AFTER FIVE YEARS, HE FOUND ME

ADRIANA’S POV

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and exhaustion. My heart hammered painfully as Doctor Cassian flipped through Luca’s chart with a grave expression that made my stomach twist. Rain pattered against the window, blurring the city lights outside into streaks of neon.

“Miss Rossi,” he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with urgency. “We’ve stabilized Luca for now with the latest round of medication, but his hypertrophic cardiomyopathy is progressing faster than we anticipated. As you know the genetic markers point strongly to inheritance from the paternal side. We really need his biological father involved. Genetic confirmation from him could open doors to targeted therapies, possibly even identify compatible options if we reach the point of considering a transplant evaluation. Without that connection, we’re fighting with one hand tied behind our backs.”

I clutched the edge of Luca’s bed rail, my knuckles turning white. The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of fear through me, even though this wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. Luca lay small and pale against the white sheets, his chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms after the sedative. His silver-gray eyes hidden behind closed lids. Those eyes that mirrored the man I had run from.

“I understand,” I whispered, forcing my voice not to crack. “I’ll find him. I promise I’ll reach out and bring him in.”

Doctor Cassian studied me for a long moment, his warm brown eyes softening with pity he tried to hide. “We can manage a little more time, but not much. His heart muscle is thickening too rapidly. Every day counts.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. He patted my shoulder once before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.

Find him. As if it were that simple. As if Alessandro Orsini would even let me speak before the hatred in those steel-gray eyes turned lethal. He believed I had destroyed him willingly. Betrayed him for power and another man’s bed. If I walked back into his world now, he would see me as nothing but the whore who shattered his trust. He might kill me before the first sentence left my lips. And even if he listened, why would he believe a single word about the son he never knew existed?

I had been in this city for two months already, scraping by, searching for any safe way to approach him. Yet every time I came close to picking up the phone or stepping into one of his territories, terror rooted me in place. The man I once loved with every fragile piece of my soul now ruled as Don with an iron fist and a heart turned to stone. My stone.

I turned toward my son and brushed a damp curl from his forehead. His skin felt too warm, too fragile under my fingers. Leaning down, I pressed my lips gently to his temple, breathing in the faint scent of hospital soap and the innocence that still clung to him despite everything.

“Sleep well, my love,” I murmured against his skin. “Mommy’s got you.”

My throat burned as I straightened and grabbed my worn coat. The clock on the wall glared at me. Late again. I slipped out of the room before the tears could fall, my heels clicking down the sterile hallway toward the exit.

Outside, rain poured in relentless sheets, soaking through my coat as I flagged down a cab. I slid into the back seat, water dripping from my hair onto the cracked leather. The driver muttered something about the weather, but I barely heard him. My mind raced between Luca’s fragile heartbeat and the mountain of debts waiting like wolves at our door.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, sharp and insistent. An unknown number flashed across the screen. My blood turned to ice. I stared at it as it vibrated again and again, the ringtone cutting through the patter of rain on the roof. Roman. It had to be him. Ever since I fled his prison of a marriage with my son, his calls had chased me like ghosts. What if he had finally tracked us here? What if picking up meant hearing his venomous threats again, or worse, discovering he already lurked around the corner?

My hand trembled as I silenced the call and shoved the phone deep into my bag. The cab smelled of stale cigarettes and damp wool. I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching blurred streets slide past. Freedom had tasted so sweet for those first few weeks. Now it felt like the opening act of another nightmare.

The strip club loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering through the downpour like a cheap beacon of desperation. I paid the driver and dashed inside through the back entrance, my shoes squelching with every step. The familiar thump of bass vibrated through the walls as I climbed the narrow stairs to the staff area.

In the cramped dressing room, I peeled off my wet clothes and changed quickly into the required uniform: a short black dress that hugged my curves too tightly and heels that made my calves ache. I wasn’t a dancer. Never had been. I served drinks, kept my head down, and survived. That was all.

I pinned my long hair into a messy bun, loose strands already escaping to frame my face. As I reached for the door, it swung open and nearly hit me.

“Adriana.” My boss, Marco, blocked the doorway with his bulky frame. Sweat beaded on his forehead under the harsh lights. “Thank God you’re here. I need you in the VIP section tonight.”

I froze, one hand still on the doorframe. “VIP? But I’m scheduled for the main floor. Maria usually handles VIP.”

“Maria called in sick. You’re the only one I trust not to fuck it up.” He wiped his hands on his shirt and gave me a pointed look. “We’ve got big spenders tonight. I’m willing to pay triple the pay if you act right. Remember, no complaints, no spills, and keep your mouth shut about whatever you see.”

Triple the pay. The words dangled like a lifeline. Luca’s next treatment loomed, and the hospital bills kept piling higher. Yet dread coiled tight in my gut. I knew exactly what VIP meant in a place like this. Men with power and no conscience. Guns tucked under tailored jackets. Deals made in shadows while blood dried on the floor. I had counted too many body bags carried out the back alley in just two months.

Born into the Rossi syndicate, I had breathed mafia violence since childhood. I had loved a man forged in it. Married another who wielded it like a blade. Two months here had only sharpened those memories. I had watched life end with casual indifference in these very walls.

Still, Luca needed medicine, food, and a fighting chance.

“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Marco nodded once, already turning away. “Good. Get out there. They’re waiting for their drinks.”

I lingered for a second in the doorway, heart pounding against my ribs. Part of me wished for a quiet night on the main floor. Another part, the exhausted mother part, clung to the extra money. But as I descended the stairs toward the pulsing lights and velvet ropes of the VIP area, a darker fear whispered in my mind.

Please God, let me not run into Roman. Not tonight. Not when I carried too many secrets and too little strength left to face him.