Before the Council Named Me Donna Chapter 07

Before the Council Named Me Donna Chapter 07

The doctor cleared me the next morning with strict instructions, a folder of test results, and a warning not to fly until the next scan confirmed everything was stable.

Matteo had not stayed in the room, but he had not gone far either. Two De Luca guards waited near the private exit, and when the nurse brought my discharge papers, he appeared from the corridor in yesterday’s clothes, his face pale from a sleepless night.

“Elena,” he said, reaching for my bag. “Come home with me.”

I held the strap before he could take it. “No.”

His hand stopped in midair.

Before he could speak again, the elevator opened, and Nico stepped out wearing a dark coat, no flowers, no/ apology, just a leather document case tucked under one arm and that infuriating calm on his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “Your lawyer sent the revised separation draft, your travel clearance needs one more signature, and your safe apartment is ready.”

Matteo turned on him at once. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Nico glanced at me first, waiting. Only after I gave the smallest nod did he step beside me.

“She listed me as her emergency contact,” he said. “So at the moment, it has more to do with me than with the man she blocked.”

The corridor went silent.

Matteo’s eyes darkened. “She is carrying my child.”

“And she is carrying it,” Nico said, his voice losing its lazy edge. “Try remembering the difference.’

I saw Matteo’s jaw tighten, saw the old instinct in him-the one that expected rooms to bend because he was Matteo De Luca. But this was not his house, not his council, not a dinner table where silence could make me

smaller.

He looked at me, almost pleading. “Elena, don’t leave with him just to punish me.”

I almost laughed. “You still think this is about punishing you.”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

“That I finally chose myself.”

The words landed harder than I expected. Matteo looked as if he wanted to argue, but Nico had already taken my discharge folder from the nurse and handed over the signed forms.

“Her car is downstairs,” Nico said.

“My car,” Matteo corrected.

I looked at him. “Not anymore.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then I walked past him, and Nico fell into step beside me without touching my arm

or steering me like I was something fragile. That, more than anything, made my throat tighten.

Outside the clinic, a Ferretti car waited at the curb. I did not look back until Matteo called my name.

“Elena.”

I stopped.

His voice was rough. “You can’t mean this.”

I turned just enough to face him. “I meant every word you didn’t.”

His face went still.

Nico opened the car door, and I got in.

Only when the clinic disappeared behind us did I let myself breathe. Nico drove in silence for several blocks before glancing at me.

“You handled that better than I expected.”

“I nearly threw up on your shoes.”

“That would still have been better than taking him back.”

I gave him a tired look. “Do you ever get bored of being right?”

“No. It’s one of my better qualities.”

For the first time in days, something almost like a laugh pressed against my chest, but it faded when I saw the document case on his lap.

“You really had the apartment arranged?”

“Yes.”

“And the lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“And the car?”

“Elena, I am a Ferretti. I was born making exits people pretend not to notice.”

I turned toward the window. “Why?”

The teasing left his face.

“Because I’ve watched you love the wrong man for too long.”

I looked back at him.

Nico kept his eyes on the road, his voice even. “At school, you thought I mocked you because I enjoyed it. Sometimes I did. Mostly I was angry that you kept giving De Luca the kind of loyalty he never knew what to do with.”

“That sounds dangerously close to concern.”

“It was worse.” His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “It was jealousy.”

I went still.

He pulled the car into the underground garage of a quiet building near the river, killed the engine, and finally looked at me fully.

“I’m not asking you for anything today,” he said. “You’re pregnant, leaving a marriage, moving countries, and still pretending your hands aren’t shaking. I know better than to make myself another problem you have to solve.”

Something in me softened despite my best efforts.

“Nico, I can’t give you anything.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’m carrying Matteo’s child.”

“I noticed.”

My face warmed, and I looked away. “That matters.”

“To him, because he thinks love is ownership. To me, it means you and the baby need people who show up without making it a transaction.”

The words were too simple, and that made them harder to dismiss.

“I’m not ready,” I said.

“I know.”

“I may not be ready for a long time.’

“Then take a long time.”

I stared at him, searching for pity, impatience, possession, anything that would make this easier to reject. I found none of it.