Chapter 5 Threads Begin to Unravel

She is carrying it, he whispered gently.

On the other side, the voice answered, muted but eager.

Nothing. She has not told anyone yet. Still, it's obvious. Her movement is unique. She touches her stomach upon realising no one else is observing.

His eyesight narrowed.

"She wrote something. I tracked it personally. Resort beside the sea in Venice.

pause once more.

Indeed, I came onto a scan. Handcrafted. emotional. But unambiguous.

His fingers touched the steady, unhurried driving wheel.

"Maximo is not sure yet." shortly.

He looked down at a rustle next to him. One red, fresh rose lay on the seat, stem cut precisely. He stared at it for a bit then grabbed it up and rolled it between his fingers.

Not for her was the emblem. It was a lesson for the man approaching.

He said, "She has no idea what she's done," then replaced the bloom in its box.

Leaning forward slightly, the man watched Cathy vanish around the bend, her form absorbed by the throng.

His hand slid to the little box beneath the dashboard, raising the lid just enough to expose a hidden camera, the long-range lens still warm from the last view.

She is more than we could have imagined.

His voice sank to a lower level.

" Too much blood has already been poured for this to end in peace."

He grabbed his phone once more, captured a picture of the rose, and forwarded the single line of text: She carries fire.

Rafael received him at the door; he had a neat suit, a straight tie, and no grin. "Welcome back".

Maximo said nothing at all. He passed him with boots thudding against the marble, coat still slung over his arm.

Although the villa staff had polished every corner and cleaned every surface, something felt strange. Not incorrect; simply suspended. As though the home itself were waiting for him to see the changes.

Eyes darting the hall, he dropped his coat on the armchair close to the foyer. One envelope, tucked under a stack of unopened letters, rested on the foyer table. Its paper was cream-coloured, and the ink smudged at the corner somewhat.

At first, he cannot tell the handwriting.

He froze then.

His fingers curled around it; his eyes narrowed as he turned it over.

Without a return address.

He understood, though, the way her "M" curved. Her lines pushed somewhat harder towards the conclusion of every word. He had committed those hands the way a man commits the weapon he most trusts.

His thumb cut the seal open.

He once read.

Once again.

Still another.

Every syllable was cut line by line, word by word, like blades burrowing into flesh.

His jaw had tensed and a muscle twitching close to his temple by the time he finished. He shook the letter slightly in his hand.

Rafael moved in front of me. "Sir?" asked.

Maximo said nothing.

His gaze stayed on the words: I am pregnant. It is yours.

The air started to weigh more.

His breath left him in one, frigid exhale.

At last, voice strained, he muttered, "She said nothing."

Rafael raised a slightly slanted head. But right now she is telling you.

Rafael knocked once and went quietly in. "Do you want me to ready the jet?"

Maximo did not respond right away. His eye stayed on the letter, but his thoughts flew.

She had not asked for anything money, or expectations. Right the truth. Just the intolerable candour of what now lay between them.

At last, he said, "Do it."

Rafael agreed.

"And learn her return trip from New York's length."

"Already done," Rafael said. Ten days here.

The fingers of Maximo tightened once more.

"She kept it away from me."

"She hated you."

She ought to have let me know.

She is safeguarding more than she currently does.

Maximo gazed slowly up. Though his face was invisible, his voice had changed to be lower, cooler.

Nobody keeps my blood from me.

Hissing behind him were the flames. He glanced towards the window, eyes darting the ocean as though he were trying to figure out how far she had gone and how quickly he may get to her.

"She's not hiding," Rafael remarked gently. "She worries."

Maximo's lips slightly curved, bitter. "then I'll offer her a cause to be terrified of the wrong things."

He moved forward, grabbed his jacket, and folded the letter inside his breast pocket.

"Book me a plane," he continued, voice now steel. "Tonight"

Rafael thought twice. "What are you going to do when you see her?"

Maximo turned once to look at him.

Whatever it takes.

His hand flowed. The phone was linked with a clear click. As always, Rafael's voice on the other end was quiet.

indeed, Don Rossi?

Leaning back in his chair, Maximo gazed out the window at the last of the Venice light. Every street and structure served as a reminder of the power he possessed as he felt the weight of the city crushing in on him. But something about Cathy's absence made everything seem precarious, brittle.

"I need complete surveillance on Cathy Simmons," Maximo stated, his voice low as if the directive itself weighed on him. " NOW."

Rafael was not hesitant at all. "Understanding." How wide-ranging?

On the edge of his desk, Maximo's fingers drummed once. His eyes turned to the map of New York fastened to the wall, her last known place, the threads he had already pulled on her life. He would be knowledgeable in everything. Errors had no place in this.

"I want to know everything," he replied, his voice more cutting now. "She walks with every stride. She eats somewhere. She speaks to whom? Each element. Rafael, I want people staring at her.

Rafael's voice relaxed, but Maximo could sense a small edge of apprehension. And assuming she is hiding something, Don Rossi? Do you want us to keep pushing?

Maximo's eyes became sharp as he gazed out at the darkening skyline. One could sense a storm building. Not just outward but inside him. Indeed, he answered, his voice icy. "I want anything she is hiding exposed. And stop only after I have every bit of it.

Still another stop. Rafael's voice returned, slower this time, as though he were meticulously evaluating every syllable. "Maximo," he started, wary not to set off the unavoidable storm. "Do you want just the child or her back?"

Sharper than any knife, the question hovered in the air. Maximo tightened his hold on the phone. Not expected was what he had found. He wanted not to consider it. But he understood Rafael was seeking to verify what he already suspected, not out of uncertainty.

Maximo answered, his voice a subdued growl, the finality in his words like a vow: "I want everything." "I am looking for her. I want the child. I aspire to both.

Rafael went quiet for some while. Maximo slowed his breath to settle himself.

Understood, Don Rossi, Rafael responded his voice tight. We will start right now.

Over and over he had read the letter, each time expecting that somehow the wording would change to reveal something he had missed the first time. But they hadn't evolved. She fell pregnant. His lad. heir. One bit of him, a legacy piece.

But it went beyond that as well. It has to do with her.

Maximo stretched forward, picking up the picture with cautious attention. His thumb slid over her picture, following the contour of her face as if it may pull her right towards him. As if it might close the gulf separating them.

His fingers tightened on the picture, gently crumpling it, the image curving at the margins. As he stood, his chair scraped angrily across the floor, and his heart accelerated. The intensity of the instant shot through him. Right now she was in New York. On your alone. Fragile. He could sense it, like though a predator sensed its prey. But he was hunting what she carried, not merely her. The next heir to his kingdom.

He turned to face the wall map, which indicated her last known place. With his finger tracing the red line, he felt a surge of frigid will.

Cathy would not flee him once more. She was unable of Not at now.

His thoughts flew. Hesitancy had no place in this. Rising from the blood-soaked streets, he had spent his whole life establishing an empire. Now, this woman who had been a brief moment became the key to everything. And he would assert it as well. She would be claimed by him.

He pushed towards the window, his eyes steely. Glancing out at Venice's darkening skyline, he watched the city reflected in the water underneath. Everything was turning. Not now could one go back.

He turned to face the desk, reached for his phone, and without thinking started dialling. Twice the line rang before Rafael responded.

Maximo said, his voice steely and frigid: "I need a flight to New York."

Rafael's voice emerged as a firm anchor. "Tonight??"

Maximo's eyes strayed to the door, seeing her anywhere, in a world no longer her own. " Tonight."