Hey, guys… So, my plan is to wrap this book up around 150 chapters. I honestly thought it would be short and quick, but here we are, I clearly need to stop running my mouth so much. Sorry about that. Now tell me... who’s ready for a high-stakes chase scene between Adriano and Madeleine? How long do you think she’ll manage to escape him this time? Can’t wait to hear your thoughts! XOXO 💋
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘“Let me hold him,” Alessia said the second I stepped into the living room with my son. Madeleine was locked in our bedroom. I’d deal with her later.I slid him into her arms. My fingers lingered on him, unwilling to let go, until Alessia’s grip closed sure around him.She rocked him gently, whispering in Italian, words of blessing, of blood, of belonging. My brothers leaned in, to look at him. The room hung on every sound he made, every sigh, every twitch of his tiny fingers. My brothers leaned closer, my father’s stare was full of love. Then Dante broke the silence, “What’s his name?”Alessia’s eyes lifted from the child to me, waiting.I froze. The answer wasn’t there. Fuck. I didn’t know. She never told me.“I… don’t know,” I admitted, voice low.Brows pulled tight. The weight of the room pressed on me.Raphael finally cut in, “At the hospital he was just ‘baby Mendes.’” His gaze flicked to me, sharp. “I don’t think he has a name yet.”A hot flush of anger burned
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 Adriano... My blood went cold, as if it had drained out of me in a rush. For a split second I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even blink. My chest caved in, and the world blurred. No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to find me. Not now. Not with him in my arms. He’d kill me for lying... he’d kill me for the audacity of making choices without him. I clutched my baby so tight the straps dug into my shoulders. My heart cracked wide open with terror, because it was him. That face I’d loved and feared, the one that haunted every night since I left. His eyes found me... and I knew, knew he saw me not just as me but as prey caught in his snare. There was no thinking. My lungs forgot how to work. My feet found the floor and went fast, like they had a memory of the way out. I ran. My legs launched me forward with a strength I didn’t know I had. The bench screeched against the concrete behind me as I bolt
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 My baby came into this world already fighting, already struggling. I didn’t even know where to begin with him. From the very first day, he was sick. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it was something I did, if I carried him wrong, ate the wrong thing, thought the wrong thought… if God was punishing me somehow. All I know is my baby hasn’t had a single day in his three short weeks of life where he wasn’t hurting. He’s so tiny, too tiny. His fists can’t even curl properly around my finger the way other babies do. Some nights he jerks so hard in my arms I think he’s leaving me, seizures shaking through his little frame, and all I can do is hold him tighter. His skin burns hot with fevers, then turns pale again, washed out by the anemia, and I keep wondering, is this my fault? Did I do this to him? Hospitals have become my second home. I haven’t seen the outside world since the day he was born. It’s been three weeks of white walls, monitors beeping, do
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 Month 5–6 | Rust Belt Run | 20–24 Weeks Pregnant. I kept my head down, layered sweatshirt zipped up to my throat even though the rec room was warm. No one looked twice, just another tired girl folding sheets at the women’s shelter, dragging a laundry cart that squeaked with every push. My arms ached. My lower back was on fire. And underneath all those clothes, my belly pressed forward, too obvious, too heavy. Twenty weeks. The women sat in a circle, a girl with a split lip talked about how her boyfriend used to track her phone. Another said her husband had shoved her into a wall while her baby watched. Their words buzzed around me, a swarm of pain I couldn’t swat away. I pressed a hand to my stomach through the layers. I always thought Adriano was violent... but no matter what, he never hit me, not once, not even close. Adriano’s touch had always been… gentle. Too gentle sometimes, for someone like him. He loved me. I knew he did. But then I thought about
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 Month 1 | Driftless Escape | 6 Weeks Pregnant. My legs ached from walking and my stomach pitched again, a sour wave rising up that I forced down with shallow breaths. I pressed a hand over the small swell beneath my coat, whispering to it like I could soothe both of us. “Just a little further,” I murmured, “We’ll keep moving.” Headlights swept across the asphalt, making me flinch back into the darkness at the edge of the road. My chest hammered so loud it drowned out the hiss of tires against wet pavement. I half-expected the car to slow, a black sedan pulling over with Adriano climbing out. But the headlights passed. I bit down hard, forcing my throat open to breathe again. I didn’t know where I was anymore, past Joliet maybe, past the lights of Chicago that had always been too loud, too full of him. Out here it was nothing but the hum of cicadas, the rustle of cornstalks, and the stretch of I-55 under my shoes. I couldn’t stop, though. If
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ Engines cut through the night, black SUVs swallowing the highway in a straight line. Convoy behind me, headlights low, men armed to the teeth. The Driftless. Middle of nowhere Wisconsin. A place you go to disappear. Place you go to bury people where nobody will ever find them. My hand rested on the leather seat, fingers twitching like they missed the trigger. The gun was holstered. My chest felt wired, tight, every heartbeat another reminder that she wasn’t next to me. She was out there with some fuck who thought he could steal her, protect her, save her. They never learn. Streetlights thinned out until there was nothing but black sky, moonlight bleeding across the road. I rolled my neck, jaw ticking, let my hand drag down my face. Every mile brought me closer, and with every mile, I pictured it clearer, her face when she saw me again. “Boss,” the driver muttered, eyes flicking to me through the mirror. “How do you want to play it?” I leaned forward, “We