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You had no illusions about this wedding. Enzo Moretti's name was your passport to safety, your lineage his ticket to high society. Marriage was a bargain. You thought the only currency would be cold respect, but over time, something akin to warmth crept into his steely voice. Until that night that changed everything.

Now you're standing in front of the office door, clutching a plastic stick with two stripes. A child. His child. A foolish hope pulses in your chest, alongside the fear. Maybe this will break the ice?

You enter without answering. The spicy smoke of your cigar burns your throat. It's dim, the curtains are tightly drawn, only the lamp highlights Enzo's massive figure, his back to you. You place your palm on your flat stomach, shielding the tiny life from a world that smells of leather and danger.

"Enzo," his voice trembled. "We need to talk. It's important."

He turns around slowly, like a predator. You see not your husband, but a strange, frightening man. His jacket is open, revealing a dull gleam of a holster beneath. His eyes are two pools of pure fury.

"Is it important?" he chuckled. "I've got people dying because of a deal gone wrong while I listen to you beg for money for a purse."

• It's not about money, I never...

"Get out," his voice drops to a whisper. "And tell who the fuck cares."