Page 70 of Shaw

I take a deep breath and steel myself before pushing down the door handle and stepping inside our bedroom.

Her red-rimmed eyes find mine instantly, and my heart stutters at the sight of her. She’s sitting on the bed but stands to her feet as I step closer.

Emi holds out her hand to stop me coming any closer, and I swear my heart plummets at that action alone.

“Emi, listen.”

She shakes her head, causing her hair to fall around her like a curtain. “I have something to tell you.” She sniffles, making my chest constrict with a need to comfort her.

My eyes narrow.

Emi raises her chin high and tightens her shoulders back, as though preparing for a fight, the Mafia princess mask back in full force. Annoyance at those actions makes me clench my jaw.How quickly she can become the person she isn’t.

My gaze scans over her, looking for a reason for her sudden change in demeanor. Her chest heaves and her hands have a slight tremble to them. “Emi?” I question with a raised brow.

She takes a deep breath. “The baby isn’t yours.”

I choke on relief, a small smile gracing my face, because truth be told, I was kind of thinking this myself too. My next move was going to be a DNA test before we cause any unnecessary drama with Luca.

“I was wondering the same thing. I’m going to get tested tomorrow, Emi. I swear it.” I step forward, but she takes a step back.

“That’s not what I meant, Shaw.” Her eyes drill into mine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand with the insinuation. But confusion must cloud my face because she continues without me having to prompt her. “This baby.” She taps on bump. “This baby is not yours.”

My throat closes up and my mind is blank, unable to process what she’s saying. Unwilling to process it.

My chest tightens, making it difficult for me to breathe. “E-Emi?” I gaze into her eyes for her to tell me I’m mistaken on what I thought she said. She doesn’t, she stares back at me with confidence and determination.

“The baby’s not yours, Shaw. I’m sorry.”

I drop my head as I play over her words.“The baby’s not yours, Shaw. I’m sorry.”

Anger boils inside me.Is she fucking serious? Not mine?

My hands turn to fists as I snap my eyes back toward hers, making her suck in a sharp gasp at my reaction. “Not mine?” I grit out.

Her lip quivers, giving away the only sign of emotion. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” My voice raises so loud she jumps. The veins in my temple pulsate, every fiber of my being coiled tight with rage. “Sorry?” I repeat with a venomous tone. “Who the fuck’s the father?” I step toward her, making her back hit the wall until she’s boxed in beneath me. “Who the fuck is the father?”

She’s turned my whole world upside down again, and I hate her for it.

I stepped up. I became the man I wanted to be. The husband and father I wanted to be for her and our bump. My entire world was turned on an axis for her, and this is how she repays me?

“Answer the fucking question!” Spittle flies from my mouth. I slam my fist into the wall behind her, making her startle.

She’s taking everything away from me that I care about. My eyes close with emotion, but I’m unwilling to let the tears spill over. Not when I deserve answers. Opening my eyes once again, I stare into the blackened orbs of the woman I’ve fallen in love with. The crook, the cheat, the con artist.

“Aldo. Aldo’s the baby’s father.” Her words slice into my heart, the agony of her betrayal too much to bear as I stumble backward. Uncontrollable tears spill from my eyes at the thought of another man touching her, fathering my baby. The one I talk to every morning, the one whose clothes I folded into drawers earlier today. The one I love.

“We couldn’t be together. He’s a soldier.”

The fuzziness in my head finds it hard to concentrate on what she’s saying.

“He wouldn’t have been good enough.” She wrings her hands in front of herself before settling them on bump, and I want nothing more than to rip her hands away, tear her away from her baby like she has done to me.

The silence stretches between us, both of us uncertain of what move to make. So many things unsaid, yet nothing being spoken at all.

My happiness was just an illusion after all.

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