He Made Me Give Birth to Our Child in the Sky

Lorenzo tenderly kissed the faint scratches marring Bianca's delicate skin, the marks she claimed were left from her fall. His gaze, the one that had signed men into the ground without a flicker, softened with pain, as if the mere sight of her injuries broke him. On the bed that had once been mine, the two of them indulged in passion, their bodies entwined beneath the sheets.

Above them, the union portrait swayed slightly with the motion. My eyes were fixed on the photo, on the woman I used to be, the one who once gazed at Lorenzo with all the love in the world. In return, his face, even in that captured moment, was indifferent.

That was when I realized, even a soul could shed tears.

At least Lorenzo could rest easy now. There was no chance of me ever coming between them again.

Because I was already dead.

When Lorenzo first came for me, I was so terrified I tried to run. My swollen, eight-months-pregnant belly made it nearly impossible, but I still stumbled forward, desperate. He stood there watching, his arms folded, the two fingers on his signet ring gone perfectly still, as I ran aimlessly like a cornered animal. In the end, it was useless. His enforcers easily caught me and dragged me back.

Losing patience, Lorenzo forced me onto the cold seat of the drop tower, the rusted skeleton of a carnival long abandoned at the edge of Moretti territory, where no witness would ever wander and no scream would carry. His hands pinned me down until the thick straps and ropes bound my limbs in place. I screamed and pleaded, my voice cracking as the ride began to lift me higher and higher into the sky.

I was still screaming when I felt a hot gush of liquid flow down my legs. My water had broken. I sobbed, gasping for breath, begging him, begging my husband, to save our child.

For a moment, just one fleeting moment, I saw hesitation flicker in his eyes. But before hope could bloom, the soft voice beside him spoke up.

Bianca leaned into his side, her face pale and pitiful, her thumb rubbing the pad of her fingers as if smoothing an invisible seam. "I thought Adriana's due date wasn't until next week? But... she does look scared. She even wet herself before the ride went up... Maybe we should just let it go. I'm fine now anyway."

That was all it took. In the next breath, Lorenzo's expression twisted with disgust.

"Adriana! You're vile. Using our child just to win my sympathy? Stay up there and think about what you've done!"

A hundred yards above the ground, the wind howled, cutting through my thin dress like a blade. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, but the pain twisting in my abdomen was even worse.

The baby was coming.

I thrashed against the ropes, the fibers cutting into my wrists until layers of skin peeled away. Blood dripped down my arms, but I didn't stop. My fingers clawed desperately at the knots until, somehow, they began to loosen.

The third time the ride shot upward, I gathered every last ounce of strength I had left. And that's when I heard it, a fragile, kitten-like cry.

My baby was born, right there in the sky.

I was too weak to hold it, too broken to even see if it was a boy or a girl. Before I could reach out, the ride jolted violently. The tower had reached its peak again.

The next second, it plunged.

The tiny, fragile body was ripped from my arms. My baby, so small, so helpless, slammed into the unforgiving ground below.

I reached for it, screaming until my throat gave out, my ruined right hand curling uselessly toward my belly where it had learned to guard what I loved, but my shredded fingers couldn't catch hold. All I could do was watch as that perfect little life was reduced to nothing but blood and flesh on the cold concrete.

My own blood followed, painting the air crimson, a midsummer snowfall of death.

In that final, agonized scream, my breath gave out.

And where was Lorenzo?

He was nowhere near me. Instead, he'd summoned the finest physicians the Family's money could quietly buy, not for me, not for our child, but for Bianca. All because he didn't want a shallow scratch on her arm to leave a scar.

He brought her fresh roses, carefully selected from a florist who imported them from halfway across the world. He even secured a one-of-a-kind designer necklace, placing it gently in her hands to comfort her fragile nerves.

When one of the household soldiers tried to report what had happened to me, Lorenzo cut him off without hesitation.

"Even if she's dead, she brought it upon herself," he said, without a trace of emotion.

"In two days, it'll be her due date. I'll bring Adriana over to apologize to you," Lorenzo said, his fingers lazily stroking Bianca's hair as she curled up in his lap.

Bianca traced light circles on his chest with her delicate fingers, her head resting softly against him.

"Maybe we should just forget it," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with guilt, holding the tremor a beat too long. "I believe Adriana didn't mean to do it. In the end, it's my fault. I shouldn't have come back. But... I just wanted to be by your side. I never wanted to cause trouble between you two."

Lorenzo caught her wandering hand, his voice unbearably tender.

"Bianca, you've saved my life. Just for that, I'll protect you until the day I die."

He gently brushed her hair back, his gaze darkening with affection. "Adriana's my wife. She should have embraced you with me. But instead, she kept targeting you, forcing you to the edge."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of rage seeping through his soft words. "I don't even want to imagine... if my men hadn't pulled you off that roof in time, I could've lost you forever. I would never have forgiven myself."