Chapter 5

Before I could answer, Bianca gave a soft little laugh.

The private lounge fell quiet around us.

Not completely. Ice still shifted in glasses. Somewhere near the bar, a bottle touched wood with a muted click. But the men closest to Salvatore's table had all stopped talking.

Bianca tilted her head.

"She really does know how to play you."

Her eyes swept over my pale face.

"With everyone in this city knowing she's your weakness, who would dare touch her? That sickly makeup is convincing, though. Must've taken some time."

Salvatore had already started to rise.

At Bianca's words, he stopped.

For one brief second, his eyes remained on me.

I saw the doubt there.

Then Bianca leaned against him, and whatever had almost made him come toward me disappeared.

Salvatore sat back down.

He tapped a cigarette from the pack on the table. Bianca immediately picked up the lighter and held the flame beneath it for him.

He lowered his head.

The tip glowed red.

Smoke curled between us, blurring his face but not his eyes.

"Since you've had three days to think about what you did," he said, "apologize to Bianca."

I looked at him.

Then at her.

Bianca was dressed entirely in white, curled prettily against Salvatore's side with a crystal glass resting between her fingers.

"I never wanted to make things difficult for you, Miss Marchetti."

Her voice was soft.

"But you threatened my parents. They're ordinary people. They don't know anything about this world."

She lowered her eyes.

"If someone threatened your family, you'd be angry too, wouldn't you?"

Then she paused.

Her lips curved.

"Oh."

She looked back at me with exaggerated realization.

"I forgot."

Her voice grew sweeter.

"You don't have a family."

The room seemed to grow quieter.

Bianca smiled.

"Your parents abandoned you when you were little, didn't they?"

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass.

"No wonder you don't understand what it feels like to be afraid for people you love."

I said nothing.

Bianca placed her glass on the table.

Click.

"Apologize."

My gaze stayed on her for several seconds.

Then I lowered my head.

"I'm sorry."

Bianca blinked.

"That's it?"

I raised my eyes.

She reached for a bottle on the table and poured a clear spirit into a fresh glass.

Almost to the rim.

"Words are cheap."

She pushed it toward me.

"Drink."

I looked at the glass.

Then, without meaning to, I looked at Salvatore.

He knew.

Of everyone in this room, he knew best what alcohol had once done to me.

Back when Salvatore had been fighting his way up from the streets, there had been deals he couldn't attend himself and tables where no one respected a young soldier with no name.

So I had gone in his place.

I'd smiled at men I hated.

I'd raised glass after glass with capos who wouldn't talk business until everyone at the table was half-dead drunk.

I'd swallowed enough liquor to buy Salvatore time, alliances, introductions, and eventually territory.

Twice, I'd ended up unconscious afterward.

The second time, I'd woken in the back room of a safe house with Salvatore sitting beside the bed, his eyes bloodshot from not sleeping.

He had grabbed my hand so tightly it hurt.

"Never again."

His voice had cracked.

"I don't care what deal is on the table. You don't drink for me again."

After that, Salvatore wouldn't even let anyone pour wine into my glass.

He remembered all of it.

He had to.

But now he only exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

"Adriana."

His voice was almost indifferent.

"It's one glass."

I stared at him.

"Your tolerance was always better than that."

Something in my chest gave a dull, familiar ache.

Ridiculous.

After everything he'd done, some part of me had still expected him to remember.

My thumb rubbed unconsciously over the bare base of my ring finger.

There was nothing there anymore.

I picked up the glass.

And drank.

The liquor burned the moment it touched my tongue.

By the time it reached my stomach, the heat had become pain.

Sharp.

Violent.

My empty stomach twisted.

I caught the edge of the table and stumbled back half a step.

Bianca laughed.

"See? You're fine."

She pointed toward the row of bottles and glasses spread across the table.

"Since Miss Marchetti can drink so well, she can finish those too."

I looked at her.

My face had gone cold.

Bianca immediately turned toward Salvatore.

"Sal."

Her eyes reddened.

"She called me your mistress. She threatened my parents. I haven't slept properly since."

She twisted the fabric of her white sleeve around one finger.

"I know she matters to you. I know ten years means something."

Her voice trembled.

"All I want is for her to understand how badly she hurt me. Is that really too much?"

Salvatore's jaw tightened.

For a moment, he didn't answer.

His eyes moved to me again.

I could almost see the memory passing through them.

A hospital room.

My hand in his.

His voice telling me never to drink again.

Then Bianca quietly sniffed beside him.

Salvatore looked away from me.

"No."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's not too much."

The last little piece of hope inside me went silent.

Salvatore crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Adriana, I'm trying to put an end to this."

He sounded tired now, as though I were the one exhausting him.

"You crossed a line. Do what Bianca asks, let her get this out of her system, and then we can put the whole thing behind us."

Put it behind us.

As though there were still an "us" left.

I nodded.

"All right."

I pressed one hand against my stomach.

The pain was getting worse.

Not the familiar burn of liquor.

Something deeper.

A heavy cramp twisted low in my abdomen, sharp enough to make cold sweat gather at my temples.

I looked at the glasses.

Then at Bianca.

"A few drinks won't be enough."

She frowned.

I reached for the bottle.

"If I owe you an apology, I should make it count."

I raised it.

"I'll finish the bottle."

Something flickered across Salvatore's face.

"Adriana..."

But I was already drinking.

The liquor poured down my throat.

Once.

Twice.

I forced myself to swallow.

My stomach cramped so violently that my vision went white.

The bottle slipped from my hand.

Glass shattered across the floor.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then I doubled over.

Something hot surged up my throat.

I coughed.

Red splattered across the broken glass.

The room went silent.

Bianca recoiled.

"God."

She covered her nose and took several steps back.

Then her expression changed.

Disgust became suspicion.

"It's fake."

She stared at the blood.

"She must've hidden a blood packet somewhere."

Salvatore was already half out of his seat.

He stopped again.

His eyes went from the blood to my face.

"Adriana."

I couldn't answer.

Pain ripped through my lower abdomen.

My knees gave out.

I hit the floor.

Salvatore's face hardened, as though anger could force reality back into the shape he wanted.

"Enough."

His voice came out low.

"Stop this."

I slowly lifted my head.

He was looking at me with impatience.

Not fear.

Not yet.

"Bianca has been more than patient with you. You apologized. It's over."

He stood.

"Get up."

I didn't move.

"Adriana."

His voice sharpened.

"Get up. Now."

Then someone screamed.

A woman sitting near the end of the sofa shot to her feet so quickly that her glass overturned.

"Oh my God."

Every head turned.

Her face had gone white.

"Salvatore..."

She was staring at me.

No.

Lower.

I followed her gaze.

Blood was spreading beneath me.

Not from my mouth.

Not from broken glass.

A dark stain had begun to soak through my clothes, widening slowly between my legs.

The woman covered her mouth.

"She's bleeding."

No one spoke.

Then she whispered the words that stopped the entire room cold.

"She's pregnant."

Her voice shook.

"Salvatore, I think she's losing the baby."

The cigarette slipped from his fingers.

For the first time that day, all the arrogance vanished from his face.

The blood drained from his skin so quickly that he looked almost gray.

He stared at me.

Then at the blood beneath me.

His lips moved.

"Baby?"

I looked into his eyes.

Three days ago, I'd still had the medical report hidden in my pocket.

I'd once imagined handing it to him and watching his face light up.

I'd imagined his hands shaking.

I'd imagined him dropping to his knees in front of me, pressing his forehead to my stomach, terrified to believe that after everything we'd lost, we'd finally been given another chance.

Now I was on the floor at his feet.

And our child was leaving me in blood.

Strangely, I didn't want to cry anymore.

I smiled.

It was the first genuine smile I'd given him all day.

"You wanted me to make it up to your wife, didn't you?"

Salvatore's face went completely still.

I pressed one trembling hand against my stomach.

"Then give her this too."

His pupils contracted.

I looked at Bianca.

Then back at him.

"Your child."

My smile widened through the pain.

"I've paid her with that too."

Salvatore stopped breathing.