Emilia's POV
The pregnancy test box sat on the edge of the sink like a pink accusation. Expired. Of course it was expired—like everything else in this shithole bathroom.
I gripped the cracked porcelain and tried to breathe through the nausea, but it just kept clawing up my throat like it wanted out.
"You are not pregnant" I said out loud. Like I was commanding the universe to work in my favor.
A baby, right now, was a... complication. Which was putting it mildly.
But three weeks don't lie. Three weeks since the hotel room with Luca. Three weeks of puking in gas station bathrooms, of my hands shaking every time I caught my reflection—like I was already seeing someone else looking back.
"You done in there?" Linda's voice cut through the door. "Is it negative?!"
I shoved the unopened test into my jacket pocket. "It's food poisoning!"
"From what?" The door flew open—Linda never waited for answers. Her moss-green eyes narrowed at me, her fresh jet-black curls clashing against her tawny skin like she'd planned it that way.
"Food poisoning from what? The half-eaten protein bar you found under the car seat yesterday?"
"Yes." Even I didn't believe it.
"You're a terrible liar, Conti." She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Always have been. Take the damn test, Baby"
"Can't. It's expired"
I threw the damn test pack at her.
I pushed past her into the main room—a glorified closet with a hot plate and a stinky mattress.
"We need money." I paced, my boots crunching over dead roaches. "Real money, not whatever you scrounge lifting wallets from drunks at Marlone bar last night."
"What we need is a pregnancy test? I'm gonna go steal one for you, best friend"
Linda turned to leave and I followed her hoping to distract her. "We need money. Let talk about that instead. Liliana's not answering her burner. If Vittorio's got her—"
"Your sister's got three kids and another on the way. She's probably drowning in diapers, not informants." Linda's voice softened, just a fraction. "Sit. You're making me dizzy."
I sank onto the mattress. The springs screamed under me. "What if I found Luca? Maybe he is a secret billionaire—"
"A secret billionaire?" She asked me.
"Yes. It happens, you know"
"Yeah. In poorly written novels not real life, babe" She shook her head.
"He could be a runaway Saudi prince—"
"He's the whitest boy I know, Emilia. He's not from Saudi or a prince." Linda laughed. "A toad maybe...but not a prince"
"Ha-ha. Funny" I said sarcastically.
"Great. If you are done distracting me, let's go get you a fucking pregnancy test home kit"
Linda stood up.
"Maybe—"
"No!" Linda's eyes went hard. "No more talks of Luca!"
"He saved us!"
"He delayed us. Big difference." She tossed me a protein bar. "Eat. You're shaking."
I stared at the wrapper. It looked just like the pregnancy test box—bright, plastic, full of answers I wasn't ready for. Two lines or one line. Life or death in cheap packaging.
I stood abruptly. "I'm going out."
"Like hell you are. Your father's got eyes everywhere—"
"To get air, Lyn. Five minutes." I slammed the door before she could follow.
I made it past the amateur traps we'd set three weeks ago—the tripwire made from fishing line, the cans balanced on the doorframe. Made it down the dirt road toward the butcher shop, where the alley reeked of old blood and rot.
I stopped and leaned against the graffiti-smeared wall, trying to steady my breathing.
Linda was right. I needed a new test. A good one. One that would give me a real answer instead of this endless maybe.
Across the street, a pharmacy sign buzzed: Open 24 Hrs.
Just walk in. Buy it. Know.
Simple. But my feet wouldn't move. Fear wrapped around my chest and squeezed until I couldn't breathe. I closed my eyes and reached for the only comfort I had left—Paolo's face.
My brother. His smile when he taught me to shoot, patient and proud. The way he'd cradled his wife's belly hours before the Marchetti hit squad found them. I'd identified his body at the morgue. Two days later, I sabotaged one of Dad's arms deals just to feel something other than numb. Vittorio called it betrayal. I called it grief.
A shadow moved to my left.
I spun, reaching for the knife in my boot—
"Easy, killer." A kid emerged from the mist—couldn't have been older than eighteen, cheeks hollow, eyes older than mine. He held up a Ziploc bag of white pills. "Feeling good. Half price if you're feeling friendly."
I looked at him. "Not interested."
He shrugged. "Your loss. But hey—" he nodded toward my jacket pocket, where the expired test was probably visible through the thin fabric. "You need a test, the clinic on 9th does 'em free. No ID."
I stiffened. "How did you—"
"You've got the look. My sister had the look." He vanished into the fog before I could ask anything else. "Good luck, mama."
I stood there for a long minute, then turned around and walked back to the safehouse.
When I pushed through the door, Linda was dissembling a Glock on the windowsill, her hands moving fast and sure. A brand new pregnancy test kit was on the table beside her.
"Where's the gun from?" I asked.
"Traded my diamond earrings to a guy who knows a guy." She didn't look up. "They were fake. He didn't need to know that."
I sat down beside her. "I'm keeping it."
The gun stilled. "What?"
"The baby. If there is one." My voice cracked, but I forced the words out. "I'm keeping it."