Chapter 1

The night before my mob wedding, all 250 pounds of me collapses onto the couch. And then I dream of my daughter.

BUT—— She's not born yet. She's inside me. Right now. Eight weeks along. About the size of a raspberry.

In the dream, she's eighteen. Stick-thin. Drowning in a hospital gown two sizes too big. Collarbones like knives. Eyes like she'd crawled out of a war.

Her eyes drag down my body. Slow. Belly. Hips. Thighs. Back up.

Corner of her mouth twitches. A tiny, tired scoff. Gone in a second.

"Mom. In four minutes, you're gonna get morning sickness. Don't interrupt. Just listen."

I open my mouth. Nothing.

"I'm your daughter. Came back from eighteen years ahead to stop you from marrying that bastard tomorrow."

"Second I'm born, he ships you off to Ridgewood. Locked ward. And me? I don't make it to nineteen."

Bullshit. Cold feet. That's all.

Her eyes fill up.

"You don't believe me. Fine. One more thing. That weight you've been putting on? Sixty pounds in two months?"

My hand freezes on my belly.

"Not the baby, Mom. It's him."

A sudden flash cuts through my mind.

Dante at the dinner table. Pushing another plate at me. "Eat it, baby, for the kid." His hand on my thigh, pinching. "You're getting soft again, sweetheart. Who else is gonna want this? Nobody but me. Lucky you."

Same night. Him behind me in the mirror. Voice going low and sweet. "Nah. Eat more. I like you thick. I like knowing nobody else touches this."

His face changing. Back and forth. Soft. Cruel. Soft. Cruel.

The flash cuts. I'm shaking.

"Every meal Dante sends you? Custom recipe. Hormones. His personal chef. His personal plan. He's been fattening you up like a Thanksgiving turkey since day one, Mom."

"Because you outgrew his control. Because you got too confident for him to handle. "

"Because when a woman like you looks in the mirror and hates herself, she doesn't run."

Rory's voice cracks.

"He told his crew you'd be easier to leash if you couldn't stand your own face."

I can't breathe.

"Wake up. Go to the penthouse. He said family sit-down. He's not at a sit-down, Mom. He's in our bed. With her."

"Prove me wrong. I dare you."

---

I jolt awake. Sweat down my back. Heart slamming.

Hand shoots to my belly.

Just a dream. Just hormones. Dante loves me. Dante would never—

Then, soft. From somewhere deep under my ribs:

"I'm still here, Mom. Not going anywhere till you go upstairs to the penthouse."

My hand closes around my keys.

---

Private code. Elevator up forty floors. I whisper the whole ride.

She's wrong. She's wrong. She's wrong.

Then I hear him. Through the bedroom door. That sound. His sound. The one I thought was only for me.

"God, you're beautiful."

"You're so damn thin. I love that."

"Yeah. Just like that. Feels so good."

I freeze in the hallway. One hand on my belly. One hand clamped over my mouth. My eyes burn so hot it hurts.

"Don't marry him, Mommy," she whispers, small and tired. "Don't be my mom. I'm begging you. I don't wanna live that life again."

I back away. Heels silent on the carpet. Thank God for that.

Six months I spent on this place. Every pillow. Every damn candle. I used to picture our baby crawling on that rug.

One more second in here and I'm gonna throw up on it.

"Hurts, huh?" she says. "If you still love him, it'll hurt way worse. Trust me."

"Saturday's the wedding. You waited ten years for this day."

"But the reception video? It's not you and Daddy. It's Daddy and *her*."

"Bianca sets it up. Everybody laughs at you. Everybody points."

"And Daddy tells you to shut up. Says you're crazy. Says you're embarrassing him in front of the whole family."

I make it to the sidewalk before my legs give out. Grab a lamppost. Sob into my sleeve like some drunk lady outside a bar at 2 a.m.

"What's your name, baby?" I choke. "If you're really mine, what did we name you?"

A pause.

"Aurora, Mommy. My name is Aurora. You called me Rory."

My knees almost buckle.

Dante and I picked that name in bed three weeks ago. Under the sheets. Nobody else knows. Not one soul.

Belly cramps again. I drop onto a bench. Breathe. Breathe.

"Just let me go, Mommy," Rory whispers, and God, she sounds so tired. "Don't fight anymore. Please."

"No." I hug my stomach like it's the last thing on Earth. "No. You're my baby. I don't care what happens later. I am not giving you up."

She cries harder.

"That's the problem, Mom! That's why they break you! You love me too much!"

"You had a hundred chances to walk. Every single time, you stayed. For me. So I'd have a 'real family.'"

"And it didn't matter! None of it mattered!"

My chest caves. I fold over the bench. Arms wrapped around her.

"Rory. Baby. Tell Mommy. What happens?"

"Why couldn't I keep you safe? Why did you die at eighteen?"

The words come out like broken glass.

Rory is quiet for a long time.

Then, very small:

"You're right, Mommy. Some people, no matter how hard you fight, were never yours to keep."

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