Chapter 1 - THE IMPOSSIBLE TWO PINK LINES|
Eleven weeks after marrying Boston's most feared mafia heir to pay for my mother's medical treatment, I nearly vomited in front of twenty powerful men at a private dinner. My husband, Luca Varenna, had spent twelve years believing he was infertile, and our marriage contract specifically stated that children were never part of the arrangement. But I'd recently discovered something that could destroy everything his family believed about him. When the dinner ended, Luca took me into his private study, glanced at the hand I'd unconsciously placed over my stomach, and asked one question. What I was about to tell him wouldn't just change our marriage. It could expose a twelve-year-old lie at the heart of his family's empire.
My name is Evelyn Varenna. I'm twenty-seven, and eleven weeks ago, I married a man I'd once been terrified to meet.
Luca Varenna.
Thirty-five.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Dangerously handsome.
And the ruthless heir to one of Boston's most powerful mafia families.
He controlled shipping operations, luxury hotels, private security firms, and an underground empire that made wealthy businessmen nervous.
People lowered their voices whenever he entered a room.
But I didn't marry him because I wanted power.
I married him because my mother was dying.
Her medical bills had swallowed nearly everything I owned.
I'd sold my car.
Used my savings.
Taken every extra shift I could find.
And still, I couldn't afford the treatment she needed.
Then Luca Varenna made me an offer.
“Marry me, and your mother's medical expenses will be covered.”
I stared at him across his enormous desk.
“You want to marry a woman you barely know?”
He didn't smile.
“I need a wife. You need financial security.”
“And that's it?”
“That's it.”
The contract was straightforward.
We would appear together at public events.
Live under the same roof.
Protect each other's privacy.
And neither of us would expect love.
Then Luca mentioned something else.
“There won't be children, Evelyn.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
His expression hardened.
“Because I can't father them.”
Twelve years earlier, he'd suffered a serious injury.
Doctors had told him the damage was permanent.
His family had accepted it as fact.
Luca had too.
I didn't ask anything else.
My mother needed help.
So I signed.
And eleven weeks ago, I became Mrs. Luca Varenna.
At first, our marriage felt like a business arrangement.
Separate bedrooms.
Polite conversations.
Dinner together when appearances required it.
But gradually, things changed.
Luca started asking how my mother was doing.
He remembered which tea I liked.
He noticed when I was exhausted.
And when my mother had a difficult night in the hospital, he stayed awake beside me until the doctors called.
One evening, I asked him:
“Why are you being so kind to me?”
He looked almost offended.
“Would you prefer I wasn't?”
I laughed.
For the first time, he smiled.
A real smile.
Not the cold expression he wore in front of his men.
And somewhere between late-night conversations and quiet mornings, I started falling for the man behind the terrifying reputation.
Eventually, our marriage stopped feeling like a contract.
We became close.
Not because we had to.
Because we wanted to.
Then I began feeling sick.
At first, I blamed stress.
My mother's condition.
The constant public appearances.
My unfamiliar life as a mafia boss's wife.
But the nausea kept returning.
Especially in the mornings.
And after taking a pregnancy test, I found myself staring at something neither Luca nor I had ever expected.
Two pink lines.
I sat on the bathroom floor for a long time.
Luca had been told he could never have children.
Yet I was pregnant.
And I knew exactly who the father was.
For days, I struggled to find the right moment to tell him.
Then came the Varenna family dinner.
Twenty people filled a private dining room overlooking Boston.
Board members.
Attorneys.
Politicians.
Men who had spent years building Luca's empire.
I sat beside him, trying to act normal.
Then a waiter placed a seafood dish in front of me.
The smell hit me immediately.
My stomach turned.
I gripped the tablecloth.
Pushed back my chair.
And hurried toward the bathroom.
Every conversation stopped.
I barely made it.
Five minutes later, I returned to the table.
Luca watched me sit down.
“Are you sick?”
“I'm fine.”
He studied my face.
“You're pale.”
“It's probably something I ate.”
He didn't believe me.
But he didn't question me in front of his guests.
For the rest of dinner, he barely touched his food.
When the last guest finally left, Luca stood.
“My study, Evelyn.”
My heart began pounding.
I followed him upstairs.
He closed the door behind us.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then my hand moved toward my stomach.
Just once.
But Luca noticed.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
Then slowly returned to my face.
“Evelyn…”
I swallowed.
He stepped closer.
“What's going on?”
I'd practiced telling him a hundred times.
But now that he was standing in front of me, I couldn't find the words.
Finally, I whispered:
“Luca, I think I'm pregnant.”
He went completely still.
Silence filled the room.
Then his jaw tightened.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know what the doctors told you.”
“Evelyn.”
“I've taken two tests.”
His expression changed.
For one horrible moment, I thought he was going to accuse me of cheating.
But instead, he turned toward his desk.
Opened a locked drawer.
And removed an old medical folder.
His hands were trembling.
I'd never seen Luca Varenna's hands tremble.
“Twelve years,” he whispered.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“For twelve years, I've believed what they told me.”
He opened the folder.
Then looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.
“Evelyn, there's something you need to know about the people who gave me this diagnosis.”
My blood ran cold.
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Because suddenly, I realized the impossible part of my pregnancy might not be the baby.
It might be the fact that someone had spent twelve years making my husband believe he could never become a father.
