Chapter 1 - The Shadow in the Diner
I swept the plastic pregnancy test off the tile floor, jamming it deep into the bottom of my apron pocket just as Liam knocked on the bathroom door. My chest heaved as I flushed the toilet and leaned over the sink, splashing cold water against my burning face.
"Emma?" Liam’s voice came through the wood, laced with genuine worry. "You've been in there twenty minutes. Is it that stomach bug from Tuesday?"
I unlocked the door and stepped out, wiping my mouth with a hand towel. Liam stood in his flannel shirt, holding a mug of coffee. He was twenty-six, with sandy hair and kind green eyes—the only person who had stood by me when my parents' car went off the bridge three years ago.
"Just exhaustion," I lied, keeping my hand pressed firmly against the bulge in my apron pocket. "Double shifts at the diner are catching up to me."
"You're working yourself to the bone," Liam sighed, setting his coffee mug on the hall table and searching my pale face. "You don't look good, Em. Maybe you should call in sick today."
"I can't. I need the hours for tuition." I pushed past him toward my small bedroom, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Two pink lines. A child. A baby created in a high-rise suite at the Obsidian Hotel with a man whose family name was spoken in low, terrified whispers across Illinois.
I closed my bedroom door, locked it, and pulled the white stick from my pocket. I stared at it again, praying the lines would magically fade. They didn't. They glowed back at me, sharp and undeniable.
Half an hour later, I was standing behind the counter at Sal's Diner, wiping down sticky laminated menus while the morning rush buzzed around me. The smell of frying bacon and old coffee grease made my stomach roll every three minutes, forcing me to swallow hard and focus on breathing through my nose.
I was reaching under the counter for fresh napkins when the bell above the entrance door chimed. The entire diner—usually loud with construction workers and cab drivers—suddenly fell dead silent.
I straightened up and froze.
Standing at the front entrance were two men built like brick walls, clad in dark wool coats that barely concealed the shoulder holsters beneath. They scanned the diner with icy, trained eyes before stepping aside.
Through the door walked Alessandro Vitali.
In the harsh fluorescent lights of the diner, he looked even more imposing than he had under the hotel chandeliers. His dark hair was combed back, his charcoal suit tailored to perfection, and his amber eyes swept over the greasy vinyl booths with utter coldness until they landed directly on me.
My heart stopped. The napkin dispenser slipped from my numb fingers, clattering loudly against the stainless steel counter.
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Alessandro didn't look angry. He looked like a predator who had spent six weeks tracking a wounded deer and had finally cornered it in a clearing. He walked toward the counter, his polished leather shoes clicking against the cracked linoleum.
"Emma," he said softly, stopping two feet away from me. His voice was a low, smooth velvet that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "Or should I say... Elizabeth?"
