"Welcome, Signorina Ricci," the pilot greeted.
I nodded and stepped onto the private jet without breaking stride.
If anyone found my appearance strange, they were polite enough not to show it. The blood-streaked trousers were hidden beneath borrowed flannels, a baseball cap pulled low over my head. Still, I couldn't help the quiet relief that settled in when I saw the cabin prepared exactly as it always was. Shopping bags were arranged neatly on the leather seats, their familiar logos staring back at me. My assistant's handiwork.
I didn't pause to look through them.
Instead, I moved straight toward the rear of the jet, my fingers brushing the bulkhead as I walked, grounding myself with each step. The private room waited at the end of the narrow corridor. Quiet, insulated and untouched by what had just unfolded in the city below. I stopped there only long enough to collect myself before turning back and took my seat next to the bags.
Once settled, I gave the smallest nod to signal that I was ready to takeoff.
A stewardess approached, her expression professionally neutral as she leaned closer. "Is there anything you'd like to drink, ma'am?"
"Red wine," I said. "The usual."
She nodded and withdrew without another word.
I leaned back as the plane began to taxi, watching the runway slide past the window as we moved into position. It was only then, when there was nothing left to do but wait, that everything came crashing down.
Dario's death. How close I had come to marrying him. The sick irony that the plan had been mine to begin with.
I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose.
Two lines.
I'm pregnant.
The world seemed to pause around me.
My breath caught, my chest tightening. Not with panic, but with something warmer, fuller. Fear hovering at the edges, but it was eclipsed by a quiet, blooming joy. It was too soon. We certainly hadn't planned this. And yet, nothing had ever felt more right.
I found myself smiling before I could stop it. My hands trembling as they hovered over my stomach, as if I could already feel something there. His child. Ours. Half of him, half of me.
Sure, I've been more tired and emotional lately, but I hadn't even allowed myself to imagine this happening so quickly. Starting a family had always felt like a distant horizon, something we would reach someday.
But someday had arrived early. And now that it had, I couldn't bring myself to wish it away.
I slipped the test into my pocket, washed my hands and stepped out of the bathroom, my heart beating too fast, too loud. I had to tell him. Not yet, but soon. I wanted it to be perfect.
I drifted toward the window, and the world beyond it felt unreal in its beauty.
I can't help but grin at the sight.
Even the weather was celebrating with us, defying what had been expected.
From the window, I watched as Alex set up the chairs beneath the open sky, in the backyard of his friend's villa. White fabric fluttering along the sea breeze, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed through the air. I leaned against the frame, my palm resting absently on the glass, drinking him in.
He was still dressed in his black workout clothes, his earphones loose around his neck like he had only just returned from his morning run. The wind tugged at his hair, unruly, perfect.
"Hey, Alex!" I called out.
The wind carried my voice down to him, light and reckless. For a moment, I felt like a modern-day Juliet, except my window overlooked the place we were about to be married in. The ocean stretching endlessly beyond it.
He looked up, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
Those dark green eyes, bright and alive, filled with laughter, found mine through the chaos below. His lips curved into a grin, easy and familiar. The wind messing his hair even further.
And in that moment, with the sun on the war and our future quietly unfolding inside me, everything just felt impossibly, achingly perfect.
My head throbbed the moment I opened my eyes, the remnants of the memory clinging to me like fog. I pressed my fingers to my temples, breathing through the dull ache until it eased enough for me to sink back into my seat.
I reached for the wine glass beside me and took a slow sip. Finally. My vintage.
"Do you need any aspirin, miss?" the stewardess asked quietly, already at my side.
"No," I replied, lowering the glass. "I'm fine. How long until we land?"
"Approximately three hours, Signorina," she said gently, setting a plate of delicate pastries on the side table before moving away.
Three hours. Too long to sit still.
I gathered the shopping bags at my feet and rose, heading toward the rear of the jet. The narrow corridor felt quieter, insulated from the rest of the cabin, leading to the private bedroom waiting at the end.
Once inside, I shut the door behind me and turned the lock, the click echoing softly in the room.
I set the bags down on the edge of the bed and began to undress. There was nothing hurried about it, nothing careful either. I let the ruined clothes fall where they may, the blood-stained fabric pooling at my feet, discarded without ceremony before picking them up and shoving them in an empty bag, sealing it shut.
In the en-suite, I turned the shower on and stepped beneath the spray, closing my eyes as the water struck my skin. Warmth spread over me, relentless and cleansing, carrying the grime and the blood away. I watched it spiral down the train, red thinning into pink, then disappearing altogether until only clear water remained.
It wasn't even mine.
It was Dario's.
The truth landed heavy and irreversible. He was dead because of a plan I had suggested. A future I had tried to force into place. He hadn't been my lover, but he had stood with me when it mattered. My partner. Now, he was gone and it was all my fault.
I pressed my forehead to the cool tile, breathing through the tightness in my chest. I had seen death before. Caused it. Lived with it. But this felt different. This one stayed lodged beneath my ribs. Sharp and personal, refusing to dull.
Alexandre had killed him. My Alex.
The man I had married. The man from my memories, would never have pulled that trigger. No, that man had loved me with warmth. He was gentle. The man I had seen today loved only with possession, hungry for the power only I could give him.
I pressed my palm to the tile, breathing through the ache in my chest.
This was my fault.
When I finally shut the water off, the silence closed in around me, thick and unforgiving. Somewhere between the woman I had been and the one I had become, everything I truly loved had burned.
And I knew, with sick certainty, that Alex wasn't finished with me yet.