“Keep her.” Those were the two words I heard my mafia husband say about another woman on our fifth wedding anniversary,

The silence that followed was louder than gunfire.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply turned on my heel and walked out of the interrogation cell, my boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor.

"Elena!"

Adrien caught up to me at the landing of the stairs. He grabbed my wrist, his grip frantic, pulling me around. "Elena, stop. Listen to me."

"Did my father sell me to you?" I asked. My voice was a whisper, fragile as dry glass.

Adrien flinched. The man who controlled half the underworld of the Eastern Seaboard looked completely broken. "Your father made a deal with monsters before I stepped in. They were going to kill him, take your mother's house, and force you into a brothel in Montreal to work off the balance. I bought the contract. I wiped it clean."

"And the marriage?" I choked out, a solitary tear spilling over my cheek. "Was that part of the contract?"

"No!" Adrien snapped, his voice ringing with fierce conviction. "The marriage was mine! I saw you at the St. Regis three months before your father ever lost a dime. You were reading under the chandeliers, ignoring every silver-spoon asshole in the room. I was already obsessed with you. When your father came begging, I saw an opportunity to bring you into my world, to protect you, to make you mine. I didn't force you, Elena. I courted you."

"You courted me with a gun to my family’s head that you never told me about!" I pulled my wrist from his grasp with a sharp jerk. "You built our entire life on a foundation of blackmail and blood, Adrien! How was any of it real? The morning coffee? The scrambled eggs? The storms? Was that just guilt? Was that just you managing your investment?!"

"It was love!" he shouted, taking a step toward me, his hands shaking. "It has always been love! I have killed for you! I have bled for you! And I will burn this entire empire to the ground if it means keeping you breathing!"

My stomach seized again, a sharp, twisting cramp that made me gasp and clutch my abdomen. The dizziness rushed back with terrifying speed, black spots swimming across my vision.

Adrien’s fury vanished in an instant, replaced by raw panic. He caught me as my knees buckled, scooping me effortlessly into his arms before I hit the stone steps.

"Elena!"

"Put me down," I wheezed, but my body wouldn't obey. The exhaustion, the emotional trauma, and the pregnancy had finally collided, pulling me into a suffocating darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the master bedroom. The drapes were drawn, and a small fire crackled in the hearth. Nora was sitting beside the bed, holding a warm mug of ginger tea.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Nora said softly, her eyes rimmed with red.

"Nora?" I tried to sit up, but my head pounded. "How are you here? Matteo said—"

"Adrien sent three cars to bring me back from Delaware the second you passed out," Nora explained, setting the tea down on the nightstand. "He lost his mind, El. He fired two guards just for letting the temperature in the basement drop too low. He thinks you're dying of some mystery illness."

I closed my eyes, letting out a ragged sigh. "I’m not dying."

Nora leaned in close, her gaze dropping to my stomach. She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. "How far along are you?"

My eyes snapped open. "How did you know?"

"I’ve known you since we were six, Elena. You haven't touched a cup of coffee in three weeks, you look at scrambled eggs like they’re poison, and you’ve been protecting your stomach since I opened the door in Queens. Does he know?"

"No," I whispered, tears pooling in my eyes. "And he can't know, Nora. Vanessa Cole told me... my father sold me to him. Our entire marriage was an arrangement. And now Vance is hunting us. If Adrien finds out about this baby, he will lock me in a vault. I will never be free. This child will be raised in a war zone."

"Elena," Nora said gently, taking my cold hand. "Adrien Moretti might be a monster to the rest of the world. But that man is on his knees in the hallway right now, tearing through his Rolodex to fly the best private physicians from Johns Hopkins because he thinks you have a fever. You can't keep this from him forever."

"Just until I know we survive Vance," I pleaded. "Just until this war is over."

Before Nora could answer, the bedroom door swung open. Matteo stood in the threshold, his tactical vest strapped tight, an assault rifle slung across his chest.