Chapter 2: The Question He Had No Right To Ask
Part 2 ⬇️
Mara looked up.
And the world stopped making sense.
He was older than she remembered.
Harder.
The kind of face that had stopped apologizing for itself a long time ago.
But those eyes — dark, still, the kind that saw everything and gave nothing back — she would have known them anywhere.
Domenico Voss.
She had never known his last name that night.
She hadn't wanted to.
She'd told herself the whole drive home that it didn't matter, that it was one night, that she would never see him again.
She had been wrong about all three.
"You know this man?" Bianca's voice came out strange.
Thin.
Like something had punctured it.
Mara couldn't speak.
Domenico wasn't looking at Bianca at all.
He was looking at Mara — at her face, at the mark already rising on her cheek, at the arm still curled low across her stomach — and something behind his eyes shifted.
Slowly.
The way ice shifts right before it breaks.
"Stand up," he said to Mara.
Quietly.
Like Bianca wasn't even there.
"She works for me," Bianca snapped.
"Whatever she told you—"
"She didn't tell me anything." He finally looked at Bianca then, and whatever she saw in his face made her take one small step back in her designer heels.
"That's the problem."
Mara got to her feet.
Her legs were shaking.
In her closed fist, the silver bracelet pressed into her palm.
And then one of the men who had come through the gates behind Domenico stepped forward and said something low in his ear — something that made Domenico go very, very still.
He looked at Mara's stomach.
Then at her face.
"How long?" he asked.
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What Mara said next — and what Domenico did in the next sixty seconds — is something Bianca Thorne was not prepared for.
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The truth is bigger than anyone in that cemetery knew.
