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I’d lose my baby, the only family I’ve ever had.
Tears sting my eyes as the horrific reality of my situation sets in. I can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All I know is I have to protect this child, no matter what. Even if it means facing Damian’s wrath. Even if it means going on the run, disappearing completely.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my baby safe.
I consider making a run for it, just disappearing before Damian ever finds out about the pregnancy. I wouldn’t be stupid this time and head to the Carters’ house.
But I know that would be futile. He has the resources and connections to hunt me down, no matter where I try to hide. He’s a Mafia Don with seemingly unlimited funds and influence. He could mobilize an entire army to search for me.
And even if I manage to evade him for a time, what kind of life would that be, constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified that he’ll find me and take my baby away?
No, I can’t run. I have to face this head-on, as terrifying as the thought is.
But I can’t tell Damian. Not yet.
As the panic over telling Damian subsides, at least temporarily, my body is overcome with an overwhelming urge to eat something—anything—to settle my roiling stomach.
Once we get back to the house, I decide a few plain crackers or a piece of dry toast might be just what I need, so I head toward the kitchen.
But as I round the corner, I come face to face with a man I’ve never seen before. He’s tall and imposing, with salt-and-pepper hair that gives him an air of authority. His brow is heavy, conveying a sense of perpetual scrutiny, and his nose is slightly crooked, as if it had been broken at some time. The lines that frame his mouth and eyes speak of a lifetime of hardship and struggle.
But despite his advancing age, there’s an undeniable strength and vitality that radiates from him. His jawline remains sharp and defined, and the muscles in his neck stand out subtly beneath the fabric of his expensive, tailored suit.
But something about him sets my teeth on edge, my entire body instinctively telling me to get as far away from this man as possible.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice smooth and measured.
“I’m… I’m sorry, I was just looking for something to eat,” I stammer, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.
“And who might you be?” the man inquires, his gaze piercing right through me. His face exudes an aura of danger and mystery. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
I put on my most convincing smile. “I’m Maria, Damian and Nat’s cousin.” I repeat the cover story that Nat and Damian had drilled into me, hoping my nerves don’t betray the lie.
“Maria,” the man says, his expression unreadable. “I’m Vincente Iacopelli, Damian and Natalia’s uncle. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before. What brings you here?”
“Oh, you know, just visiting family,” I reply, hoping my voice sounds casual enough. “And what about you? What brings you here?”
Vincente’s gaze narrows slightly. “I’m here looking for Damian. Haven’t you heard the news? Mario Rafa is dead, and his daughter Scarlett is now the Donna of The Brotherhood.”
My blood runs cold at his words and my stomach heaves. Mario Rafa is… dead? And Scarlett has taken over? I’m not sure whether it’s just pregnancy-related nausea or that the sheer gravity of the situation is overwhelming me. Either way, I can feel the color draining from my face.
This is the last thing I needed to hear.
If Vincente is looking for Damian, it can’t be for any good reason.
“No, I’m afraid I hadn’t heard that,” I say, trying to sound more surprised than concerned. “That’s quite a development.”
Vincente’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me from head to toe, his gaze almost predatory. The look makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable, as if he can see right through my “Maria” façade.
It’s almost as if he knows who I really am.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Vincente asks, his voice infuriatingly patronizing. “You look a bit… pale.”
I swallow hard, desperately trying to maintain my composure. “I’m fine, just a bit under the weather, that’s all,” I lie, cursing the quaver in my voice.
Vincente hums noncommittally, his eyes still piercing into me. “I see. Well, I do hope you recover soon. I’d hate for you to miss any… important Family matters.”
I want to throw up. The implications in his words are clear, and it sends a chill down my spine. Does Vincente know I’m not who I’m pretending to be?
