Moretti Tower. The Penthouse. Seven Months Later.Late February."Lorenzo, I swear to God, if you put a biometric lock on the diaper drawer, I am going to divorce you."I stood in the doorway of the newly renovated nursery, my hands resting on the massive, aching curve of my eight-month pregnant belly. My feet were swollen, my back was throbbing, and my patience was thinner than the silk curtains.Lorenzo looked up from the floor, where he was currently analyzing the structural integrity of a handcrafted, imported Italian crib. He had a screwdriver in one hand and a tablet displaying the penthouse security grid in the other."It's not for the diapers, Chloe," he said seriously, standing up and brushing off the knees of his dark trousers. "It's a localized air-filtration override. In case of a biological—""We live on the eightieth floor," I interrupted, waddling into the room. "The only biological threat up
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