He didn’t ask why. He didn’t question my voice.
He only asked where I was.
I broke down the moment I heard him.
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of helicopter blades cut through the air. A private chopper landed on the roof, doors opening before it fully stopped. Doctors moved with precision, calm and fast.
They lifted me inside.
The helicopter was a flying medical unit, fully equipped, lights bright and steady.
For the first time since marrying into the D’Amico family, I felt like I might survive.
The doctors worked fast, moving like they knew every second mattered, scalpels cutting across my swollen belly, pain stabbing through me even with the anesthesia.
Time blurred.
Finally, someone exhaled. “She’s out.”
I waited for a cry, any sound from my baby, but there was nothing.
My chest tightened like someone had stabbed me. I could barely whisper through tears, “Is… is my baby okay?”
One of the doctors pressed me gently back against the bed. “It’s not looking good. We need to get her to the island for proper treatment.”
I nodded, too numb to argue, my body trembling from everything I’d endured.
As the helicopter lifted off, I reached for my father’s aide. “What about… Giovanni? He’ll come looking, right?”
He squeezed my hand, calm. “Don’t worry. Your father’s got it all covered.”
I wished I could believe him.
I saw him then, Giovanni, standing outside the operating room like a shadow over everything, eyes scanning like a hawk. He barely blinked when the doors opened, first words sharp and mocking.
“And Bianca… she’s okay, right? Can’t have anything happen to my little golden girl.”
He stepped inside, scooped her up, and held her close, smiling like a proud father. “Look at you, sweet pea. Pretty, huh? Just like your mama. Too bad someone else’s kid can’t compete.”
He paused, then laughed low, cruel. “Wonder who Florence’s kid will even look like? Probably like her, huh? Poor thing, stuck with a mother who can’t even survive a heater.”
After rocking the baby to sleep, he straightened and started leaving, already thinking ahead. Tomorrow, he’d go back to fetch me.
Then he saw his secretary waiting, white-knuckled and stiff. He tossed him the car keys without a word.
“Go,” he said. “Bring her in. The wife and the kid. No excuses.”
The secretary didn’t move. Fear made him rooted to the spot.
Giovanni’s patience snapped. “What, too scared to move? You’re not gonna piss me off, are you?”
Finally, the secretary stammered, voice trembling like a scared kid. “Mr… Mrs. D’Amico… and the baby… they’re… gone.”
Giovanni laughed, low and dark, like he was mocking a rival boss. “Gone? Really? You sound like you’re telling me a bad joke. Guess even my wife can’t get her act together, huh?”
But his secretary cried, “Boss, here's the report. They really died.”
