You're lying, Dante. You were with Cara. She had a craving for those cannoli from Sal's on the east side, and since they don't deliver, you drove over an hour from the west side to get them for her. She even posted the whole thing.
Feigning nonchalance, I smiled, gently squeezing his hand. "Honey, I suddenly have a craving for those cannoli from Sal's on the east side, too," I said, resting my hands on my belly.
As if sensing my pain, the baby kicked hard. "Can you get some for me?"
Annoyance flickered across Dante's face as he pulled his hand away, frustration creeping into his expression. "Those cannoli aren't anything special. Besides, you're pretty far along. You should watch what you eat." Standing up, he straightened his cuffs, the casual authority returning to his posture like a coat he'd shrugged back on. "For the sake of our son, just bear with it a little longer, okay?"
Our son. He was so certain it would be a boy. A Moretti heir. Another name to carry the legacy forward, another generation to inherit the territory and the blood that came with it. He never once considered that the child might be a girl, or that the child might not carry his name at all.
Without waiting for a response, he muttered, "I'm going to take a shower. I'm exhausted. Why don't you call your mother and ask her to make you something?"
The bathroom door clicked shut. Water began to run. The sound of it filled the house, and I sat perfectly still on the leather couch that his mother had chosen, in the estate that his family had built, wearing the ring that bore his family's crest.
Swallowing my sobs, I gently stroked my belly and whispered, "Oh, sweetheart, you and I are about to fight a tough battle together."
The house was quiet. The soldiers stood at the gate. The water ran behind the closed door. And in the silence, I began to plan.
Dante's phone sat on the dining table, screen facing up, the way it always did. He never bothered to hide it. Not from me.
Did he really think I was that blind? Or did he simply not care enough to wonder?
The sound of water running in the master bathroom echoed through the house. Through the walls of the Moretti estate, everything carried. Every door. Every footstep. Every lie.