LOGINWe left the safe house just before dawn. Killian moved slower than usual, his left arm was in a makeshift sling, but he stayed on his feet. I drove the old service vehicle that had been stored under a tarp behind the ridge house. The roads stayed empty. No tails. No drones. Dante had kept his word so far. The clinic sat on the edge of a quiet town two hours north. It's private, discreet, used by families who paid for silence. A single guard in plain clothes waited at the entrance. He recognized me, nodded once, and led us inside without questions. Dante was already there. Marco stood near the wall. Enzo didn’t come. No Father. No extra men visible. The terms had been respected. Dante’s eyes moved over Killian’s sling and the healing bruises, then settled on me. “You’re both alive. That is something. The doctor is ready.” I didn’t answer. I simply walked into the examination room with Killian at my side. The doctor was a woman this time. Neutral, professional, and no history with ou
I talked to him while I worked. Soft, steady words about the cabin, about the night in the rain, about the way he had looked at me when he said I was his. I told him the pregnancy might be real. I told him he did not get to leave me alone with it. I do not know how much he heard. His hand found mine once and held on with surprising strength before the fever pulled him under again. Night came and the fever climbed. I used the last of the cold packs from the medical cabinet and kept the cloth rotating. When he started to shiver I climbed onto the bed beside him, careful of the wounded shoulder, and shared my body heat. His skin was hot against mine. I pressed my forehead to his good shoulder and listened to the ragged rhythm of his heart. “You took a bullet for me,” I whispered. “You dragged yourself through tunnels so I could live. You do not get to die from a fever in a safe house after all that. Wake up. Fight it. We have a child to meet.” The words felt strange and true at the sa
I moved him before first light. Killian was too heavy to carry and too weak to walk far on his own. I got his good arm over my shoulders and took most of his weight, half dragging, half supporting him through the trees. Every few dozen yards I had to stop so he could breathe and so I could check that the bandage still held. His skin stayed cold. His eyes opened in short, unfocused intervals. He knew me. That was enough to keep going. The north ridge safe house sat in a dense stand of pine, low and windowless from the outside, built into the slope like it had grown there. I recognized the secondary markers Killian had once mentioned in passing during a security brief years ago. Small, deliberate cuts on certain trunks, a rock pile that looked natural until you knew what to look for. The outer keypad was hidden under a false panel of bark. I entered the emergency family code with shaking fingers. The lock released. Inside was clean, stocked, and cold. Emergency lighting flicked on at
I dragged him as far as I could before my arms gave out. The woods were dark and uneven. Every root and slope fought me. Killian stayed unconscious, his breathing shallow, the makeshift bandage on his shoulder already soaked through. When I saw the old hunter’s shed half hidden among the trees, a small weathered structure with a broken latch, I made for it without thinking. Inside smelled of dust, old wood, and dried leaves. There was a narrow cot against one wall, a metal shelf with a few rusted tools, and a half empty first aid tin that looked like it had been forgotten for years. I hauled Killian onto the cot as carefully as I could and collapsed beside him for a few seconds, lungs burning, arms shaking. Then I forced myself to move. I stripped the ruined bandage and examined the wound in the weak light of a found flashlight. The bullet had gone through the outer muscle of his shoulder. And he had lost too much blood on the way through the tunnels and the woods. His skin was col
The panic wing did not stay safe for long. Another explosion rocked the outer structure. Smoke began to seep under the reinforced doors. The air grew hotter. Reports came in broken bursts over the secure radios. The east wing is compromised, the main hall is burning, Valenti men pushing deeper with incendiaries. The mansion was no longer just under siege. Parts of it were on fire. Dante ordered a full evacuation of the core family through the secondary routes. Marco and Enzo moved to secure Father and Bianca. In the confusion of shouted orders and moving bodies, I slipped away from the group. I could not leave Killian bleeding in a corridor while the house burned around him. I found him near the service junction where I had last seen him. He was on one knee with his left arm hanging useless and right hand still gripping the gun. Blood had soaked through his shirt and down his side. The shoulder wound was worse than he had let me see. He looked up when I dropped beside him. “I told
Sunday dinner was set like a formal execution. Everyone sat in their places. Killian was brought in under guard. Two men walked him to a chair at the far end of the table, close enough to be seen, far enough to be controlled. His bruises had faded to yellow and green. He wore clean clothes but no jacket, wrists free, the guards close enough to end him if the order came. Father had allowed it for one reason only: the first test still stood, and a possible Vance heir meant the father of that heir sat where the family could watch him. Under guard and under judgment. Alive for now. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. No one spoke. Dante’s eyes moved between Killian and me without rest. Marco’s jaw stayed tight. Enzo looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Bianca watched the whole performance with open interest. Outside, extra men lined the grounds. Everyone knew Lorenzo had taken the pregnancy news as an insult. Everyone this dinner was a risk. No one expected how
Killian’s groans vibrated against my neck as I kept grinding on his lap. The thick bulge of his cock pressed right against my soaked pussy through our clothes. Every roll of my hips made the leather of my dress ride higher and sent sparks shooting through my clit. I was dripping wet, my black lace
The booth felt too small, too hot. Killian’s body pressed against mine, hard and unyielding. His hand was still tangled in my hair, his grey eyes burning down at me like he was one second from breaking. The tequila from earlier gave me the courage I needed. I pushed him back until his legs hit the
He dragged me through the crowd toward the back of the club. People moved out of his way fast. Sofia caught my eye from the dance floor and smirked, giving me a little wave like she knew exactly what was happening. My heels clicked fast on the floor as I stumbled to keep up with his long strides. T
One tall guy with dark hair moved in front of me. He wasn’t bad looking. He matched my rhythm, his hands hovering near my waist. I kept dancing, letting the heat of the club and the alcohol push me. My eyes scanned the upper level for a second. There he was. Killian. Still in the shadows, watching







