Page 81 of Say You're Mine

Cara

The cloying scent of jasmine incense burns my nostrils as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles rim my eyes, stark against my warm brown skin, now sallow with exhaustion. Good. Let the world see a woman ravaged by grief, a fragile creature on the verge of shattering.

It's what they expect, after all.

I trace the swell of my belly, feeling our child shift restlessly within. A wave of nausea hits me, and I swallow hard, willing it to pass. This pregnancy has been anything but easy, each day a reminder of what – of who – I'm missing.

"We're going to get Daddy back," I whisper in a mix of Italian and Igbo, languages of my heritage that I hope to pass on to our child. The words are a solemn vow. "No matter what it takes."

With practiced hands, I begin my daily ritual of deception. Concealer to hide the determination blazing in my eyes. Blush to fake a fevered desperation on my high cheekbones, a feature I inherited from my Nigerian father. A tremor in my fingers as I apply mascara – not from fear, but from the rage that simmers just beneath my skin.

As I dress, choosing clothes that make me look smaller, more vulnerable, my mind races. Here I am, a pregnant first-generation Nigerian-Italian woman, conspiring with a notorious crime lord to save my white husband from his psychotic mother. The absurdity of it all hits me like a punch to the gut, and I have to grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.

If someone had told me a year ago this would be my life, I'd have laughed in their face. But that was before. Before June. Before Elaine. Before I knew the depths of love and hatred I was capable of feeling.

I pull on an oversized sweater that swallows my frame, leggings that emphasize my pregnant belly. My reflection stares back at me – the very picture of a woman defeated, brought low by circumstance. To the outside world, I'm just another brown girl who got in over her head, easy to dismiss and easier to ignore.

If only they knew the inferno raging within me.

The streets of the city pulse with life as I make my way to the rendezvous point. Every face is a potential threat, every shadow concealing Elaine's watchful eyes. I hunch my shoulders, avert my gaze, play the part of prey even as my predator's instincts scream to fight.

A sharp pain lances through my lower back, and I stumble slightly. Breathe, Cara. Just breathe. The doctor's warning echoes in my mind – the strain of stress on my body, on our baby. But what choice do I have? To give up now would be to condemn June, to condemn our child to a life under Elaine's twisted influence.

The cafe comes into view, a study in calculated mediocrity – forgettable decor, unremarkable patrons, the kind of place that blends into the background of a thousand similar establishments. Perfect for our purposes.

I spot Dante immediately, his expensive suit at odds with our surroundings. To anyone watching, he could be a lawyer, maybe, or a sympathetic businessman offering charity to a woman in need.

If they only knew the blood on his hands, the empire of shadows he commands.

"Mrs. Deveaux," he greets me, his voice pitched low. "Please, sit."

I slide into the booth across from him, allowing a flicker of desperate hope to cross my features. "Do you have news?" I ask, my voice cracking just so. "Please, tell me there's something we can do."

Dante's eyes soften with well-practiced sympathy. "We're doing everything we can, I assure you. But these things take time."

As he speaks, feeding me carefully crafted misinformation meant for Elaine's ears, I parse through his words for the real intel. June is safe, for now. The guards Dante paid off are in place. But Elaine's reach is long, her influence seeping into every crack of the system.

My heart races, hope and fear warring in my chest. I nod, wide-eyed and desperate, even as my mind catalogs each piece of information. When he's done, I grasp his hand across the table. "Thank you," I whisper, injecting just the right amount of pathetic gratitude into my tone. "You've given me hope."

Dante's mask slips for just a moment, and I catch a glimpse of the ruthless crime lord beneath the polished exterior. "We'll get him back, Cara," he murmurs, his voice hard as steel. "And we'll make them pay for every second they've kept you apart."

A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts fear and anticipation. I chose this alliance, this dance with the devil, and I'll see it through to whatever bitter end awaits us.

As I leave the cafe, I spot a familiar face lurking at a corner table. One of Elaine's lackeys, no doubt sent to monitor my movements. Good. Let him report back on my broken spirit, my pitiful grasping at straws.

Let them think they've won.

Back at the apartment, I shed the mask of despair like a second skin. Judith is waiting, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of my transformation.

"You're getting good at this," she says, a note of concern in her voice.

I meet her gaze, unflinching. "I'll do whatever it takes to bring June home. To keep our family safe."

She nods, but I see the flicker of worry in her eyes. "Just... don't lose yourself in the process, Cara. June wouldn't want that."

Her words hit harder than I expect, cracking the armor I've built around my heart. For a moment, I allow myself to feel the full weight of our separation, the ache of June's absence like a physical wound.

"I won't," I promise, my voice thick with unshed tears. "But I can't sit back and do nothing. Not when he's out there, alone, thinking I've abandoned him."

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