Chapter 1

Killian froze for a second.

Then, tired pity filled his eyes.

“Valeria, stop. I know I’m a bastard for hiding this, for marrying someone else. But there are no ‘what ifs’ right now. Only that Jersey new-money trash has the men I need.”

He sighed, like he was calming down a child.

“You’re a painter from Brooklyn. A normal girl. You don’t even know how to take the safety off a gun. How could you help me?”

I looked around the apartment we’d painted together. At the easel he’d built for me in the corner.

“For the baby,” I whispered, my eyes red, my voice trembling. “Please. Call off the wedding.”

I stared at him, searching his face.

If he just nodded, I would pretend none of this ever happened.

But Killian’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wouldn’t budge.

“I made a blood oath to her father. Guns for a ring.”

“And what about me?! What about our baby?!” I was shaking, hysterical.

He stepped forward, grabbing my face. He wiped my tears away with his thumb before kissing me hard.

“I AM protecting you!” he growled, his voice pained but firm. “The safe house on Long Island has top-level security! You can have anything you want, except the title!”

I shoved him hard, stumbling back. “I will not let my child be a bastard, locked away behind bulletproof glass!”

“Bianca is a wife in name. Just a transaction.” Killian’s face was calm, his tone flat. “Her family can help me, but she will never replace you in my heart. Be a good girl, Valeria.”

“I don’t want your safe house!” I pointed to the door. “I’m staying here! This is our home. I’ll wait for our baby here!”

Killian’s eyes turned to ice.

The ruthless mob boss finally showed his face.

“No. Rival families are watching this place.” He left no room for argument. “I have to erase every trace of you before the wedding. No loose ends.”

He raised his hand. A signal.

The door burst open. Men in tactical gear swarmed in.

They carried gas cans and lighters, splashing fuel onto my canvases and my easel without a second thought.

“What are you doing?! Stop!”

I screamed, lunging for the sketch I’d just started. The one for the baby’s room.

Killian yanked me back, his arm a steel band around my shoulders, trapping me against his chest.

“Let me go! Killian, you’re insane! That’s my work!”

I beat against his chest, my nails digging into his arm.

Blood seeped through his shirt. He didn’t even flinch.

“When I win this war, I’ll give you your proper place. Now, shut up.”

He looked down at me, then gave the cold command.

“Burn it.”

“NO!”

Flames erupted. Every window shattered from the heat. Fire shot toward the sky.

My beautiful home, the easel full of memories, and the little test with two pink lines… all turned to ash in the fire.

I went limp in his arms, all my strength to even cry gone.

…

Hours later, I was in the safe house. Deep in a Long Island forest.

The heavy, blast-proof door slammed shut, locking from the outside with a sound of absolute despair.

My body ached. I dragged myself to the window, my hand on my stomach.

I gripped the blinds.

Through a tiny slit, all I could see was a world locked down by high walls and electric fences.

Outside, I heard the engine of an armored SUV cut out.

Then, a voice crackled over the intercom by the door. It was Killian’s bodyguard. His words were ice.

“The boss’s orders. Until after the wedding, this door stays shut. Even if the place burns to the ground.”