Page 129 of Devil's Tulip

Elira can’t stay long, but before leaving, she grins and says, “I can’t wait to brag to people that my best friend is a licensed nurse with her own hospital.”

Best friend.

My throat tightens as I pull her into an extra-tight hug before she goes. Then I head up to Michael’s and my bedroom whereI drop my flowers and medal on the bed before taking a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the day.

When I’m back in the room, I open my nightstand drawer to grab my underwear, but my gaze shifts to Michael’s drawer. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull it open, checking out the contents that scandalized me months ago when I first saw them.

My eyes land on the key card, and I pick it up, my mind flashing back to that evening months ago when I was tossed into the prison. There was a door there, right next to the tattoo room. The memory crystalizes with sudden clarity. That door. That has to be where this key belongs.

I dress quickly, heart racing with anticipation, and leave the bedroom, making my way there. When I reach the door, I tap the card against the electronic reader, holding my breath. The light blinks green, and the latch clicks with a soft sound.Bingo.

I push the door open, not sure what I’ll find on the other side. A treasure room? Weapons? More secrets from Michael’s bloody past?

As I walk into the dark room, warm red lights turn on automatically, bathing the space with a crimson glow. My jaw drops. There are pictures everywhere—hundreds of them, maybe more. And they’re all of me.

I stare, speechless, heart hammering against my ribs as I take in the sight. There are photos from years back, right after I lost my parents—God, I look so young, so broken. My high school graduation picture, college graduation, even a grainy shot of me standing in front of a burning car.

Dario’s Jaguar—the one I stole that night I ran away from home.

I move closer. There’s me bartending in Vince’s bar. Exploring Michael’s house in Seattle. Sleeping on the plane. Eating. Laughing. Glaring.

Every version of me imaginable is here. It’s like a shrine dedicated to me, and frankly, I’m completely flabbergasted.

The door clicks shut behind me, and I whip around to see Michael standing there, watching me with that careful, assessing look.

“So, you’ve discovered my secret,” he starts, his voice low, gaze roaming my face for any hint of emotion, any clue to what I’m thinking.

I watch him stoically, but after a couple of seconds, I can’t swallow back my smile any longer. “You’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

“Totally. More than you could ever imagine.” He agrees without hesitation and closes the distance between us to grab my arms with gentle intensity. “You’re everything to me, Gianna. My whole world has narrowed to me and you and our child. When I’m not with you, I’m impatient to come back home. I’m irritated that I have to be away from you at all. I love you, Gianna.Ti amo da morire.”

The Italian flows from his lips like music—I love you to death.

The words ripple through me, breaking something loose that’s been stuck for too long.

“Anch’io ti amo, cuore mio,” I say, my voice trembling with the weight of emotion, and I let out a watery laugh. “Damn hormones.”

He grins, leaning down to kiss me softly. “I love you, hormones and all.”

39

GIANNA

The next couple of weeks fly by, and before I know it, I’m entering my third trimester and working at my hospital.Myhospital. Withmyname on it. The words still taste unreal on my tongue.

On paper, my life has transformed into the kind of fairytale that would make Disney princesses seethe with jealousy. I have a husband who worships the ground I walk on—a man who would and has killed for me. I’m blessed with a friendship with Elira that fills a void I never acknowledged existed. I’m building a career that fulfills me, and inside my womb, a tiny life thrives, growing stronger each day. I never even imagined I could ever be this happy. Never dared to hope for this much.

I should be drowning in contentment, suffocating from happiness.

Instead, a shadow creeps across my perfect life—formless and insidious.

It starts small. One morning, I just wake up with a heavy heart, and no amount of pep talk or cheering up from Michael can snap me out of it.

You don’t deserve this, a vicious little voice whispers in my head.You’ve done nothing to earn this happiness. And everything you haven’t earned can be taken away.

And that thought—that gnawing, creeping fear—refuses to leave me alone. What if it all gets snatched away from me in the blink of an eye? I try to squash it every time it rears up its ugly head, but it’s stubborn as hell. Self-doubt always is.

It spreads like a cancer, from hours into days. One day, then two.

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