Chapter 2

The hallway of the underground clinic reeked of cheap, pungent disinfectant.

"Eight weeks. Fetal heartbeat is normal."

The backstreet doctor in a white lab coat stared at the beat-up ultrasound screen, quickly scribbled a few notes on a medical chart, tore it off, and pushed it toward me.

I barely had time to exhale before he glanced up from under his eyelids.

"You're severely malnourished and heavily anemic," he said flatly. "At this rate, if you keep starving, the baby's not going to make it, and you'll bleed out."

I clenched my fists, my palms slick with cold sweat. "I'll find a way to get food. I'll fix my nutrition."

"You used loose change to scrape together the fifty-dollar registration fee just now," he called me out without mercy, slamming the chart back onto the desk. "If you can't afford it, get rid of it. Abortion procedure: twenty-five hundred bucks. Cash."

Twenty-five hundred dollars.

I didn't even have money for breakfast tomorrow.

I folded the ultrasound printout and shoved it into the pocket of my faded jeans.

I couldn't just sit here and die. I had to find Marcello.

I hailed a cab straight to the core club owned by the Vargas family.

I cut through the deafening, chip-clacking casino floor and headed straight for the private VIP elevator at the end of the hallway.

"Hold on."

The moment I neared the boundary, two massive security guards threw their hands out against my shoulders. The force shoved me back two steps.

They had no idea who I was. Marcello kept my identity locked down so tight. Outside of a few inner-circle guys, I was a ghost.

"Get Marcello down here," I stared right into the guard's eyes, "or call Bianca."

The guards exchanged a look like I had lost my mind. Just as one of them reached for his radio, the elevator doors slid open.

Bianca stepped out in red-soled heels. She wore a flawless designer pantsuit, followed by four enforcers.

She stopped dead, her gaze sweeping over my bloodless face with undisguised disgust.

I brushed past the guards' hands, rushed up to her, and shoved the crumpled ultrasound printout from my pocket toward her face. "I'm pregnant. The doctor says if I don't get nutrients, I'll hemorrhage. I need money."

Bianca paused for two seconds, then took the paper. She glanced at the black-and-white scan.

Then, she pinched both edges of the paper.

Rrrrrip.

Right in front of my face, she tore the ultrasound into shreds.

The white paper confetti fluttered straight down onto my shoes.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I lunged forward to grab them, but two guards grabbed my arms from behind, pinning them back as my knees slammed hard onto the carpet.

"Still playing games?" Bianca stepped back, her expression full of venom. "You delusional psycho, bringing trash fake scans here trying to milk the Vargas family for cash?"

A burst of harsh laughter erupted from the surrounding thugs.

"Not a bad face, but what a waste of space."

"Trying to crawl into the Boss's bed? Look in the mirror first."

The sharp, mocking laughter drilled straight into my ears.

I glared at Bianca. "That's Marcello's kid! If you keep this from him, he'll fucking kill you!"

Bianca sneered, her eyes dripping with contempt.

"The Boss deals with millions every day. You think he has time for your pathetic lies?" She turned away, her voice freezing. "Throw this trash out. If she comes anywhere near this club again, break her legs."

The guards dragged me backward out the back door, tossing me hard onto the concrete of the alley.

My knees scraped raw, jagged gravel biting deep into the flesh, burning with white-hot pain.

I hauled myself up by the edge of a dumpster. I didn't have time to cry.

I reached for my collar, yanking hard to pull the blue diamond pendant off my neck.

Marcello had put it on me himself on our wedding anniversary. It was a Vargas family heirloom.

He told me that with this on, nobody in New York would ever touch me.

Clutching it tight, I limped three blocks over to an underground pawnshop.

Behind the bulletproof glass, the old owner was inspecting a luxury watch with a loupe.

I slammed the pendant onto the counter.

The owner picked it up lazily, but the second he spotted the crest engraved on the mounting, his hand jerked so hard he almost dropped the pendant against the glass.

"Fifteen thousand dollars. Wire it to this blank cash card." I slid an unassigned card across, giving him zero time to react.

This piece was worth at least two million.

Cold sweat instantly beaded on the owner's forehead. He stared at the pendant, then at me, nodding frantically. "Y-you wait here. I need to run it through the system."

He turned and bolted into the back room. Through the crack in the door, I caught the muffled sound of him speaking in a panicked, lightning-fast rush.

I knew he was ratting me out upstairs. I didn't care. As long as the cash hit the card, he could tell whoever he wanted.

Three minutes later, he came out holding the card, his hand still shaking.

"The money's transferred."

I snatched the card and walked out of the pawnshop.

When I finally made it back to the freezing penthouse, it was past ten at night.

That fifteen thousand dollars was enough to keep me and the baby alive for months.

I collapsed onto the bare living room floor, my eyes just starting to close, when the phone in my pocket went wild.

Marcello's name flashed across the screen.

The second I answered, his low voice slammed through the speaker, loaded with suffocating rage:

"Sienna, what the hell are you playing at?"

I tried to get a word in: "I'm not playing games! I'm pregnant, I need money—"

"Enough!" he cut me off.

A heavy, exhausted sigh came through the earpiece.

"Pulling stunts at the club with fake medical slips, and now you're pawning family heirlooms? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You think I want your damn money?!" I raised my voice. "Do you have any idea what I—"

"Bianca already went and redeemed the pendant," he talked right over me, his tone turning colder than ice for the first time. "If you need cash, just say so. Dragging the family name through the dirt? Sienna, you've disappointed me. Stay put and keep your head down for a while."

The call dropped.

I stared at the black screen, the dial tone ringing in my ears.

He didn't believe me. He would rather swallow the lies of his bookkeeper than trust his own wife.

Two seconds later, the screen lit up again. A new text message.

From: Bianca.

I opened it.

"The Boss says anyone who pawns family heirlooms doesn't deserve a personal account. I've confiscated the funds for the family."

My hand shook as I scrambled to open my banking app.

The balance refreshed.

0.00.

That fifteen thousand dollars, along with the fifty bucks I borrowed from Stella, was wiped out clean.