Page 75 of Tormented Oath

My hand drifts to my stomach, the center of everything now. It’s the reason I can't run. The reason Stefano won't let me go. The reason everything's falling apart.

No. Not the reason. Just the final complication in a game I played badly from the start.

The room's phone sits silent on the desk. I check it anyway, for the hundredth time. Nothing from my Fiori contact. Nothing from Tony. Nothing from anyone.

Just silence and guilt and the weight of choices I can't take back.

A wave of nausea hits again but I make it to the bathroom just in time, heaving up whatever's left in my stomach. The marble wall is cool against my forehead as I sit there, trying to breathe through it.

"Some con artist you turned out to be," I mutter to my reflection. The woman in the mirror looks like a stranger—pale face, red eyes, designer clothes that feel like a costume.

Mrs. Rega. The title sits wrong, like shoes that don't quite fit.

But it's who I am now. Who I'll always be.

Unless I can find a way to fix this mess. To save everyone without destroying everything.

My father's voice echoes in my head: "There's always another angle,piccola. Always a way out. You just have to be willing to see it."

I stand up, splashing water on my face. Time to think like a professional. Time to find that angle.

I have a lot to make up for.

* * *

Hours pass, as shadows lengthen across the hotel room floor. I've counted every ceiling tile, noted every security camera angle, memorized the patrol patterns of the guards outside my door.

The windows draw me like a magnet. Chicago spreads out below me, glittering and indifferent. Somewhere out there, Tony's being held by people who think nothing of breaking bones and murdering to make a point. Somewhere out there, the Fiori family is planning their next move.

And here I am, wearing a wedding ring that feels like handcuffs.

I start pacing again.

What do I know? What can I use?

The club is clean. That's why I couldn't find anything to report to the Fioris. Stefano runs it legitimately, protects his girls, keeps everything above board.

The girls. God, what will happen to them if Stefano hands over the club? The Fioris aren't known for their ethical treatment of employees. Kira, Mattina, all of them—they don't deserve to pay for my mistakes.

My pacing takes me past the bathroom, and I catch another glimpse of myself before returning to the bedroom.

"Think," I mutter, pulling a hotel notepad toward me. "Professional. Strategic."

My hands shake slightly as I start mapping out what I know.

The Fioris want the club. The girls will suffer. They have Tony. From what I’ve heard so far, they’ve moved him to a new location, to prevent an attack at their base from Stefano.

But Stefano had already decided against it. He's willing to trade. More than the club.

The baby changes everything.

I think about the last point longer than the others. Because it does change everything, doesn't it? Not just my ability to run, but Stefano's choices too. He's not just protecting me anymore—he's protecting his heir.

The thought makes me pause, pen hovering over my notes.

Stefano Rega, third son turned empire builder, about to give up part of his territory. For what? A woman who betrayed him? A brother-in-law he barely knows?

No. For his child.

---