Chapter 2 - The Sound of Pounding on Wood
The cold tile of Liam’s bathroom floor pressed against my bare knees as the final wave of nausea subsided. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. My fingers were still locked around the little plastic stick, its dual pink lines glaring up at me under the harsh, flickering yellow light of the vanity bulb like an unpardoned sentence.
“Emma? Open the door.”
Liam’s voice came again, closer this time, accompanied by a sharp, worried rap of knuckles against the wooden panel.
Panic surged through my chest, hot and paralyzing. I scrambled backward, tucking the pregnancy test deep into the pocket of my oversized, ketchup-stained diner apron lying crumpled in the corner of the laundry basket. I pulled a towel over it, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“I’m fine, Liam!” I called out, forcing a pitch of forced cheerfulness into my tone that sounded like breaking glass. “Just... something I ate at the diner last night. A bad batch of soup.”
There was a brief pause on the other side of the door. I could picture Liam standing there in his faded gray t-shirt and messy brown hair, holding his chipped mug of Colombian coffee, his brow furrowed with that fierce, protective big-brother scowl he wore whenever my life threatened to tilt off its axis.
“You’ve had ‘bad food’ three mornings in a row, El,” Liam said, his voice dropping lower, laced with suspicion. “And you’re as pale as a ghost. If you’re working too many shifts at the diner, I told you, I can pick up an extra weekend at the garage—”
“I’m fine, seriously!” I interrupted, standing up too fast. The room spun violently, forcing me to catch myself against the edge of the sink. I took a deep, trembling breath, splashed freezing water over my face, and forced my reflection to look normal. “I just need to change. My shift at the café starts in twenty minutes, and if Mrs. Gable catches me late again, she’ll dock my tips.”
Another beat of silence. Then, a heavy sigh from the hallway.
“All right. But we’re talking about this tonight over pasta. And I mean it—no dodging.”
“Okay. Pasta. Deal,” I muttered.
I heard his footsteps retreating down the narrow hallway toward the tiny kitchen, the floorboards groaning under his weight. I let out a long, shaky exhale that sounded more like a sob.
Six weeks. Forty-two days since that blinding, rain-streaked night inside Room 1520 of the Obsidian Hotel. Forty-two days since I had looked up into amber eyes that belonged to a man who owned half of Chicago, a man whose name was synonymous with ruthless business deals, towering skyscrapers, and absolute power.
Back then, I had convinced myself it was a one-night anomaly—a fever dream born of exhaustion, champagne, and the reckless grief of a girl whose life had derailed after her parents died. I had walked out of that hotel room before sunrise, vanishing back into the anonymity of double shifts and student loans, desperate to protect the one secret that could destroy me.
Because Alessandro Vitali didn't just date waitresses for long-term romances. Men like him married within their own suffocating stratosphere—daughters of shipping magnates and tech tycoons. And more terrifying than his social status was the shadow I had spent three years running from.
If Alessandro found out about this baby, he wouldn't just offer child support. He would lock me in a gilded cage to protect his bloodline. Or worse—if my past caught up to me before he did, the dangerous men I had fled from in New York would use my connection to the Vitali empire as a weapon to tear us both apart.
I pulled my uniform off, shoved the apron into the wash, and dressed in a plain denim skirt and a thrift-store sweater. As I walked out into the small living room, Liam looked up from the kitchen counter, his eyes scanning my face with uncomfortable precision.
“You look terrified,” Liam noted quietly, setting his coffee mug down.
May you like
“I’m just tired, Li,” I lied, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I grabbed my bag, slipped out the front door, and stepped into the damp, biting Chicago morning wind. But as the bus rattled downtown toward the diner, one terrifying reality echoed in my mind over and over: I couldn't hide a growing belly forever. And sooner or later, Alessandro Vitali’s world and mine were going to collide again.
