The Italian

“Why do I think it was him who was in the house?” I whisper.

Enrico frowns down at me, as if surprised by my accusation. “Why would he be in the house?”

“You tell me,” I whisper angrily. “Why is he even here? Didn’t you tell him to leave last night? I don’t trust him at all.”

Enrico glares out the door after him, his jaw clenched, and I know that he’s suspicious, too.

The house is now abuzz with people. Every light is on as they go through and search the rooms one by one. Every now and then I hear someone call to give the all clear in the distance.

I wrap my dressing gown around me tightly. If someone did happen to get in here, they would never be found. This house is as big as a state library.

“I hate this fucking house, Rici,” I whisper. “It’s too big and I don’t feel safe here.” I swipe the terrified tears from my eyes. “There could be fifty people hiding in this house and we wouldn’t even know it.”

Enrico drags his hand down his face, his frustration clear.

“Let’s go to the Milan apartment,” I plead. “Let’s just get in the car and go now.”

“It’s not safe to transfer us both in the middle of the night.”

“Why isn’t safe? Who the fuck is waiting out there?”

“Will you stop fucking cursing?”

“No, I will not! There won’t even be a fucking baby if we’re all dead!” I cry.

“We can’t leave now, Olivia.” He passes the gun back over and walks me to the bed. “Get into bed.”

“With a gun?” I hold it up.

“The house is clear.”

“Then why do I need a fucking gun?” I snap.

“Olivia,” he growls. “Do not fall apart on me now. Tomorrow we can move. For now, we stay here.”

I get into bed, pull the covers over my head, completely furious to be in this position. I can hear men speaking in Italian in the distance and doors being open and shut.

The tears take over.

I just want to be normal.

* * *

“Congratulations, you’re nine weeks pregnant, Olivia,” the doctor says across the desk. “The heartbeat is strong, and everything looks to be in perfect order. Your baby is fit and healthy.”

Enrico’s broad smile beams over at me and he grips my hand tightly in his.

We are at the obstetrician, and it’s been a rough morning.

Enrico and I have hardly spoken. I’m stressed out after last night’s activities, while he’s been avoiding the subject. He thinks it was a false alarm—that I’m imagining things. They searched the entire house and found nothing.

But I know what I heard.

“You will have your baby by Christmas. Your due date is on the 15th of December.”

Enrico leans over and kisses me softly. He’s this big important man with all the money in the world, but when it comes down to it, nothing is more important to him than becoming a father.

“Congratulations, baby,” he whispers.