Page 9 of His Savage Ruin
"The patient," Dr. Reeves continues, his clinical tone making the revelation even more stark, "is not pregnant."
The silence that follows Dr. Reeves's revelation stretches like a blade between us. Not pregnant. Never has been. The words echo in my mind with the precision of a sniper's bullet, clean and devastating.
The words hit, but my face remains of stone. I’ve spent too many years teaching men that silence cuts deeper than any outburst. Instead, I study Alessia's face with the same cold assessment I'd give to a chess board moments before checkmate.
She meets my gaze without flinching, her chin still raised in that gesture of defiance that's quickly becoming her signature. But I see it now—the hairline cracks in her armor, the way her breathing has shifted from controlled to carefully measured. She's been waiting for this moment, dreading it, preparing for it.
"Dr. Reeves," I say without taking my eyes off her. "Thank you. That will be all."
He gathers his equipment with practiced efficiency, the manila folder disappearing into his medical bag along with the evidence that could shift the entire balance of this war. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving us alone with the weight of her deception.
I let the silence stretch, watching her catalog my lack of reaction. She's trying to read me the same way I'm reading her, looking for any sign of what comes next, but I keep it blank.
I leave the room.
I turn and walk to the door, my movements deliberate and controlled. In the hallway, Enzo and Luca wait with the patience of men who've learned to follow orders without question. But I can see the tension in their shoulders, the questions they're dying to ask.
"Well?" Luca asks the moment the door closes behind me, his storm-gray eyes—so like my own—searching my face for answers.
"Not pregnant. Never has been." I keep my voice low, clinical. "The entire foundation of this war is built on a lie. They think she is pregnant, but she is not."
Enzo's expression doesn't change, but I catch the way his dark eyes narrow fractionally—the only sign that this information has registered as significant. His self-control has always been exceptional, forged in the docks of Brooklyn, where showing weakness meant death.
Luca, however, can't hide his shock as easily. His jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides as the implications hit him.
"What do we do?" He finally asks, his voice carefully controlled despite the tension radiating from his frame.
The question hangs in the air. Every decision I make now will ripple through the Romano empire, affecting the lives of my family, my men, my legacy.
"Nothing changes outwardly," I decide, the strategy crystallizing with cold clarity. "No one else knows about these test results. Dr. Reeves is bound by our usual arrangements. As far as anyone is concerned, Alessia Moretti is carrying Lorenzo's child."
"Matteo—" Luca starts, but I cut him off with a look.
"Think it through," I continue, my voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "The moment the Morettis discover she's been lying about the pregnancy, she becomes worthless to them. Worse than worthless—she becomes a liability they'll eliminate to protect their secrets."
Enzo speaks for the first time, his voice as controlled as always. "And if they discover we know?"
"They won't. Because we're going to maintain the illusion until it no longer serves our purposes." I straighten my cufflinks, centering myself for what comes next. "But first, I need to know exactly how far this deception extends. Who else knows the truth."
I can see understanding dawn in their eyes. This isn't just about a lying widow anymore—it's about controlling information that could destabilize both our families. Information that, properly leveraged, could end this war on our terms.
"She's been playing a dangerous game," Enzo observes. "Forty-five days of maintaining that deception under Don Emilio's scrutiny..."
"Which means she's either exceptionally clever or exceptionally desperate," I reply. "Possibly both. Either way, she's now our problem to solve."
"Prepare for transport to the estate," I order. "Full security detail. And remember, as far as anyone knows, we're moving a pregnant woman who requires careful handling."
Luca nods, already reaching for his phone to coordinate the convoy. But I catch his arm before he can dial.
"This information doesn't leave this hallway. Are we clear?"
"Clear," they both respond simultaneously.
Enzo moves to carry out the transportation preparations with his usual efficiency, but my brother lingers for a moment, studying my face with the familiarity of a lifetime spent reading my moods.
"What are you thinking?" he asks quietly.
"I'm thinking," I reply, turning back toward the door, "that Alessia Moretti just became far more interesting than I anticipated."
