Page 234 of Caterina
This is what Papà never understood.
Power does not always come with a gun in its hand.
Sometimes it arrives as a filing, a contract, a vendor change.
Sometimes it smiles through polished teeth and waits for the men with guns to make everyone look in the wrong direction.
I look at Adrian, and the tube coming out of his mouth, the bruising on his face.
At the man who nearly died protecting not just me and my family, but his people. He left the safety of the bunker because his people were out there and needed him.
“No,” I say softly. “Not this time.”
My free hand moves to my stomach.
The motion is instinctive, though it has only been hours since I knew.
A checkup, they said.
Just to be safe.
Because I had scratches on my arm from the basement door. Bruising from this and that. Really, just because I had been in a violent event, and the hospital staff was very insistent.
So I let them.
Mostly because arguing took more energy than I had left, and I wanted to get back to Adrian’s side as soon as possible.
I expected questions. Bandages. Maybe a tetanus shot.
I did not expect them to tell me to pee in a cup.
Then bloodwork.
I did not expect a doctor to come back with a neutral expression and ask if I knew I was pregnant.
Pregnant.
The word still does not feel real.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, though there is nothing to feel yet.
Nothing anyone else would know unless I told them.
A life.
Small and hidden and impossible, existing inside me while Adrian lies unconscious in front of me.
I should be panicking.
Part of me is, I think. Somewhere. Underneath the fear for him, underneath the rage, underneath the shell companies and the hospital machines and the raw exhaustion.
I should be terrified of what this means.
Adrian is my bodyguard.
Adrian is in a coma.
Adrian has not told me he loves me.
