My breath hitched, my fingers curling into the thin hospital blanket. That place. The abandoned house. The field. The night I gave birth. My child—gone. The agony clawed at my chest, but his threat made me pause. Whoever this man was, he had the power to send me back to the nightmare I had barely escaped.
I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to slow, though the sobs still wracked my body. My hands trembled as I clutched the fabric of my hospital gown. “Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Help me find my child.”
The man’s sharp gaze didn’t waver, but after a tense moment, he nodded. “We will, but you need to calm down first.”
The woman beside me placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her expression filled with sympathy. “Let’s get you back into bed, okay?”
I let them guide me, though every muscle in my body was tense. The man turned on his heel, exiting without another word, his presence as cold and distant as the winter air. Hera waited until the door clicked shut before she spoke again.
“I’m Hera,” she said gently. “And that was my brother, Hector. We’re the reason you’re here.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Why?”
Hera sighed. “We hit you with our car. You ran into the highway, unconscious. We couldn’t just leave you there.”
Everything felt like a blur. The field, the empty space where my baby should have been, the cold pavement before the blinding headlights swallowed me whole. My stomach twisted. I clutched the blanket around me tighter.
“Do you remember what happened?” Hera asked cautiously.
I hesitated. I didn’t know if I could trust them. But what other choice did I have?
“I was kidnapped,” I said, my voice hoarse. “They took me from my home. My mother... my best friend...” My voice cracked. “They killed them. They burned my house. And then they took me away because I was pregnant with the child of a man who belonged to another woman.”
Hera sucked in a sharp breath. “Who?”
I met her gaze, my fingers curling into fists. “Antonio Russo. Or as I once knew him, Paolo Santoro.”
The reaction was immediate. Hera stiffened, her eyes widening in shock. Before she could respond, a deep voice cut through the room.
“You know them? De Santis and Russos?”
I turned sharply, finding Hector standing in the doorway. He hadn’t left after all. He had been listening. His expression was unreadable, his presence dark and imposing.