Page 66 of Claimed Through Deception

"Niccolò, please," she chokes out, twisting her wrists, fighting desperately against my grip.

"I gave you the gardens," I growl, leaning down until the rain dripping from my hair falls onto her pale cheeks. "I gave you my home. I gave you my protection. I stripped my own father of his title to ensure you would never have to look over your shoulder, and you repay me by paying one of my own soldiers to betray me."

"You are a killer," she sobs, the tears mixing with the rain on her face as she beats her fists against my soaked chest. "You just slaughtered that boy. You kill people, Niccolò. You are a monster. I can't stay here. I can't."

"He is breathing, you fucking idiot!" I shout over the wind, giving her a single, jarring shake. "I cracked his skull because he took syndicate money to leave my property vulnerable. I protect what is mine!"

"I am not yours!" she screams, her voice cracking with desperation. "Let me go! Just let me walk away!"

I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me, forcing her to see the wreckage she is causing.

"Why isn't it enough?" I demand, my voice dropping to a harsh, ragged whisper that the storm nearly drowns out. "I offer you the world on a fucking silver platter. I offer you my life, my loyalty, my name. What more do you want from me? Why do you constantly look at me like I am the devil?"

Livia shudders, her chest heaving as she stares into my eyes. She is trapped, cornered against the iron bars with nowhere left to run.

"Because I am pregnant!" she screams, the words tearing out of her throat like jagged shards of glass.

The thunder crashes overhead, shaking the stone wall, but the sound doesn't register. The rain pelting my skin ceases to exist.

"I am carrying your baby!" she cries, her hands coming up to press against her stomach, a shield against the life we created. "And I refuse to let my child grow up in a fucking slaughterhouse! I refuse to let you mold my baby into a ruthless, blood-soaked soldier who solves problems by cracking skulls in the mud. I will not raise a monster, Niccolò!"

A hollow-point bullet to the chest would have done less damage.

I release her jaw, stumbling backward a fraction of an inch. My hands go numb. The Smith & Wesson tucked into the waistband of my trousers, the weapon I have carried every day since I was eighteen, suddenly feels like an anchor dragging me to the bottom of the ocean.

A baby.

My mind races, connecting the fragmented pieces of the last few weeks. The sudden exhaustion. The nausea she tried to hide during the syndicate party. The way she pulled away from my touch, treating my affection like a death sentence.

She isn't running because she hates me. She is running because she is a mother protecting her young from a predator.

I look at her standing in the freezing rain, her arms wrapped defensively around her midsection, willing to choose poverty, starvation, and a life on the run over a life with me. She genuinely believes my proximity will corrupt our child. She sees me as a disease she has to eradicate from her bloodline.

The possessive rage that fueled my pursuit evaporates, leaving behind a vast, hollow crater. A terrifying coldness seeps into my bones, freezing my veins. I lose control. Not in a violent, explosive outburst, but in a complete detachment that severs my soul from my body.

I am a monster. She just confirmed it. My own woman looked at the life I built and decided the gutter was a safer place for her offspring.

"Niccolò," she whispers, her voice trembling as she watches the shift in my demeanor. The fight drains out of her, replaced by a new, uncertain fear.

I do not answer, instead I reach out, grasping her upper arm in an iron grip. I don't yank her, but I don't offer any gentleness either. I simply turn her around and commence walking back toward the estate, dragging her alongside me through the torrential downpour.

"Please," she begs, stumbling over the uneven ground, her sneakers slipping in the mud. "Please, just listen to me. You know what this life does to people. You know what it did to your father."

I ignore her. I focus on the looming silhouette of the mansion, treating her pleas like background static. We pass the greenhouse, the stone pathways slick with rain. She cries, the sound is a broken, pathetic noise that bounces off my frozen exterior.

We reach the rear service doors. Enzo is standing under the awning, flanked by three armed guards. He holds a radio in his hand, his eyes scanning the tree line until they land on us. He takes in the soaked clothes, the mud, the fact that I am dragging a weeping woman by the arm.

"Get a medic for Leo," I instruct Enzo. "He is unconscious by the eastern gate. Clean up the mess and lock the perimeter."

Enzo nods, his sharp gaze assessing my blank expression, but he knows better than to ask questions. "Understood."

I pull Livia through the kitchens. Marta is standing near the ovens, a terrified expression on her aged face, but I do not spare her a glance. We ascend the servant stairs, moving swiftly through the corridors until we reach a master suite.

I push the oak doors open and shove her inside. She stumbles, catching her balance near the edge of the Persian rug. She turns to face me, dripping wet, her chest heaving as she rubs her bruised arm.

"You can't do this," she whispers, her eyes darting to the hallway behind me. "You can't keep me locked up like an animal. I am having your child."

I do not step inside the room. I stand on the threshold, looking at the woman carrying my heir. There is no warmth left in my chest. There is no possessive fire. There is only the crushing reality that my love is a cage she will gnaw her own limbs off to escape.