The Night I Heard Him Call Her Mine

I packed one suitcase and sat in the dark until evening.

I called called Enzo again and again, because some part of me still wanted the truth from his mouth. I wanted to know how a man could kiss his wife goodnight and then walk into another woman’s bed.

All I got back was one cold line.

It was close to midnight when I heard the lock turn.

Enzo stepped inside, saw my red eyes, and went still for half a second. Then he crossed the room fast, pulled me into his arms, and touched my hands with a frown. “You’re freezing. How many times have I told you not to wait up for me?”

He wrapped me in the blanket and climbed in behind me, trying to warm me with his body.

Years ago, before he took over the Moretti family, someone inside the syndicate tried to bury him. Men came after us night after night. There were engines outside the house at all hours, footsteps in alleys, gunshots too close to the walls. I almost never slept. Enzo held me through every nightmare and swore no one would ever touch me while he was alive.

We live in a guarded townhouse now. He runs half the city. No one hunts us anymore.

So why did my heart feel colder than it had back then?

I opened my mouth to ask him when he had started lying to me.

Then I caught the scent on his shirt.

Warm milk. Baby powder.

My stomach turned so hard I shoved him off me and ran for the bathroom.

By the time Enzo reached me, I was bent over the sink, shaking. He rubbed my back and called our family doctor, “My wife is sick. Be here in five minutes.”

I pressed my palm to my lower stomach and prayed for one thing only.

Please do not let there be a child.

The doctor arrived within minutes, and checked me over, then held out a pregnancy test. “Have you had nausea? Trouble eating? It may be early.”

Enzo’s whole face changed. He took my hand and brought me into the bathroom himself. “Gianna,” he said, already smiling, already breathless, “are we finally having a baby?”

My fingers would not stop trembling.

Three minutes later, the second line appeared. Enzo stared at them, then at me. His eyes filled first.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered.

He sent the doctor out for vitamins, supplements, anything I might need. He sat at the edge of the bed reading pregnancy care guides like they were sacred texts.

I watched him and could not understand why this child had come now, of all times.

Years ago, I got caught in crossfire during a war between two crews fighting over Moretti territory. I threw myself over Enzo before the second round hit. I woke up in a hospital bed with stitches in my side and blood all over the sheets.

That was how we lost our first baby.

Afterward, the doctors told me getting pregnant again might not happen easily. I spent five years on medications, injections, appointments, and hope that kept ending in silence.

Nothing happened.

Then I caught my husband with the woman he had never truly left, and suddenly there was a child.

I looked at Enzo and held on to the last shred of hope I had left. If he told me the truth now, maybe I could still force myself to believe there was something worth saving.

“Enzo, is there something you need to tell me?”

His phone rang before he could answer.

He glanced at the screen, and that single look told me more than any confession could have.

He turned back to me, bent down, and kissed my forehead. “Something came up. I need to handle it.”

I caught his hand before he could pull away. “Give me three minutes.”

The phone kept ringing.

He gave me that familiar helpless smile, the one that used to work on me every time. “We’ll talk when I get back. Tomorrow is yours. All day.”

Half an hour after he left, a message came from an unknown number.

The photo showed the man who had just told me he was going to work with his mouth on Rosa’s, their child smiling in her arms.