Page 29 of Say You're Mine

Amethyst nods, a flicker of something like hope in her eyes. "It's a risk," she admits, her fingers picking restlessly at a loose thread on her sleeve. "A huge one. Dante doesn't offer his help lightly, and he'll expect something in return. But Cara..." She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "It might be our only chance. To take down my father, to get June back. To keep your baby safe."

Emotion clogs my throat, a tangled knot of fear and desperate, reckless possibility. She's right. As much as every instinct screams at me to run, to take my child and disappear into the wind, I know it's not that simple. Elaine and Amethyst's father won't stop, won't rest until they have what they want. And what they want is the utter destruction of everything I hold dear.

But this... this insane, impossible plan... it's a chance. A fragile thread of possibility in the dark tapestry of our lives. And God help me, I'm going to grab onto it with both hands and cling for dear life.

I meet Amethyst's gaze, seeing for the first time the flickers of strength beneath the fear, the steel beneath the silk. "Okay," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. Let's do this. Let's take those bastards down."

Her answering smile is tremulous, but real. "I knew you were a fighter," she says, something like admiration in her tone. "June chose well, even if the circumstances are..." She waves a hand, encompassing the sterile hospital room, the wires and tubes tethering me to the bed. "Less than ideal."

A choking laugh bubbles up in my chest. "Yeah, you could say that." I close my eyes briefly, exhaustion and emotion threatening to drag me under. "You should go," I murmur, forcing my heavy lids open again. "Before my mom gets back. She's liable to rip that god-awful wig right off your head if she catches you here."

Amethyst's hand flies to her head, patting the synthetic fibers as if to reassure herself of their presence. "Right. Yes. I'll be in touch, okay? I'll find a way to arrange a meeting with Natalie."

I nod, watching as she gathers herself, squaring her shoulders beneath the bulky folds of her disguise. "Amethyst?" I call softly, just as she reaches the door. She pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "Thank you," I say simply, pouring every ounce of gratitude, of cautious camaraderie, into the words. "For taking this risk. For trusting me."

Her smile is fleeting, but genuine. "We're in this together now," she says, something like steel threading through her tone. "For better or worse. Until the end of the line."

And then she's gone, slipping out the door and melting into the hospital's bustle and hum, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the steady, reassuring thrum of my baby's heartbeat beside my own.

I sink back against the pillows, my hand drifting to rest against the swell of my stomach. "Well, little one," I murmur, my thumb stroking gently over the taut skin. "Looks like Mommy's got herself neck-deep in the criminal underworld. But don't you worry. We're going to get through this. We're going to bring your daddy home."

There's a flutter beneath my palm, a tiny kick against my fingers, as if in answer. I smile, tears pricking hot at the backs of my eyes.

"That's right, baby," I whisper, a fierce, unshakeable love welling up inside me, bright and hot as a thousand suns. "We're going to make this right. No matter what it takes. No matter what devils we have to dance with."

My eyes drift closed, exhaustion tugging at me like a riptide. But even as I let sleep claim me, my mind is awhirl with plans and possibilities, hope and fear tangled like lovers' limbs beneath the sheets.

The game has changed. The stakes raised to dizzying heights. And at the center of it all, growing in the hidden depths of my body, is the tiny, perfect amalgamation of June and I's love. Our child. Our future.

And I'll be damned if I let anyone, be it Elaine Deveaux, Amethyst's father, or the grim reaper himself, take that away from us.

The machines beep and whir around me, cold and impersonal. But beneath it all, like a secret drumbeat, like a promise written in blood and sealed with a kiss... My baby's heart thrums on. Strong. Steady. Indomitable.

A lullaby and a battle cry, all in one.

Time seems to move differently within the sterile confines of the hospital, minutes bleeding into hours, hours into days. But finally, after what feels like an eternity of poking and prodding, of cold hands and colder machines, the doctors deem me stable enough to leave.

"Take it easy," they caution, their eyes flickering to the still-vivid bruises marring my skin. "Rest, fluids, and absolutely no stress. For you and the baby."

I nod, biting back the hysterical laughter that bubbles up in my throat. No stress. Right. As if my life hasn't become a living embodiment of the word.

Mama is there, of course, fussing and fretting as she helps me into a soft, oversized sweater. "You come home with me," she insists, her tone brooking no argument. "I take care of you, mia figlia. Keep you safe."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The thought of sinking into the familiar comfort of my childhood bed, of letting my mother's love and fierce protectiveness cocoon me, is almost overwhelming. But then I feel it - a flutter, a tiny kick against my ribs. A reminder of the strength, the sheer indomitable will, growing inside me.

"I can't, Ma," I say softly, catching her work-worn hands in my own. "I need to be in my own space, surrounded by my own things. I need to feel... normal. As normal as I can, given the circumstances."

She opens her mouth to protest, but something in my expression must give her pause. She searches my face, her eyes dark and knowing in a way only a mother's can be. "You've got a plan," she says finally, her voice low and heavy with reluctant understanding. "Something you're not telling me."

I hesitate, torn between the desire to unburden myself and the need to protect her, to keep her as far removed from this tangled web as possible. "I can't," I whisper, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I can't pull you into this, Mama. It's too dangerous."

She huffs out a breath, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. "More dangerous than my eldest child, black and blue in hospital bed? I don't think so."

"Please," I beg, gripping her hands tighter. "Please, Ma. Trust me. I'm not alone in this, I promise you that. But the less you know, the safer you'll be."

We stare at each other for a long, charged moment, a silent battle of wills. But in the end, as I knew she would, my mother relents.

"Fine," she says, the word heavy with reluctance. "But you call me, every day. You need anything, anything at all, I am there. Capisce?"

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