51. Emily

The oasis crawls with activity. Soldiers and guards patrol the streets interspersed by construction crews clearing out the debris and repairing all the homes. During the day, there's a constant clatter of hammering, shouting, laughter, and music coming from a dozen different radios.

"Chaos," Freddie says, frowning out at her precious oasis. Her feet are up on the railing and she's drinking an iced tea. "Alessandro hates it."

"Dad's just a crotchety old man these days," Elena says, but her tone's light and teasing. Their father came home from the hospital two days ago and his entire personality is completely different. Gone is the aggressive monster that wanted me dead, replaced by a quiet, almost gentle man who apologized and held my hand while he did it. Elena says that's how he was before the gunshot, and I believe her. He spends most of his days at home in his room, still recovering.

"But he's better," Freddie says, sounding hopeful. She's smiling, even though the scars of the attack are visible all over the place. Torn and destroyed landscaping, broken sidewalks, missing windows, one home entirely demolished and in the process of being rebuilt. But the deeper scars are hidden inside of everyone, especially in the Bianco family. These poor people are scars layered on top of more scars mixed with deep generational trauma. It's a miracle they've survived so long. Unlimited money probably helps.

"It just feels like everything's been violated," Freddie says, her voice very soft and barely audible over the sudden slam of a jackhammer at the far end of the block.

"I know what you mean, Mom," Elena says, both of them staring out into space.

"The construction is one thing. Some of these houses genuinely needed a renovation. But the thought that there were men in our homes, violating our space—" She shakes her head, and a shudder runs through her.

I don't fully understand the way this family views the oasis, but I've started to get an idea. It's their safe space, their own slice of heaven in the middle of a bustling city, and it's central to their identity. I'm starting to feel the same way. I can picture what it must've been like growing up here, playing games in the street, running from house to house for enormous games of hide and seek. There was darkness too. That's obvious. But there was good stuff interspersed, and they all feel like it's been tainted somehow.

All I can hope is that the next generation has the same experience. I want that so badly, and I press a palm to my tummy, a little smile on my face as the conversation moves on.

Simon appears after a while. He strolls over from his office and waves at me. "Mind if I borrow her for lunch?" he asks.

"Look at you, spending time with your wife in the middle of the day." Freddie clucks her tongue and laughs. "If only my husband had been so attentive."

"Please, Dad still worships the ground you walk on."

I walk down the stoop and take Simon's offered arm. "See you ladies later." I wave and we stroll along, taking our sweet time. I ask about his day but I don't go into specifics, and he seems like he's in a good mood. Which is great, because I'm nervous as hell and practically vibrating.

"You seem off," he says when we reach the house, his eyes narrowed at me.

"How do you do that? Seriously, how can you tell?"

"I can smell it." He pretends to sniff my neck then kisses me. "Tell me what's wrong. Did my dad do something?"

"No, he's totally fine." I take a deep breath, shifting from foot to foot. "Okay, so I need to preface this with nobody else knows and it's extremely early, but?—"

He grabs me and yanks me against him. His eyes go wide with shock and his mouth drops open, and I laugh when he kisses me hard. "Don't bullshit me," he growls. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"

"God, you're crazy," I say, squirming under his grip. "I took a pregnancy test this morning, okay? I took three, actually. I mean, we've been fucking without condoms for long enough, it was a matter of time."

"Pregnant." He stares at me, eyes moving to my belly.

"I'm pregnant," I confirm.

He lifts me up into his arms in a back-crushing hug and it shoves all the air from my lungs. I slap his shoulders and he's laughing, and I'm laughing, and he's holding me on the sidewalk while a few construction guys watch from nearby, looking puzzled.

"I love you," he whispers, leaning his forehead against mine. "I never knew I'd get this lucky."

"I love you too. And you're right, you're lucky, I'm the freaking best."

He kisses me again and lets out a rumble from his throat. "We have a lot to do. Clothes, a nursery, a crib?—"

"Go slow," I say and stroke his cheek. "We have a lot of time. And we shouldn't tell anyone just yet, not for a few more weeks, okay?"

"My mother is going to lose her mind when she finds out. The first grandchild."

"The next generation of Biancos."

The gravity of that seems to dawn on him. He takes a moment and looks out at all the construction before saying, "We'll do it right."

"Yeah, we will." I take his hand in mine. "Come on. Your pregnant wife wants lunch."

"My pregnant wife can have absolutely anything she wants whenever she wants it."

I roll my eyes. "Easy, boy."

He scoops me up into his arms. I laugh, swatting at him. "My pregnant wife will never walk on her own again," he declares.

"That sounds terrible! Put me down!"

"Never." He carries me up the stoop and into the house, and I'm trying to twist away, but his arms are too strong and I might as well give in, because he's got me, and I'm not going anywhere.