CHAPTER 2: AFTERMATH
Lucian's POV
The phone call came at 6:47 AM.
Lucian Romano had learned long ago that nothing good ever came from a phone call before dawn. He'd been awake already he rarely slept more than a few hours, a habit born from years of needing to stay alert, stay alive but he'd been content to lie there with Kora curled against his side, her head on his chest, her breathing soft and even.
He'd been watching her sleep, which should have alarmed him. He didn't do this. Didn't stay the night with women. Didn't watch them sleep like some lovesick fool.
But there was something about her. Something that had gripped him from the moment he'd seen her on that dance floor, moving with an unselfconscious grace that had drawn his eye immediately. Something that had only intensified when he'd discovered she was a virgin, that he was her first, that no other man had ever touched her the way he had.
Mine, something primitive in him had growled. Mine.
Which was insane. He didn't know her. Didn't even know her real name he was certain Kora was a lie, though he found it oddly endearing that she'd felt the need to protect herself that way.
The phone buzzed again, vibrating angrily against the nightstand.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, Lucian extracted himself from the bed and grabbed the phone, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door before answering.
"What." It wasn't a question. It was a command.
"Boss, we have a problem." Marco's voice was tight, controlled, which meant the situation was bad. Marco didn't panic easily.
Lucian's jaw clenched. "Explain."
"Luca made a move. Hit one of our shipments in Napoli. Took out three of our men."
Ice flooded Lucian's veins, cold and sharp. His half-brother. Of course it was Luca. The little bastard had been getting bolder, more reckless, testing the boundaries of Lucian's patience.
"Casualties?"
"Two dead. One critical. Families are already asking questions. This could escalate fast if you're not here."
Lucian closed his eyes, rage and grief warring in his chest. Two of his men. Two families he'd have to face, two widows he'd have to compensate, two sets of children who would grow up without fathers because of Luca's ambition.
"The board is demanding your presence. If you're not back within twelve hours, they're threatening to call a vote. Luca's already spreading rumors that you're unfit to lead."
Of course he was. This was exactly the kind of move Luca would make strike when Lucian was out of the country, try to paint him as weak, as absent.
"I need you back, boss. Now. Before this escalates into a full war."
Lucian looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair was disheveled from sleep and from Kora's fingers running through it. There was a mark on his neck where she'd bitten down when she came apart in his arms. He looked... different. Softer, somehow.
He couldn't afford soft. Not in his world.
"When's the next flight?"
"I can have the jet ready in two hours. You'll be back in Milan by tonight, local time."
Two hours. He looked back toward the bathroom door, toward the bed where Kora was sleeping. He wanted to wake her. Wanted to explain. Wanted to get her number, her real name, wanted to promise he'd come back.
But what could he offer her? A life in his world? A world of violence and death and constant danger?
She was a student. Young. Innocent. She deserved better than what he could give her.
And he needed to leave. Now. Before everything he'd built came crashing down.
"Have the jet ready. I'll be there."
"Yes, boss."
Lucian ended the call and stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.
He should leave a note. His phone number. Something.
He grabbed a pen and hotel stationery from the bathroom counter and wrote quickly: Had to leave for an emergency. You were incredible. Leave your number with the front desk I'll call you. - L
He stared at the note. It wasn't enough. It didn't come close to expressing what he wanted to say, but it would have to do.
He'd call the hotel later, get her information, explain everything properly.
Lucian dressed quickly, silently. He placed the note on the nightstand on her side of the bed, then paused to look at her one more time.
She was beautiful in sleep peaceful, younger-looking, vulnerable. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could see the faint marks he'd left on her neck and collarbone. Evidence of what they'd shared.
He reached out, almost touching her face, then pulled back.
He had to go.
But he would come back for her.
In the hallway, he pulled out his phone and called the front desk.
"Mr. Romano, how can we help you?"
"There's a woman in my suite. When she wakes, I need you to do something for me."
"Of course, sir."
"Send up breakfast. A full spread. Coffee, pastries, fruit, eggs everything. And..." He pulled out his wallet, extracting five hundred-dollar bills. "I'm leaving this at the desk. Give it to her when she checks out. Tell her it's for car service and anything else she might need."
"Absolutely, Mr. Romano. Is there a message you'd like us to deliver?"
"Tell her..." What could he say? "Tell her I had to leave for an emergency, but I left my number on the nightstand. Make sure she gets the note."
"Of course, sir. We'll take care of everything."
Lucian hung up and headed for the elevator.
Everything would be fine. He'd handle the situation in Milan, then he'd call the hotel, get her information, and reach out to her properly.
He'd explain everything.
She'd understand.
They had something special she had to feel it too.
As he slid into the back of the waiting car, his phone buzzed with another update from Marco. More problems. More fires to put out.
Lucian looked back at The Plaza one last time, then forced himself to focus on what was ahead.
He'd come back for her.
He promised himself that.
Thirteen hours later - Milan
The meeting with the families of the fallen men had been brutal. Lucian had looked into the eyes of two widows and promised them that their husbands' deaths would not go unanswered. He'd held children who would grow up without fathers and felt the weight of his responsibility like a stone in his chest.
By the time he made it back to his office, it was past midnight Milan time late afternoon in New York.
He pulled out his phone to call The Plaza, to get Kora's information.
"The Plaza Hotel, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Lucian Romano. I stayed in the penthouse suite last night. I need information about the woman who was in my room this morning."
"One moment, sir."
Lucian waited, his fingers drumming on his desk.
"Mr. Romano, I'm looking at the notes here. The breakfast was delivered at 12:15 PM, but the room was empty. It appears the guest had already left."
His stomach dropped. "What about the money? Did she pick it up?"
"No, sir. The envelope is still here at the front desk, unclaimed."
"And the note I left?"
"I'm not sure, sir. Housekeeping found the room empty when they went to deliver the breakfast. The note may have been taken, or it may have been accidentally discarded. Would you like me to check with..."
"No." Lucian's mind was racing. She'd left before the breakfast arrived. Before anyone could give her his message about calling. "Did she leave a name? Any information?"
"I'm sorry, sir. The room was booked under your name. We have no information about your guest."
Of course not. Why would they?
"If she comes back, if she calls, I need you to get her information and contact me immediately."
"Absolutely, Mr. Romano. We'll make a note in our system."
Lucian hung up and stared at his phone.
She'd left. Early. Before his message could be delivered.
Which meant she thought he'd just... left her. Abandoned her after taking her virginity.
"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He'd fix this. He just needed to find her.
How hard could it be? New York wasn't that big.
Natasha's POV
Natasha barely made it through her shift.
Rick had been furious that she was late, had made her work the worst tables the ones with screaming kids and customers who never tipped. Her feet were killing her, her body ached from last night, and every time she moved wrong, she was reminded of what she'd done. Of what she'd lost.
Her virginity to a stranger who'd disappeared without a word.
God, she was so stupid.
"You okay?" Jenny asked during their break, studying her face with concern. "You look like you're about to cry."
"I'm fine."
"Nat..."
"I said I'm fine!" The words came out harsher than she intended, and Jenny drew back, hurt flashing across her face.
"Okay," Jenny said quietly. "But when you want to talk about it, I'm here."
Natasha felt tears prick her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just... I really don't want to talk about it right now."
"That bad, huh?"
Worse. So much worse than Jenny could imagine.
When Natasha finally got home that night, she went straight to the shower. She stood under the hot water for a long time, trying to wash away the feeling of his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was something precious.
All lies.
She'd been just another conquest. Another naive girl who'd fallen for a pretty face and an Italian accent.
The worst part was the tiny, pathetic part of her that had hoped when she'd woken up alone that maybe there'd be a note. An explanation. Something.
But there had been nothing.
Just an empty bed and the hollow feeling in her chest that told her she'd made a terrible mistake.
Two weeks later
"Nat, you need to eat something."
Natasha stared at the plate of eggs Jenny had made, her stomach churning. The smell alone was making her nauseous.
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't been hungry for three days. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just... stressed about midterms."
It wasn't entirely a lie. She was stressed about midterms. And about the fact that she'd been exhausted lately. And nauseous. And her period was late.
But her period was always a little irregular when she was stressed, so that didn't mean anything.
Right?
"Maybe you should see a doctor," Jenny suggested. "You look pale."
"I'm fine."
But she wasn't fine.
Three days later, when she still felt like death and her period still hadn't come, Natasha bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy three blocks away far enough that she wouldn't run into anyone she knew.
She took it in the bathroom at work during her break, her hands shaking so badly she could barely open the package.
Three minutes. The box said to wait three minutes.
Those were the longest three minutes of her life.
When she finally looked at the test, the two pink lines were clear as day.
Positive.
Natasha's legs gave out, and she sat down hard on the closed toilet seat, staring at the test in her trembling hands.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
With Lucian's baby.
A stranger's baby.
A man whose last name she didn't even know.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no, no."
This couldn't be happening. She was twenty years old. She was barely making rent. She was supposed to graduate in two years, get a good job, build a life.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. "You okay in there?"
Natasha shoved the test into her pocket, flushed the toilet for appearances, and washed her hands.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Her face was white. Her eyes were huge and scared.
She looked like a child.
And she was going to be a mother.
One week later - The Clinic
"Ms. Samuel?"
Natasha looked up from her hands, which she'd been staring at for the past twenty minutes in the waiting room.
The nurse smiled kindly. "The doctor is ready for you."
Natasha followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and into a small examination room.
She'd come here to discuss her options. That's what the website had said. We help you explore all your options.
Adoption. Abortion. Keeping the baby.
The doctor was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and graying hair. "Natasha, is it?"
"Yes."
"And you're here because you recently found out you're pregnant?"
"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Okay. Can you tell me about your situation? Are you in school? Working?"
"Both," Natasha said. "I'm a junior at NYU. Business major. And I work at a diner to pay for... everything."
The doctor nodded, making notes. "And the father?"
Natasha's throat tightened. "Not in the picture."
"Does he know?"
"No."
"Are you planning to tell him?"
Was she? How could she? She didn't have his number. Didn't know his last name. Didn't know anything except that he was Italian, that he'd been in New York for business, and that he'd made her feel special for exactly one night before disappearing.
"I can't," she said finally. "I don't... I don't know how to reach him."
The doctor's expression softened with understanding and pity. "I see. Well, let's talk about your options..."
The doctor explained everything. The timeline. The procedures. The costs.
Abortion would be simplest. Relatively affordable. She could go on with her life like this had never happened.
Adoption meant carrying the baby to term, then giving it away. Nine months of pregnancy, of her body changing, of people asking questions. And then... giving away a baby she'd carried for nine months.
Keeping it meant... everything changing. Dropping out of school, probably. Working more hours while pregnant, then figuring out childcare. Raising a baby alone at twenty years old.
All three options felt impossible.
"You don't have to decide today," the doctor said gently. "Take some time. Think about it. Talk to people you trust."
Natasha nodded numbly.
That night
"You're what?"
Jenny's voice was so loud that Natasha was grateful their apartment walls were thick.
"Pregnant," Natasha repeated, her voice small.
She'd finally told her. Couldn't keep it in anymore. The secret was eating her alive.
Jenny sat down hard on the couch, her face cycling through shock, disbelief, and something that might have been anger. "From that night? From... him?"
"Yes."
"Oh my god. Nat. Oh my god." Jenny's hands were in her hair. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"How? I don't have his number. I don't know his last name. I don't know anything except his first name and that he's from Italy."
"We could try to find him. Social media, maybe? Or "
"No." The word came out sharp. "He left, Jenny. He got what he wanted and he left. I'm not going to track him down like some... some pathetic groupie begging him to care."
Jenny was quiet for a moment. "So what are your options?"
Natasha told her what the doctor had said. Explained each option, her voice mechanical, detached.
"What do you want to do?" Jenny asked finally.
"I don't know." Natasha's voice cracked. "I'm twenty years old, Jen. I can barely take care of myself. How am I supposed to take care of a baby?"
"Hey." Jenny moved to sit beside her, pulling her into a hug. "Whatever you decide, I'm here. Okay? You're not alone in this."
That's when Natasha finally let herself cry. Great, heaving sobs that shook her whole body. For the life she'd thought she'd have. For the stupid mistake she'd made. For the baby growing inside her that she didn't know if she wanted or could handle.
For the man who'd made her feel special for one night and then vanished like smoke.
Two weeks later
Natasha sat in her childhood bedroom in her parents' house in upstate New York, staring at the ceiling.
She'd had to tell them. Had to come home and face them and admit what she'd done.
It had gone about as well as expected.
Her mother had cried. Her father had paced and ranted about "that boy" and demanded to know who he was so he could "have a talk with him."
Natasha had refused to give details. What was the point? She'd never see Lucian again anyway.
"We'll support whatever decision you make," her mother, Tiffany, had said finally, though her voice was tight with disappointment. "But Natasha... a baby is a huge responsibility. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
Was she? No. Absolutely not.
But every time she thought about the alternatives, something in her chest tightened.
This baby this tiny cluster of cells that was growing inside her was half her. Her DNA. Her blood.
How could she just... get rid of it?
How could she carry it for nine months and then give it away?
"I think..." Natasha's voice was quiet. "I think I want to keep it."
Her father stopped pacing. Her mother's eyes went wide.
"Are you sure?" Tiffany asked.
No. She wasn't sure about anything.
"Yes," she lied.
Four months later
Natasha's belly was starting to show now, a small but definite bump that she couldn't hide under baggy clothes anymore.
She'd dropped out of NYU. Couldn't afford the tuition anymore, and the schedule was impossible to maintain while pregnant and working.
She'd picked up extra shifts at the diner, saving every penny she could for when the baby came.
The baby. Her baby.
She still couldn't quite believe it.
The doctor had told her it was a boy. A son.
Natasha had cried in the examination room, overwhelmed by the reality of it.
A boy.
She was going to have a son.
"Have you thought about names?" Jenny asked one night as they sat on the couch, Jenny's hand on Natasha's belly, feeling the baby kick.
"Jordan," Natasha said. "I want to name him Jordan."
"Jordan Samuel," Jenny tested it out. "I like it. Strong. Classic."
Jordan Samuel.
Not Jordan Romano.
Because Lucian didn't get to be part of this. He'd had his chance, and he'd left.
This baby was hers.
Nine months later
Labor was the worst pain Natasha had ever experienced.
Eighteen hours of contractions, of screaming, of thinking she was going to die.
But when they finally placed Jordan in her arms all six pounds, eight ounces of him, with dark hair and eyes that would probably turn dark like his father's everything else faded away.
"Hi, baby," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Hi, Jordan. I'm your mama."
He was perfect. Tiny and wrinkled and perfect.
And he was hers.
Jenny was crying. Her mother was crying. Even her father had tears in his eyes.
"He's beautiful, Nat," Tiffany said softly.
He was. He was beautiful.
And he looked exactly like Lucian.
The same dark hair. The same shape to his face. When he opened his eyes, Natasha could already see they'd be dark.
She'd never be able to look at her son without seeing the man who'd left her.
But that was okay.
Because Jordan was here. Jordan was real. Jordan was hers.
And she would give him everything. Everything that man had failed to give her.
Love. Stability. A mother who would never leave.
"I love you," she whispered to her son. "I love you so much, baby boy. And I'm never going to leave you. Never."
Jordan made a small sound, his tiny hand wrapping around her finger.
And Natasha knew, with absolute certainty, that she'd made the right choice.
Whatever came next, they would face it together.