Chapter 2

I could faintly hear the maids whispering outside my door.

“Did you hear? The Boss spent a fortune on the black market. He bought the ‘Tear of Sicily’ diamond.”

“That legendary crown? My God, it must be for Bianca. To show her off!”

I leaned against the cold wall, my fingers brushing the ring finger of my left hand.

A cheap soda can tab used to be there.

On a hot summer day three years ago, he’d slipped it on my finger, kissing my hand and swearing, “Valeria, one day, I’ll put a queen’s crown on your head.”

Now, the crown was here.

But someone else was the queen.

That evening, the lock clicked.

Killian walked in.

He tossed his designer suit jacket aside, yanking his tie loose. The open collar revealed his strong collarbones and the hard lines of his chest.

The small room was instantly filled with his scent—a potent mix of gunpowder and pine.

He carried a slice of my favorite tiramisu and came to the bed.

“Eat something.” He knelt by the mattress, his calloused thumb stroking my jaw. “Don’t be stubborn. For our child.”

I looked at his powerful, masculine face.

My stomach churned.

I took a small, bitter bite of the cake. “When did it start? With her.”

Killian’s hand stopped.

He stood up, walked to the bar, and poured a drink.

His throat worked as he threw back half the glass.

“A month ago. The night of your birthday.”

He didn’t turn around. His voice was low and hoarse.

“Her old man is paranoid. I had to prove the Russo family’s commitment. By sealing the deal in bed.”

Ice flooded my veins.

That rainy night, a month ago. I’d waited for him all night with a birthday cake that went cold.

He came back the next morning, smelling of dust and carrying the expensive, limited-edition paints I wanted. He’d pushed me onto the sofa and took me rough and fast, panting apologies about picking up a car from the docks all night.

That strange perfume on his clothes… it wasn’t a goddamn car air freshener.

“You make me sick,” I whispered, my body trembling as tears hit the back of my hand.

Killian spun around, stalking back to the bed.

His huge frame loomed over me, his hands planting on either side of my body.

“I told you, it was just business!” he snarled, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Only you will ever have my child!”

“Then don’t marry her!” I grabbed his shirt, my knuckles white. “This is the last time I’m asking, Killian. Let’s just leave.”

He looked down at me, a flash of annoyed frustration in his eyes.

“You don’t even know how to turn off a safety. How would you survive in this world?” He ripped my hands off me. “This is just the beginning. Street wars, endless killing. You’d be dead in a day without this bulletproof glass.”

Just then, red alarm lights flashed wildly.

The sound of automatic rifle fire echoed from outside, getting closer.

Killian’s face changed. He pulled the Glock from his waistband.

“We’re under attack!” he yelled into his radio, then hauled me off the bed.

“Come with me!”

A spray of bullets slammed against the bulletproof glass. The noise was deafening.

I screamed, my hands flying to my stomach.

Killian saw my panic, and a look of grim resolve crossed his face.

He pinned me against the wall, one hand holding down my struggling arms while the other fumbled in his tactical vest for a military-grade sedative.

“What are you doing?!”

“You’re panicking. You’ll get yourself killed.” His eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t hesitate. He jammed the needle into my neck.

A cold liquid shot through my veins.

The world spun.

He lifted my limp body over his shoulder, kicked open a hidden door, and shoved me roughly into a cramped panic chute.

BOOM! An explosive hit nearby.

The chute shook violently.

The drug, the terror, the rough way he’d handled me…

A sharp, ripping pain exploded from deep inside my stomach.

I curled into a ball, sobbing.

Warm blood rushed down my legs, soaking my white dress.

Red. So much red. It was like a knife in my eyes.

“The baby… my baby…” I touched the blood-soaked fabric, my voice breaking. I looked up at him, destroyed.

“Killian! Stop! Get a doctor! Please, I’m begging you, get a doctor!”

I screamed, clawing at the edge of the chute.

The veins on his gun hand bulged.

He glanced at the pool of blood beneath me. His eyes burned red, his jaw trembling from how hard he clenched it.

The gunfire was right outside the hidden passage.

He yanked his arm from my grasp.

“A miscarriage won’t kill you,” he gritted out. “A bullet will.”

He raised his gun, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the storm of bullets in the dark.

The hatch slammed shut, cutting off my hopeless screams.