Page 73 of Surprise Pregnancy for Villain

We can start a new life, a clean life, away from everything that we were supposed to be and move on with everything we want to be.

I lower the window and feel the fresh breeze against my face.

I don’t have to be a Borelli anymore. I just can just be me – Nicki.

Epilogue

Nicoletta

One Year Later

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, brows cocked, eyes trained on my husband in the rocking chair. His gaze isn’t on me, though. It’s locked on the large, flat screen TV resting against the wall.

“I’m sure,” he mutters.

Yet, I hear the tentativeness in his voice. It’s mixed with a weary tension, which I totally understand since I’m feeling that exact sensation, too. Unlike Ezio, though, I’m not sure if I want to hear this news.

What if it’s not the result that we want? What if it means uprooting our lives again?

It had been a hard year. Although we had more than enough resources money-wise, it wasn’t easy to disappear. Better than anyone, we knew that the mafia never forgets. Stefano Rossi survived his beatings, but Alessandro wasn’t as lucky. The stab caused internal bleeding that made its way to his lungs, and by the time the family doctor arrived, it was too late to resuscitate him. We got the news of his death from my father, right after we crossed the Canadian border.

Yet, we still hadn’t gotten far enough. Stefano’s thirst for revenge was far greater than our desire to escape.

“Turn the TV on, baby,” Ezio’s soft murmur cuts into my thoughts. He’s staring at me now, his arms wrapped protectively around our sleeping baby.

With a sigh, I press the button that brings the huge screen to life. I scroll through the channels until I find the right one, then I take a seat on the couch next to my family. A statement runs across the screen, and I read it.

“They’re not yet ready,” I whisper.

Ezio grunts.

As much as I’m trying to put on a calm front, inside, I’m scared as hell. Memories of the last year re-emerge, prompting me to whisper a prayer. We can’t go back to that nightmare; watching our backs wherever we go, running like the hounds of hell are after us, wondering if each day would be our last. We’d only been settled in this small Vancouver town for the last three months. We’d just gotten friendly with our neighbors. To uproot ourselves after all the trouble we’d endured to get here, I don’t even want to imagine it.

A news reporter appears the screen. Her expression means business. I tuck my legs under me, gripping the arm of the couch as I watch. She clears her throat, and I tuck my head under my arm. No. I can’t watch.

“They’re going to get him, baby,” Ezio assures me. “Don’t worry.”

The confidence in his tone makes me look up. He’s right. Stefano might have been reigning supreme for decades. He might’ve had the police department working for him. He did incite fear in the hearts of everyone within his reach, but he was no match for the FBI. When Eduardo switched on him and became their chief informant, he was done for. It was over since they arrested him five months ago.

I only need to hear those confirmed words.

“… we are now waiting for the jurors to settle in the box, and we’ll be hearing the verdict,” the reporter goes on. “Gerard, based on the feedback I’ve gotten from the people outside the courtroom today, there’s only one verdict that will satisfy.”

“Well, let’s see if they get their wish,” Gerard, the news anchor replies.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants as the screen switches to the courtroom. The camera pans on the jury box, where I see twelve unreadable expressions, then it moves to the judge’s bench, whose face looks just as stoic as he takes the papers from the bailiff. I glance at Ezio. He’s sitting upright now, no longer rocking. Our daughter stirs in his arms, and he shushes her gently.

The judge clears his throat. “Will the defendant please rise.”

Stefano pushes to his feet as the camera pans to him. From the way his brows furrow, his shoulders stiff, hands curled into fists, I can tell how much he’s pissed off. Hell will reign on us if he ever goes free.

I cross my fingers, taking a deep breath.

“State of New York, plaintiff, Vs. Stefano Rossi, defendant. We the jury in the above-entitled manner as to count 1, murder, find the defendant guilty in the court of law,” the judge reads.

A huge gasp flies from my mouth. I glance at Ezio, whose unblinking eyes are still locked on the screen. Like the jurors, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking right now.

“… in the above-entitled manner as to count 2, conspiracy to commit murder, we find the defendant guilty in the court of law.”

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