The Heir He Never KnewI spent five years as Dominic Santoro’s wife in name only.
Five years hidden behind closed doors, buried under his sheets, erased from his world.
When he finally agreed to take me back to Chicago—to stand beside him, to be seen—I thought I had won.
I bought a new dress.
Soft. Elegant. Worthy of a Don’s woman.
The night before we left, he looked at me through the mirror and said calmly,
“Take the makeup off. Change into pants.”
I asked why.
He adjusted his cufflinks like I was nothing more than background noise.
“Juliana Lancaster is back. Tonight is our engagement.”
Russian Bratva. Lancaster blood. A marriage alliance.
Seeing my silence, he laughed—careless, cruel.
“What’s with that look? Didn’t we agree on this when we married? Brotherhood. Loyalty. No love.”
Then he turned, eyes sharp and mocking.
“Victoria Miller… you didn’t actually fall in love with me, did you?”
I stood there, frozen.
Because inside the inner pocket of his tailored suit—
was my pregnancy report.
And the Don of Chicago had no idea the woman he was about to sacrifice was carrying his heir.