Mag-log inThe words dropped into the quiet room and stayed there. Killian shifted his weight but did not speak. I felt the air leave my lungs in a slow exhale. “I was angry,” Bianca continued. Her voice stayed low and steady, as if she had practiced the sentences until they could be delivered without breaking. “Angry about my position that that was limited. Angry about watching you and Killian build something the family had to accept. Angry about being useful only when it suited everyone else. I contacted a Valenti intermediary I still knew from years ago. I did not ask them to kill you. I told them where the family would be and when. I told them the dinner was important. I wanted disruption. I wanted Father and Dante to feel the cost of treating me like a tool they could pick up and put down.” She finally looked directly at me. “I did not know they would send shooters into the room. I did not know you would put yourself in front of me. When the gun was set towards me and you moved, I unders
The first days after surgery passed quietly. I stayed in the medical wing under continuous monitoring. The wound in my side hurt with every breath and every small movement. The physical pain was manageable. The other pain was not. Every time my hand drifted to my stomach out of habit, but emptiness answered. No movement. No answering push. Only my healing body that had failed to keep the child safe. Killian barely left the room. He slept in short intervals in the chair beside the bed, woke up whenever I shifted, and handled the nurses and security updates so I would not have to speak more than necessary. He did not force conversation. He did not offer false hope about the fertility questions the doctors had raised. He simply stayed present, while my grief did its slow work. Father came once. He stood at the foot of the bed, looked at the bandages and the IV lines, and said the only thing he seemed able to manage. “You lived. The people who did this will not.” Then he left. Dante fo
I woke up to the low hum of medical equipment and the feel of Killian’s hand wrapped around mine. The light was soft. The room was private and heavily secured. I felt a dull pain on the lower part of my left side, held back by whatever they were feeding into the IV. For a few seconds I only breathed and tried to place myself. Then memory returned in a single flash. The restaurant, the men coming from the service door, the gun tracking toward Bianca, the impact, the sudden terrible stillness inside me. My free hand moved to my stomach. The curve was still there, but it felt different. It felt wrong. Killian’s grip tightened. I turned my head on the pillow and found him sitting in the chair against the bed. He looked like he had not slept. The black suit was gone, replaced by a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed up. His eyes were red rimmed. He cried. “You’re awake,” he said. His voice was rough. “The baby.” The two words left me before I could stop them. Killian’s face did not h
The sound from the service corridor felt wrong. Killian was already on his feet when the first man came through the side door. He was not one of ours. A second figure followed behind him. The private room that had felt controlled a moment earlier turned into pure motion. Gunfire erupted from the direction of the service corridor. People moved. Chairs scraped. Someone shouted an order. Dante’s voice cut across the table, sharp and immediate. Chairs scraped. Weapons cleared. Father was pulled sideways by Marco. Enzo moved toward Bianca. I saw the angle of the second man’s arm. He was not aiming at Father. Not at Dante. Not at Killian. The barrel tracked toward Bianca, who had frozen for a second too long, still seated with her eyes wide. Instinct overrode everything else. I shoved myself over the table edge toward her, and threw myself sideways into the space between Bianca and the gun. The impact of my shoulder against hers knocked her down and clear. The impact came as I covered
Killian returned on the forty seventh hour. I was in the inner courtyard when the lead car cleared the final gate. He stepped out looking exactly as he had left. The escort peeled away. He crossed the short distance to me without breaking stride and rested one hand against the side of my neck, as his thumb brushed my jaw. “Ferraro listened,” he said quietly. “The central parcel stays out of Valenti hands for now. The rest of the strip is still in play, but the door we needed closed is closed.” Relief moved through me in an instance. I leaned into his hand. The child shifted hard under my ribs as if answering the sound of his voice. Killian’s gaze dropped to the movement, and something unguarded passed across his face. We walked inside together. Dante took the formal report in the study. Father listened, asked three precise questions, and then released the conditional terms without extending them. The restriction remained, only slightly loosened by the proof that he could still be
The doctor had been clear at my morning check up. Long car movements were still possible but increasingly unwise. Any trip that involved uncertain roads, irregular rest, or the chance of delayed return was off the table until after the child's birth. The child was healthy. And my blood pressure was acceptable at the moment, although it has been fluctuating a bit. I could not spend hours in a vehicle or days in an unfamiliar town without creating a risk that no longer made sense to take. Killian absorbed the restriction without comment while we walked back from the medical wing. Only when the suite door closed did he speak. “They’ll need someone who can go,” he said. “Dante will want to handle the primary meetings himself. That leaves the secondary conversations and the follow up pressure short handed.” “And you’re still formally restricted,” I said. “Formally.” He leaned against the wall and looked at me. “The restriction was built during a different phase of this war. The coasta
I woke up on my 21st birthday with my heart already racing. Sunlight poured into my bedroom in the Vance mansion, lighting up the furniture and the silk sheets. This was the day everything changed. Or at least I hoped it would. A firm knock hit my door. “Alessia, downstairs. Now.” Dante’s voice, d
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
The bass hit me like a heartbeat the second I stepped inside the Velvet Room. Lights flashed across the crowded dance floor, bodies grinding to the heavy music. This was one of our clubs, and everyone knew it. The guards at the entrance bowed low as I walked past, their eyes respectful but wide. “M
“Damn, Alessia,” Sofia said, stepping back with a wicked grin. “You look like pure sex. That tight little body in leather? Killian won’t be able to look away. I bet the big, scary enforcer gets rock hard just seeing you walk by.” My face heated up, but I didn’t deny it. I turned side to side in th







