Five Years Later, I hid his Heir

Lake Como, Five Years Earlier.  The emerald choker was strangling her. Elena clawed at the seven-carat monstrosity, digging into her throat—the Vitale heirloom Dante had fastened with such tenderness twelve hours earlier at their wedding. Now it felt like a slave collar. It was storming outside, the rain was pelting against the villa's windows, and she was pacing across the floor of her walk-in closet, leaning her forehead against the cold marble as if the surface should induce calm in her head. Blood rushed to her mouth, and she palatably tasted the slick, metallic substance as she automatically bit her lip. Three more minutes. She’d timed Giancarlo’s men perfectly. The sedative she’d slipped into Dante’s brandy would keep him unconscious. The storm would mask sound. The guards always turned their backs for exactly forty-five seconds during shift change. A cramp coiling in her stomach. Elena suppressed a cry and rested her hands on the slight swelling beneath her smooth nightdress. Not now. Not yet. The doctor’s voice slithered through her memory: "A tragic miscarriage, signora (lady). These things happen." Liar. Five Hours Earlier The wedding reception sparkled like a gilded cage. One thousand candles reflected the Lake Como waters below the villa, turning the night liquid gold. Dante spun her across the terrace, his hand possessive at her waist. "You’re trembling, moglie (wife)," he murmured against her temple. "Just cold," She lied. Her gaze snagged on Giancarlo across the ballroom—Dante’s uncle, watching them with the hungry eyes of a jackal. "Ignore him." Dante’s fingers tightened. "Tonight, you’re all mine." As soon as he rose to handle a conflict between opposing families, though, Giancarlo materialized next to her bearing two champagne flutes. He said, beaming and offering her a drink, "Here's to fresh starts." His ruby ring glittered like a tiny blood drop. Elena pretended to sip. "I’m expecting, zio (uncle). No alcohol." Giancarlo’s smile didn’t falter. "I know." What a surprise!"He moved nearer, his breath smelling of grappa and cloves. "Dante's initial successor! How unexpected!" Such... valuable load.". His hand lightly touched her belly. Elena flinched as if burned. The closet safe opened with a sigh. Inside: stacks of euros, a pearl-handled pistol, and the item she’d come for—the Vitale diamond cufflinks. Not for their value. For what was engraved inside—Sofia’s emergency coordinates. The closet door opened as she reached toward them. In the doorway, Dante stood silhouetted; his black silk robe hung open to expose the scar from Giancarlo's final murder attempt—one she had sewn up herself. He murmured, "You're bleeding.” She hadn’t realized the emerald pendant had broken skin. A crimson trail slid down her collarbone, disappearing beneath lace. Dante crossed the room in three strides, his hands closing around the emerald clasp. For a heartbeat, Elena thought he might choke her. Instead, the necklace fell away, landing soundlessly on the carpet. "Look at me." His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it. She raised her eyes—those endless black eyes that had watched her across boardroom tables and tangled sheets. Another cramp seized her. She doubled over. Dante turned his gaze to her stomach, unfathomable. Then he reached past her, took the cufflinks, and shoved them into her hand. He spoke, breath warm against her ear, "Take the Alfa Romeo in the east garage.” "Keys under the mat. Drive to Lugano. Sofia will meet you." Elena’s mind reeled. A test? A trap? "You knew about" "Every time you touched your stomach during meetings. Every time you flinched when Giancarlo mentioned Switzerland." Out of nowhere, the sky split apart, and a flash of lightning streaked through the scene for an instant. "Go. Before I change my mind." The escape tunnel reeked of rat excrement and moist earth. Elena crawled on hands and knees; her wedding dress caught on roots and rusty iron. Diamond cufflinks landed in her palm, teeth-like. Halfway. A sound froze her boots scraping stone too early for a guard change. "Check the tunnel," Giancarlo’s voice echoed. "She couldn’t have gotten far." Elena thrust herself into a c***k as flashlight beams scanned the route. She breathed rapidly, putting one hand on her stomach, as if trying to hold the air in. Please don’t kick now. The cramp hit like a blade. A whimper escaped her. "There!" She ran. Giancarlo's crew came out of the dark tunnel as the Alfa Romeo's engine roared to life like a wild beast. Elena hit the gas; the car jolted; then a rapid fire of bullets hit the rear. She pleaded with the car, swerving onto the coastal road, "Faster.” Rain blurred the windshield into liquid darkness. Another cramp—vicious this time. Warmth flooded her thighs. No. Not now. In the rear-view mirror, headlights gained. Not Giancarlo’s men. Dante’s black Lamborghini, closing fast. Terror choked her. She’d failed. The Lamborghini pulled alongside. Dante’s face was a mask of fury in the lightning flashes. He gestured violently: PULL OVER. Elena shook her head, tears mixing with rain. I can’t. He swerved, clipping her fender. The Alfa fishtailed toward the cliff’s edge. "Stop!" she screamed into the storm. Dante’s eyes met hers through the downpour. For a heartbeat, she saw something raw—fear? Regret? Then he slammed his car into hers. Metal shrieked. Glass exploded. The Alfa Romeo, now out of anyone's grasp, crashed through the weak safety barrier and rolled down the hill. Elena's head hit the glass, and the impact was severe. Darkness. She awoke to blood and gas fumes. The vehicle lay upside down in a stream; icy water reached her waist. With blood all over his face, Dante was dragging her across the broken windshield. "Why?" she rasped. "Because tomorrow, Giancarlo will have you declared mentally unfit," he panted, dragging her onto the muddy bank. "They’ll take our child and make him into another monster." Headlights appeared above the cliff. Giancarlo’s men. Dante shoved a wad of euros into her hands. "Run to the border. Sofia’s waiting." "Come with us." "I can't defend you if I am dead." He kissed her passionately. "Now GO!" Elena ran. Through the woods. Through the storm. Through the agony in her womb. She didn’t stop when Giancarlo’s shots rang out behind her. Didn’t stop when the emerald pendant slipped from her pocket into the mud. Didn’t stop until she collapsed into Sofia’s arms at the Swiss checkpoint. Only then, with her aunt’s coat wrapped around her and Dante’s blood drying on her skin, did Elena Vitale allow herself to scream.