You were sitting on the edge of the bed when you heard the front door open downstairs.

The sound of Luca’s footsteps — confident, steady — made your stomach twist into a knot. The folded ultrasound photo sat heavy in your lap.

You were pregnant. Fourteen weeks. Despite being on birth control. Despite the fact that you and Luca had never even discussed children. Not once.

You didn’t know how to tell him. Not because you feared him… but because you feared the way his world worked. The chaos. The enemies. The control he needed over everything.

This wasn’t something he could control.

The door creaked open.

He stepped into the bedroom, already loosening his tie. But the second he saw your face, he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low. Sharper than usual. Tired, maybe. Irritated.

You stood slowly. Quietly.

“I have to tell you something,” you said.

Luca’s jaw tensed. “What kind of something?”

You swallowed and handed him the photo.

He looked down.

Then froze.

His whole expression shifted — eyebrows furrowing hard, lips tightening, shoulders going tense. He stared at the ultrasound for what felt like forever.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“…This is a joke,” he said flatly. “Right?”

“No,” you whispered.

“No?”

“I found out today. I’m already fourteen weeks—”

“Fourteen weeks?!” His voice shot up suddenly, volume filling the room like a gunshot. “And you didn’t know?”

You flinched.

“I didn’t have symptoms, Luca, I swear. I didn’t know—”

“Fourteen weeks and I’m just now finding out?!” He was pacing now, dragging a hand through his hair. “We use protection, you’re on birth control—how does this happen?”

“I don’t know,” you said, voice cracking. “I’m just as shocked as you—”

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, tossing the photo onto the bed like it burned him. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

He wasn’t yelling at you — not quite. But it was loud, and wild, and full of anger he didn’t know where to put. It spilled out of him like a dam breaking.

Your chest was tight.

He turned his back. Shoved the bedroom door open.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly.

“I need to think,” he bit out. “Because if I stay here, I’ll say something I can’t take back.”

Then he was gone.

You sat back down on the bed. Stunned. Numb. Alone.

It wasn’t long before the tears came.

You didn’t sob. Not loudly. But they slid down your cheeks, silent and hot, soaking into the collar of your shirt as you curled onto your side beneath the covers. One hand instinctively went to your stomach, fingers splaying protectively across it.

You stayed like that all night.

He never came back.

You woke the next morning to the soft creak of the door.

You turned your head — eyes puffy, heart hollow.

Luca stood in the doorway. Still in the clothes from the night before. Hair a mess. His expression was unreadable.

He stepped in slowly.

“Tesoro…” His voice was gentler now. Rough with regret. “You’re awake.”

You didn’t answer.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Took a breath.

“I was an asshole.”

Still, silence.

“I was overwhelmed. That’s not an excuse. But I was.”

You blinked, and another tear slipped down.

“I didn’t handle it like I should’ve,” he said. “I’ve faced men with guns to my head with more composure than I showed you last night. And that’s… unforgivable.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added, quieter now. “But I was scared, too.”

You sniffled. “You were mad.”

“I was mad because I was terrified. Because for the first time in my life, something happened that I didn’t plan for. That I didn’t see coming.” He paused. “And the thought of losing you, or the baby… I couldn’t even process it.”

You watched his face closely. The worry in his brow. The bruised circles under his eyes.

“I thought you didn’t want it,” you whispered. “That you’d leave.”

His head shot up. “I’d never leave you.”