Chapter 3

When I woke up, I’d bitten my lip raw.

The empty, aching hollowness in my stomach was a cold confirmation.

The baby was gone.

The clinic smelled of antiseptic. Killian wasn’t there.

I heard a nurse whispering in the hall. The Russo Boss had been hauled in front of the Commission for an emergency hearing the second he got clear.

He’d killed my baby with his so-called protection, then left me alone in this back-alley clinic to go save his own ass.

The door was kicked open.

Bianca walked in, wearing a red dress and holding a glass of champagne.

“Don’t wait up,” she said, stopping by my bed. “He’s busy explaining this little mess to a bunch of old men. He doesn’t have time for you.”

I looked at her. I was too weak from blood loss to even be angry.

“You leaked the safe house location,” I said, my voice faint.

Bianca laughed.

“Of course. It’s the most secure location in the state. If I didn’t sell the coordinates to his rivals, how else would Killian go crazy and shove you into that cramped chute?”

She took a sip of champagne, her eyes falling to the blood on my dress.

“See? His big hero moment saved me a lot of trouble.”

She stepped back and nodded to her bodyguards.

Two huge men came forward, pinning my shoulders and legs.

A doctor in a mask entered, holding a surgical knife.

“What are you doing?” I tried to fight, but I had no strength.

“She bled out. We had to take her womb to save her life.” Bianca didn’t even look at me. She said it like she was ordering dinner. “Killian can’t argue with that logic.”

“Let me go…”

An anesthesia mask was pressed over my face.

The chemical smell filled my lungs.

Before I blacked out, all I heard was the clink of metal instruments and Bianca’s casual voice saying, “No more little accidents.”

…

When I opened my eyes again, the pain was a dull, empty numbness.

I could never be a mother.

Bianca was sitting in a chair nearby, playing with a lighter.

It was engraved with the Russo family crest—a thorny rose. It was Killian’s. He was never without it.

“He was in my bed last night. Very passionate.” Bianca tossed the lighter onto my pillow. “He left in a hurry.”

I turned my head, staring at the lighter. His fingerprints were all over it.

Bile rose in my throat.

Killian didn't love me. He just loved controlling me.

And it cost me my baby. It cost me a part of my body.

I swallowed the taste of blood and looked at Bianca.

She was fixing her lipstick in a compact mirror, desperate to look the part of a mafia wife-to-be.

“You want that ticket, don’t you,” I said. My voice was like sandpaper.

Bianca froze, frowning. “What?”

“You're new money. Jersey trash. The Five Families will always look down on you.” I stared right at her. “Even after you’re married, the wives of the old-money families will never let you sit at their table.”

Her face darkened. I’d hit a nerve.

“Shut up. Who the hell do you think you are…”

“Send an invite to the Don,” I cut her off, my voice flat, empty of all emotion. “

The Don’s only daughter is in New York. If she took an interest in your marriage…”

Bianca’s hand stopped.

The Don. The ruler of the entire American underworld.

For someone as vain and hungry for status as her, the daughter’s approval was everything.

“If you send your wedding invitation there,” I said, closing my eyes to hide what was in them, “the princess might just grace you with a wedding gift.”

The clinic was silent for a few seconds.

I could hear Bianca’s breathing, quick and shallow. The sound of pure greed.

“Oh, the princess will get my invitation.”

The sharp click of her heels moved toward the door.

“But that has nothing to do with a useless bitch who doesn’t even have a womb.”