest and proper food."

She rises from her chair, her knees popping audibly. "I'm going to get you some real food. None of this hospital cafeteria slop. You need strength, for you and il bambino."

I open my mouth to protest, but she silences me with a look. "You will eat," she says firmly. "And you will rest. Consider it doctor's orders." With that, she swoops down to press a kiss to my forehead before bustling out of the room, a hurricane in sensible orthopedic shoes.

The moment the door snicks shut behind her, I allow myself to sag back against the pillows, exhaustion settling over me like a leaden blanket. My eyelids droop, the events of the past twenty-four hours crashing over me like a tidal wave.

The call from Louis, panicked and urgent. The confrontation with Amethyst, the pictures - God, the pictures - of fake bellies and IVF clinics. The white-hot rage, the bone-deep terror, the grim satisfaction of finally, finally having proof of Elaine's lies.

And then... chaos. Grasping hands, cruel laughter, the snap of June's head whipping back as a fist connected with his jaw. The screams clawing up my throat as they dragged him away, the world tilting on its axis as pain exploded through my skull.

I must have dozed off, lost in the dark tangle of memory and drugged exhaustion, because the next thing I know, there's a presence at my bedside. A figure, looming over me in the sickly fluorescent light.

Fear lances through me, sharp and cold. I lurch upright, a scream building in my chest, my hands flying instinctively to shield my stomach. But then the figure speaks, and the scream dies on my lips.

"Whoa, easy! It's me. It's Amethyst."

I blink, my muddled brain struggling to make sense of the words. Amethyst? Here, in my hospital room? Surely this is another drug-fueled nightmare, a twisted trick of my battered psyche.

But no. As my vision clears, I take in the details I missed before - the atrocious wig, the oversized sunglasses, the scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. She looks like a reject from a low-budget spy film, and for a moment, the absurdity of it all overwhelms the fear and confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I rasp, my voice still slightly slurred from sleep and whatever cocktail they've got dripping into my veins.

Amethyst glances furtively over her shoulder, as if expecting Elaine herself to come bursting through the door at any moment. When she turns back to me, I'm shocked to see tears glinting in her eyes behind the ridiculous glasses.

"I had to see you," she whispers, her voice cracking on the last word. "I had to tell you... God, Cara, I'm so sorry. For everything."

I stare at her, uncomprehending. Sorry? Amethyst, Elaine's right-hand sycophant, the mistress of manipulation and deceit, is sorry?

"I don't..." I shake my head, wincing as the movement sends pain lancing through my temples. "I don't understand. What are you apologizing for?"

She takes a shuddering breath, her fingers twisting in the rough hospital blanket. "The pregnancy. The baby. It was all a lie."

My heart stutters, skips, then kicks into overdrive. A lie. I knew it, I knew it with every fiber of my being, but to hear her say it out loud, to have the confirmation I've been so desperate for... it's almost too much to process.

"I lost the baby," Amethyst continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just a week after the doctor confirmed it. But I couldn't tell Elaine. I couldn't tell... him."

There's something in the way she says that last word, a tremor of fear that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. "Him?" I echo, a sick knot of dread forming in my stomach. "Him who?"

Amethyst lets out a choked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "My father. The grand puppetmaster himself."

Understanding slams into me like a freight train. Of course.

Was he the man in Elaine's office? But I should know have known; of course, Amethyst's father would be involved in this twisted web, pulling the strings behind the scenes like the spineless slug he is.

"He's the one who pushed for the pregnancy," she says, her voice dull and distant, as if reciting a script she's long since memorized. "Said it was the only way to secure the Deveaux fortune, to keep June under control. And when I lost the baby..."

She breaks off, her throat working as she swallows hard. "He was furious. Said I'd failed him, failed the family. That if I couldn't give him a Deveaux heir, he'd..." She chokes on the words, a shudder wracking her frame. "He'd do it himself."

Bile rises in my throat, hot and acrid. The implication is clear, the unspoken horror hanging heavy in the air between us. "Amethyst," I breathe, my hand reaching out almost unconsciously to grip hers. "I'm so sorry. No one should have to go through that, to fear their own father."

She flinches at my touch, as if unused to even the smallest gesture of comfort. My heart clenches, a wave of sympathy mingling with the ever-present anger and fear.

"I didn't know where else to turn," she says, her voice small and lost. "Elaine's in on it, has been from the beginning. And my father... he's ruthless. Powerful. There's only one person I know who might be able to stand against him."

"Who?" I ask, hardly daring to breathe.

Amethyst leans in, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. "Dante Corleone. The don of Accel City."

The name lands like a bomb in the stillness of the room. Dante Corleone. The most infamous crime lord on the eastern seaboard, a man whispered about in dark alleys and backroom deals. A man with the power to make even the most hardened criminals quake in their Italian leather shoes.

"You think he'd help us?" I ask, hating the tremor in my voice. "Why would he get involved in this mess?"

Amethyst shrugs, a jerky, birdlike motion. "He has a code. Twisted as it may be. And a soft spot for women, especially pregnant ones. His wife Natalie has been quietly helping me look for a surrogate, someone to pass off as carrying June's child."

My head spins, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. "And you think I could be that surrogate," I say slowly, testing the shape of the words on my tongue. "That we could use my pregnancy to convince your father and Elaine that their plan is still in motion."

Amethyst nods, a flicker of something like hope in her eyes. "It's a risk," she admits, her fingers picking restlessly at a loose thread on her sleeve. "A huge one. Dante doesn't offer his help lightly, and he'll expect something in return. But Cara..." She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "It might be our only chance. To take down my father, to get June back. To keep your baby safe."

Emotion clogs my throat, a tangled knot of fear and desperate, reckless possibility. She's right. As much as every instinct screams at me to run, to take my child and disappear into the wind, I know it's not that simple. Elaine and Amethyst's father won't stop, won't rest until they have what they want. And what they want is the utter destruction of everything I hold dear.

But this... this insane, impossible plan... it's a chance. A fragile thread of possibility in the dark tapestry of our lives. And God help me, I'm going to grab onto it with both hands and cling for dear life.

I meet Amethyst's gaze, seeing for the first time the flickers of strength beneath the fear, the steel beneath the silk. "Okay," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. Let's do this. Let's take those bastards down."

Her answering smile is tremulous, but real. "I knew you were a fighter," she says, something like admiration in her tone. "June chose well, even if the circumstances are..." She waves a hand, encompassing the sterile hospital room, the wires and tubes tethering me to the bed. "Less than ideal."

A choking laugh bubbles up in my chest. "Yeah, you could say that." I close my eyes briefly, exhaustion and emotion threatening to drag me under. "You should go," I murmur, forcing my heavy lids open again. "Before my mom gets back. She's liable to rip that god-awful wig right off your head if she catches you here."

Amethyst's hand flies to her head, patting the synthetic fibers as if to reassure herself of their presence. "Right. Yes. I'll be in touch, okay? I'll find a way to arrange a meeting with Natalie."

I nod, watching as she gathers herself, squaring her shoulders beneath the bulky folds of her disguise. "Amethyst?" I call softly, just as she reaches the door. She pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "Thank you," I say simply, pouring every ounce of gratitude, of cautious camaraderie, into the words. "For taking this risk. For trusting me."

Her smile is fleeting, but genuine. "We're in this together now," she says, something like steel threading through her tone. "For better or worse. Until the end of the line."

And then she's gone, slipping out the door and melting into the hospital's bustle and hum, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the steady, reassuring thrum of my baby's heartbeat beside my own.

I sink back against the pillows, my hand drifting to rest against the swell of my stomach. "Well, little one," I murmur, my thumb stroking gently over the taut skin. "Looks like Mommy's got herself neck-deep in the criminal underworld. But don't you worry. We're going to get through this. We're going to bring your daddy home."

There's a flutter beneath my palm, a tiny kick against my fingers, as if in answer. I smile, tears pricking hot at the backs of my eyes.

"That's right, baby," I whisper, a fierce, unshakeable love welling up inside me, bright and hot as a thousand suns. "We're going to make this right. No matter what it takes. No matter what devils we have to dance with."

My eyes drift closed, exhaustion tugging at me like a riptide. But even as I let sleep claim me, my mind is awhirl with plans and possibilities, hope and fear tangled like lovers' limbs beneath the sheets.

The game has changed. The stakes raised to dizzying heights. And at the center of it all, growing in the hidden depths of my body, is the tiny, perfect amalgamation of June and I's love. Our child. Our future.

And I'll be damned if I let anyone, be it Elaine Deveaux, Amethyst's father, or the grim reaper himself, take that away from us.

The machines beep and whir around me, cold and impersonal. But beneath it all, like a secret drumbeat, like a promise written in blood and sealed with a kiss... My baby's heart thrums on. Strong. Steady. Indomitable.

A lullaby and a battle cry, all in one.

Time seems to move differently within the sterile confines of the hospital, minutes bleeding into hours, hours into days. But finally, after what feels like an eternity of poking and prodding, of cold hands and colder machines, the doctors deem me stable enough to leave.

"Take it easy," they caution, their eyes flickering to the still-vivid bruises marring my skin. "Rest, fluids, and absolutely no stress. For you and the baby."

I nod, biting back the hysterical laughter that bubbles up in my throat. No stress. Right. As if my life hasn't become a living embodiment of the word.

Mama is there, of course, fussing and fretting as she helps me into a soft, oversized sweater. "You come home with me," she insists, her tone brooking no argument. "I take care of you, mia figlia. Keep you safe."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The thought of sinking into the familiar comfort of my childhood bed, of letting my mother's love and fierce protectiveness cocoon me, is almost overwhelming. But then I feel it - a flutter, a tiny kick against my ribs. A reminder of the strength, the sheer indomitable will, growing inside me.

"I can't, Ma," I say softly, catching her work-worn hands in my own. "I need to be in my own space, surrounded by my own things. I need to feel... normal. As normal as I can, given the circumstances."

She opens her mouth to protest, but something in my expression must give her pause. She searches my face, her eyes dark and knowing in a way only a mother's can be. "You've got a plan," she says finally, her voice low and heavy with reluctant understanding. "Something you're not telling me."

I hesitate, torn between the desire to unburden myself and the need to protect her, to keep her as far removed from this tangled web as possible. "I can't," I whisper, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I can't pull you into this, Mama. It's too dangerous."

She huffs out a breath, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. "More dangerous than my eldest child, black and blue in hospital bed? I don't think so."

"Please," I beg, gripping her hands tighter. "Please, Ma. Trust me. I'm not alone in this, I promise you that. But the less you know, the safer you'll be."

We stare at each other for a long, charged moment, a silent battle of wills. But in the end, as I knew she would, my mother relents.

"Fine," she says, the word heavy with reluctance. "But you call me, every day. You need anything, anything at all, I am there. Capisce?"

"Capisco," I murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss to her weathered cheek. "I love you, Ma."

She cradles my face in her hands, her touch achingly tender. "Ti amo anch'io, mia figlia coraggiosa. My brave, brave girl."

The ride home is a blur, the city streaming past the taxi's windows in a smear of color and light. I lean my head against the cool glass, my hand resting protectively over the swell of my stomach.

"We're going to be okay, little one," I whisper, too soft for the driver to hear over the hum of the engine. "You and me, we're fighters. Survivors. And we're going to survive this, too."

As if in answer, there's a small, fluttering kick against my palm. A hello, a reminder, a promise. Tears prick at my eyes, love and fear and a wild, desperate hope tangling in my chest.

The days pass in a haze of rest and recovery, the bruises fading from lurid purple to sickly green to the dull, faded yellow of old parchment. My body heals, knitting itself back together cell by painful cell.

But the ache in my heart, the raw, gaping wound of June's absence, remains.

I throw myself into planning, into learning everything I can about Dante Corleone and his infamous operation. It becomes a lifeline, a way to keep my mind busy and my hands occupied, to stop myself from drowning in the dark morass of fear and longing.

Until finally, after weeks that feel like centuries, Amethyst reaches out.

"It's time," she says without preamble, her voice tinny through the burner phone she insists we use. "Dante has agreed to a meeting. His wife will be there - she's taken a special interest in your case."

I feel a rush of nerves, my stomach swooping queasily. But beneath it, like a glowing ember, is a flicker of something dangerously close to excitement. Finally, a chance to take action, to move forward instead of languishing in this agonizing limbo.

The address Amethyst gives me is a nondescript townhouse in a quiet, tree-lined part of town. I take a deep breath as I stand on the stoop, my finger hovering over the doorbell. This is it. The moment that could change everything.

I think of June, of his crooked smile and his warm, calloused hands. Of the way he looks at me, like I'm the sun and stars and every dream he's ever dared to chase. I think of our baby, the tiny, perfect piece of us growing stronger every day.

And I ring the bell.

The door opens, revealing a petite, elegantly-dressed woman with warm brown eyes and a smile that feels strangely familiar. She takes me in, her gaze sweeping over my face, my slightly rounded belly, before widening with recognition.

"Cara?" she breathes, her hand flying to her mouth. "Cara Briers?"

I blink, taken aback. "I'm sorry, do I... know you?"

She laughs, the sound warm and rich as honey. "It's me, Natalie. Natalie Quinn, from art school."

The breath leaves my lungs in a rush as the pieces click into place. Natalie Quinn. My best friend, my confidante, my partner in crime during those heady, paint-splattered days at the Accel Academy for the Arts. The girl who disappeared halfway through our sophomore year, rumors swirling of a whirlwind romance and a sudden, secret marriage.

"Nat," I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. "Oh my god. I can't believe it's you."

She pulls me into a hug, mindful of my belly, her designer perfume enveloping me in a cloud of jasmine and citrus. "I know," she murmurs, her own voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Care. For disappearing like that, for not reaching out. Things got... complicated."

"Complicated." I let out a watery laugh as she ushers me inside, the door closing with a quiet snick behind us. "Yeah, I think I'm starting to understand the meaning of the word."

Natalie leads me down a dimly-lit hallway, the thick carpet muffling our footsteps. "Amethyst filled me in on your situation," she says softly, her hand resting reassuringly on the small of my back. "I'm so sorry, Cara. What you're going through, what that vile woman has put you through..."

She breaks off, her jaw clenching with barely-suppressed rage. I feel a rush of affection, of gratitude, for this fierce, loyal friend I'd thought lost to me.

"We're going to help you," she continues, her tone brooking no argument. "Dante and I, we'll do whatever it takes to bring June home to you. To keep you and your child safe."

Emotion clogs my throat, a tangle of relief and trepidation and a wild, desperate hope. "Why?" I manage, my voice cracking on the word. "Why risk so much, for me? For us?"

Natalie stops, turning to face me. Her eyes are bright, shining with a fierce, unwavering resolve. "Because you're family," she says simply, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. "You were there for me, during some of the darkest days of my life. You never judged, never wavered. And now, it's my turn to be there for you."

She takes a deep breath, her thumb brushing gently over the arch of my cheekbone. "And because I'm a mother, too. And I would burn the whole fucking world down to keep my child safe. To keep my family whole. Just like I know you would."

A sob rises in my throat, gratitude and love and a bone-deep sense of kinship welling up like a spring inside me. I pull Natalie into a fierce hug, clinging to her like a lifeline.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words muffled against her hair. "Thank you."

She holds me tighter, her slim arms belying the strength within. "Anything for you, Cara mia," she murmurs, the old endearment falling from her lips like a prayer. "Anything at all."

We stay like that for a long moment, two friends reunited, two mothers bound by the unbreakable ties of love and shared pain. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a flicker of something dangerously close to hope.

Because I'm not alone. I have Natalie, I have Amethyst, I have this tiny, fierce little fighter growing inside me. And together, we're going to bring June home.

We're going to make our family whole again.

No matter what it takes. No matter what demons we have to face.

For love, for our children, for the shining promise of the future...

We'll risk it all.