“Damien Cross,” he said softly. The name sounded like poison in his mouth. “You work for Cross.”
“I don’t! I did it once. I didn’t take anything that night. I swear on my parents’ graves, I didn’t take a single file. I was scared and I left before—” I sucked in a breath. “He’s texting me now. He says I took something from your room and he’ll tell you if I don’t meet him tonight.”
Liam stepped forward. “He’s been harassing her for weeks.”
Alessandro finally looked at Liam again, really looked at him. “And you are?”
“Liam Carter. Her best friend. Her family. The person who’s been watching her throw up every morning for a week and pretend it’s a stomach bug.”
Silence fell so complete I could hear the old radiator ticking.
Alessandro turned back to me. His eyes searched my face, then dropped, just for a second, to where my coat hung open over my stomach. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t move at all.
“Are you in trouble, Elizabeth?” he asked, and his voice was barely audible. “Are you safe?”
The kindness in it undid me.
“No,” I whispered. And then, because I couldn’t carry it one more second, I put both hands over my belly. My fingers trembled against the cheap fabric. “I’m pregnant.”
The chapel air seemed to leave the room.
Alessandro stared at my hands. His lips parted. No sound came out. Color drained from his face, then rushed back. He took one involuntary step toward me, then stopped himself, his hand lifting and hovering in the space between us like he was afraid to touch me and afraid not to.
“Mine?” he asked, voice hoarse.
I nodded, tears streaming now. “Six weeks. From that night. I found out this morning.”
He made a sound, small and gutted. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them they were bright with something fierce and shattered and trying not to shatter me too.
He knelt.
Right there on the cold chapel floor, in front of the pew, Alessandro Vitali knelt so his eyes were level with my waist, with my hands. He didn’t touch. He just looked up at me, breathing hard.
“Hey,” he whispered to me, to us. “Hey, look at me.”
I looked through tears.
“I’m here,” he said. “You’re not alone in this. Do you hear me? You are not alone.”
A sob broke out of me so loud it echoed off the wood. I covered my mouth.
The chapel door slammed open with a bang that made us all jolt.
“Touching. Really touching.”
Damien Cross stood in the doorway, flanked by Marla, my supervisor, clutching her purse like a shield. Damien was in his fifties, silver hair slicked back, smile that never reached his eyes. He clapped once, slowly.
“Did you really think you could play both sides, sweetheart?” he said to me. “Emma, Elizabeth, whatever you’re calling yourself today.” He looked at Alessandro with open contempt. “Vitali. Always so noble. You didn’t even background-check your one-night girl? She’s been on my payroll for a month. She took photos of your ledger. She took the Obsidian contract. I have her on camera.”
Alessandro rose slowly to his feet. He moved in front of me without seeming to move at all, one hand back, just brushing my wrist, telling me to stay behind him.
“You’re lying,” Alessandro said calmly, but his shoulders were steel.
“Am I?” Damien pulled out his phone. “I have the texts. The payment receipt. I have Marla here to swear she saw you slip a USB into your little borrowed clutch that night. Chicago PD would love to hear how the great Vitali Foundation leaks donor data through its whores—”
“Don’t you dare,” Liam snarled, stepping forward.
Marla flinched. “He made me,” she burst out, voice thin. “He said he’d fire me if I didn’t give her the envelope. I didn’t know he’d—”
