Page 40 of Broken Vows

It’s pretty damn ironic.

I sit on the examination table in a hospital gown that gaps at the back, acutely aware of Vincent's presence in the corner chair.

He's dressed in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people's cars, looking completely out of place among the pastel walls and inspirational posters about motherhood.

"First baby?" The ultrasound technician, a cheerful woman named Rebecca, wheels her equipment closer with a warm smile.

"Yes," I answer, though Vincent and I haven't discussed what story we're telling.

"How exciting! You must be so happy." She glances between us with the kind of assumption that makes my chest tight. "Dad looks nervous. That's totally normal."

Vincent's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. "Just want to make sure everything's progressing normally," he says in that measured tone he uses for business.

Rebecca laughs. "Oh, you're one of those organized dads. I can tell. Probably already have the nursery planned out." She squirts cold gel on my stomach, and I flinch. "Sorry, hon. Always cold. Dad, you want to come closer? You'll get a better view."

I watch Vincent rise from his chair, moving with that predatory grace that never quite leaves him. When he stands beside the table, close enough that I can smell his cologne, my pulse kicks up for reasons that have nothing to do with the appointment.

"There we go," Rebecca murmurs, moving the wand across my abdomen. The monitor crackles to life, showing grainy black and white images that gradually resolve into something recognizable. "There's your baby."

My breath catches. It's real. More real than the positive pregnancy test, more real than the morning sickness or the way my clothes are starting to fit differently. On the screen is a tiny human, curled and perfect, heart beating in a rapid flutter that fills the room.

"Strong heartbeat," Rebecca says approvingly. "One hundred sixty beats per minute. Right where we want to see it at eighteen weeks." She moves the wand, capturing different angles. "Would you like to know the sex?"

I look at Vincent. His face is unreadable, but his hand has moved to grip the back of my chair. "Do you want to know?" I ask him.

"Your choice."

Of course he'd put it on me. I turn back to Rebecca. "Yes. We want to know."

She adjusts the angle, pointing at the screen. "Congratulations. You're having a little girl."

The room goes very quiet. I stare at the monitor, at this tiny person who will inherit both Russo and Mastroni blood, who will grow up in a world where love and violence are often indistinguishable.

"A daughter," Vincent says quietly, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before. Vulnerability, maybe. Or fear.

"She's measuring perfectly for eighteen weeks," Rebecca continues, oblivious to the weight of this moment. "Due date looks good for early March. I'll print some pictures for you to take home."

As she moves around, cleaning gel off my stomach and printing ultrasound photos, Vincent and I don't speak. We're both processing what this means—not just a baby, but a daughter. In our world, daughters are protected differently. Hidden. Used as bargaining chips or weapons depending on the family's needs.

"Here you go," Rebecca hands us a strip of black and white photos. "Your first baby pictures. I bet the grandparents are going to be thrilled."

Vincent takes the photos before I can, studying them with an intensity that makes my stomach clench. Our daughter. Half Russo, half Mastroni. The most dangerous bloodline combination in New York.

"Thank you," I manage, sliding off the table to get dressed.

"I'll see you back in four weeks," Rebecca says cheerfully. "And Dad, don't worry so much. Everything looks perfect."

If only she knew what we're really worried about.

Twenty minutes later, we're in Vincent's armored Mercedes, heading toward the venue for tonight's fundraiser where our engagement will be officially announced. The ultrasound photos sit on the console between us like evidence of something neither of us planned.

"She's going to need a different kind of protection," Vincent says finally, breaking the silence.

"She's going to need to know how to protect herself." I adjust the seatbelt across my lap, hyperaware of the life growing inside me. "I won't raise a victim."

"Good." He glances at me. "Because the announcement tonight changes everything. Once it's public that we're engaged, every family in the city will be watching."

I smooth my hands over the emerald green dress I'm wearing—chosen because it photographs well and hides the slight curve of my stomach. "Maya's bringing Alessandro Lucchesi tonight."

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