CHAPTER The First Strike

I spent an hour in the bathroom practicing my face in the mirror.

Neutral. Calm. Clueless.

If Julian knew I had overheard his conversation, he would lock me in a windowless room. I had to play the part of the naive, grateful wife until I could find a way to escape.

When I finally walked out into the living room, Julian was waiting. He checked his watch.

"You're ready," he stated. "We have an appointment."

"An appointment?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. "With who? The warden?"

Julian didn't smile. "With an obstetrician. You need a check-up. And I need to know the baby is healthy."

My hand went to my stomach instinctively. "I thought we were on lockdown."

"My private doctor is meeting us at the clinic. It’s a secure location." He held out his hand. "Come."

I took his hand. It was warm and calloused. The hand of a killer.

We took the private elevator down to the garage. A convoy was waiting—two black SUVs filled with security, and Julian’s armored Rolls Royce in the middle.

"Is all this necessary for a doctor's visit?" I asked as he helped me into the backseat.

"We are at war, Vivian. I don't take chances with my assets."

Assets. The word made my blood boil.

As the car pulled out onto the rainy city streets, I decided to make my move.

"Julian," I said softly, looking out the window. "I was thinking about my mother today."

I felt him stiffen beside me. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I was wondering... did you know her? You seem to know everything about everyone in this city."

I turned to look at him. I watched his eyes.

He didn't blink. He didn't flinch. He looked back at me with perfect, practiced calm.

"I knew of her," he lied. "She was a kind woman. It was a tragedy what happened to her. A car accident, wasn't it?"

Liar.

He looked me dead in the eye and lied.

"Yes," I whispered, my heart breaking all over again. "A car accident."

I turned back to the window to hide the tears of rage gathering in my eyes. He was manipulating me. He was—

CRASH.

The world exploded.

A massive force slammed into the side of the Rolls Royce. Metal screamed against metal. The car spun violently, glass shattering everywhere.

My head slammed against the window, but before I could process the pain, a heavy weight crushed me against the leather seat.

Julian.

He had thrown his body over mine instantly, shielding me with his own back.

"Stay down!" he roared.

Pop-pop-pop.

Gunshots. They were shooting at the car.

"Ambush!" the driver screamed. "Sector 4! We have two bogeys!"

The car skidded to a halt. Julian didn't move. He was a solid wall of muscle over me, his hand cupping the back of my head, pressing my face into his chest.

"Don't look," he ordered, his voice terrifyingly calm amidst the chaos. "Whatever you hear, do not look up."

I heard doors opening. I heard shouting. I heard the sickening sound of bullets hitting bulletproof glass.

Then, the car door next to us was wrenched open.

"Get them!" a voice shouted.

Julian moved faster than I could follow.

He didn't just defend; he attacked. He kicked the door outward, sending the attacker flying back. He pulled a gun from a holster beneath his jacket—a gun I didn't even know he was wearing.

Bang. Bang.

Two shots. Two bodies hitting the pavement.

He pulled me out of the wreckage, keeping me tucked under his arm. The rain was pouring down, mixing with the steam rising from the smashed engine.

"Into the SUV!" Julian commanded his team. "Go! Now!"

He shoved me into the back of the lead security vehicle and dove in after me. The tires screeched as we peeled away from the ambush, leaving the burning wreckage behind.

I was shaking uncontrollably. I looked at Julian.

He was checking me over, his hands running over my arms, my face, my stomach. His eyes were wild, frantic.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. "Did the glass cut you? Vivian!"

"I... I'm fine," I gasped. "Julian, you're bleeding."

There was a gash on his cheek, bleeding sluggishly. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, not even looking at it.

"I don't care," he growled.

He grabbed my face between his hands, forcing me to look at him. The mask was gone. The cool, calculated billionaire was gone. In his place was a man consumed by a primitive, terrifying rage.

"They touched you," he hissed, his pupils blown wide. "They dared to touch what is mine."

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"It’s me," he said into the receiver. "Burn it down. Burn the Vencetti docks to the ground. Leave nothing standing."

He hung up and pulled me into his chest, burying his face in my neck.

"I told you," he whispered against my skin, his voice trembling with adrenaline. "I will destroy them for this."

I sat there, frozen in his arms.

He had lied to me. He was using me. But when the bullets started flying, he had used his own body as a shield to save me.