1: Marked Without Knowing

Sicily

The dim light of the warehouse barely illuminated the bloodied face of the man tied to the chair. Valentino Salvatore adjusted the cuffs of his Italian shirt, impatient. The guy had been silent for forty minutes, and his patience was wearing thin.

"Talk fast, or I’ll cut out your tongue," he said, leaning in until his face was inches away. "Where the hell is the money?"

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Shit. Who the hell was calling him at this hour?

He let it ring twice, ignoring the glances from his men. On the third ring, he yanked out the phone. Private number.

"Who is this?" he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Mr. Salvatore?" A woman’s voice, professional.

"Yeah, speaking."

"I’m calling from Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. You donated sperm five years ago as part of your lymphoma treatment..."

The air left his lungs. The cancer. That goddamn nightmare he thought he’d left behind.

"And?"

"There was an error in our system. Your sample was used three weeks ago for an artificial insemination. We deeply apologize."

Valentino narrowed his eyes. The silence that followed was so thick the prisoner lifted his head, confused.

"Are you saying... there’s a woman pregnant with my child?"

"Yes. We’ve already contacted the affected party, but protocol required us to inform you as well."

"Who is she?" he demanded.

The woman hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering.

"Dr. Ginevra Callahan. Cardiovascular surgeon. I’m sending you her information now."

Valentino hung up. A beep. An email landed in his inbox.

Subject: Confidential Information.

The attached photo stole his breath. Hair black as ebony, golden skin, full lips. But it was her eyes—large and brown—that hypnotized him. Something in her expression... a mix of strength and fragility made him lose control. He wanted her, and she would be his, one way or another.

An uncomfortable tingle crawled up his neck. It had been years since a woman had provoked such a visceral reaction in him. He didn’t understand why, but seeing her unsettled him. He wanted to meet her. To have her in front of him. To study her. To smell her. To shatter the calm she wore in that photo.

"Fuck," he muttered as a twisted smile curved his lips.

His father had been pressuring him for months about an heir. And now, fate had dropped one into his lap. But that wasn’t all he wanted.

"Boss... what about this one?" One of his men gestured to the hostage.

Valentino pocketed his phone with precise movements.

"Cut off his fingers one by one until he talks," he ordered, adjusting his family ring. "I have a flight to catch."

...

Valentino lit another cigarette as one of his men shut the door of the private jet. He was used to control. To making decisions. To being first in everything.

But this was different. There was more at stake than just genetic responsibility. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but his desire to see her wasn’t just about duty. There was a part of him—the darkest, most savage part—that wanted to claim her. Because that child... that child was his. And the mother should be, too.

He called Santos and gave quick orders. Surveillance. Silent contact.

He wouldn’t scare her. Not yet.

First, he wanted to see her. To watch her. To know what kind of woman carried his blood inside her.

Because no one—no one—would keep what belonged to him. Not even her.

...

**Boston**

The hospital was quieter than usual. After twelve hours in surgery, my body screamed for rest. All I wanted was coffee.

I headed to the vending machine in the hallway, but a bright red sign glared: "OUT OF ORDER."

"Perfect," I muttered.

I turned to leave. The night air hit my face, cold and refreshing. Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Bet you’re going for coffee?"

It was Ethan. My boyfriend. Crooked smile, dark jacket, eyes that always knew how to calm me. I ran to him and hugged him tight.

Ethan pulled back, smiled, and dropped to one knee.

"All these years with you aren’t enough. I want you in my life every day, forever."

He pulled out a small blue box and opened it. The ring glittered like his eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

I nodded, and he slid the ring onto my finger.

An engine roared nearby. A black, unmarked SUV screeched to a halt beside us. The doors flew open.

"Ethan!" I screamed.

Masked, armed men. One grabbed my arm. Ethan tried to fight, but they struck him hard.

"Let her go, you sons of bitches!" he roared.

"Who are you?!" I gasped, terrified.

They dragged me toward the SUV. Ethan kept struggling—then I heard the gunshot.

BANG!

Ethan’s scream choked my breath, and my heart stopped.

"ETHAN!"

They threw me inside. I scrambled to run, to jump out, but one of them aimed a gun at me. I froze.

The last man to enter stepped closer. He smelled like cigarettes and violence. A black hood hid his face, but when he stopped in front of me, he pulled it off with a careless flick.

My breath caught.

He was beautiful. Dangerously, savagely so. Dark waves of hair, eyes like molten amber.

A shiver ran through me. My traitorous body reacted to his nearness with a jolt of irrational attraction, as if something in him called to me in a way I didn’t understand. But fear still gripped my chest, tighter than ever.

"Welcome," the stranger whispered, his foreign accent prickling my skin.

The door slammed shut, and the vehicle lurched forward.

...

I woke up disoriented.

My head throbbed. My eyelids weighed a ton. And that smell... antiseptic. Medicine.

A hospital? Where the hell am I?

I tried to sit up, but my body refused. Only then did I realize I wasn’t alone.

A figure stood in the corner, motionless, shrouded in shadows.

"Who... who’s there?"

He stepped forward slowly, emerging from the gloom. Tall. Elegant. Impeccable dark suit. My heart lurched, pounding painfully in my chest. It was as if my body recognized the danger before my mind did—or simply reacted to it.

I looked closer. It was him—the golden-eyed man.

His face was so beautiful it hurt to look at, like a work of art designed to tempt and destroy. And yet, everything about him screamed danger. Death.

"Hello, Ginevra," he greeted me, a faint smile on his lips. His voice was rough, deep, maddeningly sensual.

"Where am I? What happened?" My voice was broken.

"Still in Boston. But you won’t be here much longer," he said. Tears began rolling down my cheeks.

I scrambled back on the bed, uselessly, as if I could escape him with just a movement.

"Where’s Ethan?" I begged, panic squeezing my chest. I’d forgotten about Ethan entirely. What the hell was wrong with me?

Silence.

"Where is he?!"

The man tilted his head, as if weighing whether I deserved an answer.

"What matters now is that you’re safe. And that the baby is, too," he said, his rough voice wrapping around me.

I stumbled off the bed and stepped toward him.

"Who are you?" I demanded, trembling.

"Valentino," he replied, taking another step closer. "Valentino Salvatore."

That name. Something in my mind screamed that I’d heard it before, but fear clouded my thoughts.

"Please, let me go," I pleaded, though I knew—even before saying it—that it was pointless.

His smile was slow, cruel. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Valentino closed the distance between us, his hand brushing my cheek with terrifying gentleness. My whole body shuddered.

I shoved his hand away, frightened by my own reaction, and backed up.

"I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go. You... have something that belongs to me," he said calmly.

I shook my head. I’d never stolen from anyone. He had the wrong person.

"You’re mistaken. I’m not who you’re looking for," I said, forcing strength into my voice.

He took another step. Closer. More unbearably present.

"Yes, you are. You’re carrying my child, Ginevra. And I’ve come to claim it."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me. My blood turned to sludge. Horror paralyzed me.

Now I remembered where I’d heard that name.

Valentino Salvatore was the donor.

This morning, the hospital had notified me of a procedural error, sending me his information. They’d promised we’d discuss it in person, to reach an agreement... But I never imagined I’d end up kidnapped by him.

"He’s my child too, and he belongs to me," I spat.

I forced myself to glare at him, to show him I hated him... even though, deep down, some irrational part of me trembled at his presence.

_____

From his side, Valentino watched her like a starving wolf who’d found prey he’d never release. It wasn’t love he felt. Not even sympathy. It was possession. Animal fascination. He’d seen beautiful women before. Dozens. But none like her. None who looked at him with that mix of terror and defiance. None who unsettled him like this. Damn it, even the sterile hospital smell was intoxicating when it clung to her.