Page 92 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
At the sound of her name, something in me twisted painfully. I glared at him. “Stay out of it.”
“Can’t,” Achille said simply. “You’re making everyone miserable. Beatrice told us what happened. That you showed up with a mall’s worth of gifts.”
I groaned. “Of course she did.”
“That was your big plan?” Dante snorted. “Buy her forgiveness?”
“I didn’t see you offering better ideas,” I snapped.
“Because you didn’t ask!” Dante threw his hands up. “Man, you’re supposed to be the smart one. The strategist. And your grand gesture was... shopping?”
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted quietly.
My brothers fell silent. It wasn’t often that I admitted weakness, especially not to them.
“Start with an actual apology,” Achille suggested. “One that doesn’t come with price tags attached.”
“I tried that,” I said. “She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to see me at all.”
“Then maybe you need to respect that,” Dante said, surprisingly gentle. “Give her real space. Not the kind where you call Beatrice every day for updates.”
I turned to argue when my phone rang. Beatrice. As if we’d summoned her.
“Speak of the devil,” Dante muttered.
I answered immediately. “Beatrice?”
“Federico.” My sister’s voice was tight with worry. “I’m at the clinic with Autumn. I brought her in when she—”
“What happened?” My heart slammed against my ribs. “Is she hurt?”
“She—” There was commotion in the background. “The doctor’s coming now. I have to go.”
“Beatrice, wait—” But she’d already hung up.
I stared at the phone, blood rushing in my ears. Clinic. Autumn. Doctor.
“What’s wrong?” Achille asked, alert now.
“Autumn’s at the clinic,” I said, pushing back my chair. “Beatrice didn’t say why.”
I grabbed my keys.
“We’re coming with you,” Dante said.
“We’ve got that meeting,” Achille said with guilt.
“Fuck!” Dante groaned.
“It’s fine,” I snapped.
Honestly? I just needed to get to the hospital. Without my brothers chattering in my ear, holding me back.
“I’ve got this,” I said, and took the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.
The entire drive over, my mind was racing through every terrible possibility. Had she been in an accident? Was she sick?
The drive to the clinic was a blur. I broke every traffic law in place.
