⊰ Marcel ⊱
Soft rays of morning light peek around the blackout curtains, casting a warm glow across Mercy’s sleeping form beside me. I prop myself up on one elbow, taking in the sight of her—her dark hair fanned out against the pillow, full lips slightly parted, long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she dreams. My chest swells with an overwhelming surge of love and contentment.
Last night was perfect, better than I ever imagined. The way she gave herself to me, trusting me with her body and heart…it’s a precious gift. She is a precious gift I’ll cherish forever.
Careful not to wake her, I slip out of bed and pad into the bathroom, thoughts of our passionate wedding night still burning under my skin. The memory lingers for a moment, but it doesn’t last very long.
As the hot water of the shower cascades over my body, washing away the remnants of sleep, my thoughts shift to the declaration of war Catalina made o
This can’t be real… I sit on the cold bathroom floor, my back pressed against the locked door, and my knees pulled up to my chest. In my hands, I hold the pregnancy test, its two unmistakable lines staring back at me like a cruel joke. Positive. It’s fucking positive. I want to laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time. This can’t be happening… Not now. Not like this. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I try to calm the storm raging inside me. It could be false, right? Don’t people get false positives all the time? … It’s the nocebo effect. I’m probably manifesting my own symptoms. … No. You’re in denial. I’ve been ignoring the signs for weeks now—my missed period, the constant exhaustion, the way my body feels like a stranger to me. I thought it was all because of the wedding and the stress that came with it, but I’m
It’s been a week since the four plastic sticks confirmed that I’m pregnant, a week since my world changed. A week since Marcel and I stood on the edge of this new life, the reality of our future pressing down on us, challenging us. And in that week, I’ve hardly seen him at all. He’s been around, fitting in and out of the house at odd hours, always with his phone pressed to his ear or his head buried in paperwork. But he hasn’t beenpresent, not in the way I need him to be. Not in the way I crave with every fiber of my being. I tell myself it’s just the stress of stepping in his father’s place as head of the family empire, but there’s a small, insidious voice in the back of my mind that whispers a different story—a different story that twists a knot in my stomach. Maybe he’s been avoiding me. The thought tugs at my heart, and with it goes my appetite. I push my dinner around my plate, suddenly growing nauseous. Next to me
I eye my fork as I absently push the scrambled eggs around my plate, the sound of the clinking mixing with the sound of my breathing as I sit at the dining table alone. It’s been two days since Marcel shut down my idea of going back to school—two days of us not saying a word to each other. We’re like parallel lines, destined never to meet, stretching further apart with each passing moment. But as much as I’d like to cling to my righteous indignation, I know today is not the day to be stubborn. Today is the day I face the reality of the life growing inside me, the day I take the first step in my journey to motherhood. I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor as a sigh parts my lips. The sound is unsettling in the stillness of the morning, and for a moment, I pause, half-expecting Marcel to appear in the doorway. He doesn’t. It dawns on me with a twinge of sadness that he’s probably holed up in his office, dealing with the
The black and white image on the ultrasound printout is seared into my mind as I stare out the window of Marcel’s truck. Eight weeks. That tiny flickering heartbeat, ourlittle bean, has been growing inside me for eight weeks. It’s surreal, knowing that a new life is blossoming within me, a perfect blend of Marcel and myself. A small smile tugs at my lips despite the lingering tension between us, a flicker of warmth spreading across my chest as I absently rub my thumb over the glossy paper. The doctor’s reassurances still echo in my ears—everything looks good, right on track. I’m pulled out of my thoughts as Marcel suddenly flicks on the turn signal, pulling into the drive-thru of a smoothie shop. I shoot him a questioning glance, and before I can mutter a sound, he says matter-of-factly, “You hardly ate this morning. You need to eat something, especially now.” How did he… … Mauricio. I can’t ev
⊰ Marcel ⊱ The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles like a heavy blanket—smothering and unsettling. Too damn quiet. It’s been weeks since Luciano took the reins of his brother’s cartel, weeks since hevowedvengeance against me for killing Rafael. Weeks… and not a single threat, not a bullet fired in our direction. It’s the stillness before the storm, the type of calm that makes my men jumpy and my own skin itch with an uneasiness. They’re planning something, I can feel it in my bones. The question is: what? And more importantly, how do I keep my family safe? “We can’t let them have the advantage,” Levi mutters, his eyes narrowing as he studies the maps spread across the pool table of the parlor. “I know,” I grunt lowly, tracing a line along the border of our territory with my finger. “We tighten up security, deploy more men—” “No good,” Rick, ever the cautious strategist,
The shopping bags rustle at my feet as I settle into the plush leather seat of Alessandra’s sleek black Mercedes. My feet are still aching from all the walking we’ve done over the past few hours—store after store, rack after rack of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. It’s a world I’m still not entirely used to, a level of luxury that feels straight out of a movie. Alessandra slides into the driver’s seat, a satisfied smile on her face as she tosses her own collection of shopping bags into the back. “I think we did some serious damage today,” she says with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You don’t say… I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned this many clothes in my entire life,” I admit, glancing down at the sea of bags at my feet. “Marcel’s gonna think I’ve lost my mind.” She scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “Please, my brother loves spoiling you. And besides…” her gaze drifts to my sti
Content Advisory: This chapter contains graphic violence, including physical assault. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Fear gnaws at my insides as Alessandra and I glance at each other, slowly lowering ourselves back into our seats. My hand drifts protectively to my stomach, an instinctual desire to shield my unborn child. Luciano grabs a chair, the metal scraping harshly against the linoleum floor as he drags it to our table sinisterly. He sits down, leaning back with a casual air. I watch as Catalina moves, taking the empty seat next to Alessandra, directly across from me. Her gaze is fixed on me, her eyes glinting with a cold hatred that sends a shiver down my spine. We’re gonna die here… “I don’t think I need to introduce myself,” Luciano begins, his accented voice smooth and even. “You already know who I am.” He’s right. We do. He’s thenew headof the Reyes cartel—the man whovo
Content Advisory: Emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.The sterile white walls of the hospital room close in around me as I lay on the narrow bed, my body aching and my heart heavy. The papery gown scratches against my skin, a constant reminder of where I am and why I’m here.Please, let the baby be okay… Please…I stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the steady beep of the heart monitor, but my mind keeps drifting back to the events that landed me here.Alessandra half-carried, half-dragged me to her car, my legs barely able to support my weight. Each step sent a jolt of pain through my battered body, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.“Hospital,” she said firmly, her quavering voice leaving no room for argument.But even through the gaze of pain and fear, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let anyone find out about this, least of all Marcel.“No,” I rasped,