Chapter 1 - The Bullet and the Black SUV
The sharp crack of the first gunshot ricocheted violently off the reinforced concrete pillars of the parking structure, echoing like thunder in an enclosed tomb. Concrete dust sprayed into the damp air as a bullet chipped a chunk of masonry barely three feet from where I stood frozen.
Before my lungs could pull in air to scream, Matteo Ferrara moved.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't flinch. With a feral, lightning-fast instinct honed by a lifetime of violence, his arm locked around my waist and jerked me off my feet. He spun his body entirely, using his massive frame, broad shoulders, and heavy wool coat as a human shield between me and the incoming line of fire. My breath hitched in my throat as my chest collided with the rock-hard wall of his chest. Beneath the tailored cashmere and crisp white shirt, I could feel the violent, rhythmic pounding of his heart—steady, heavy, and terrifyingly calm.
"Down! Stay down!" he growled against the shell of my ear, his voice rough and low.
Another deafening round shattered the rear windshield of his armored Mercedes. Glass rained down onto the pavement like a hailstorm of jagged diamonds. The driver—the man who had spoken so quietly only seconds ago—already had a weapon drawn from beneath his coat. He returned fire with three methodical, rhythmic pops, forcing the advancing headlights to swerve sharply, tires screeching against oil-slick concrete.
Matteo didn't let go of me for a fraction of a second. Even with the world exploding into gunfire and lethal chaos, his left hand remained pressed flat against my lower back, holding me tightly against him. And clutched tightly in his right fist, creased against his knuckles but miraculously unharmed, was the black-and-white thermal printout of our twelve-week ultrasound.
"Marco, flank left! Suppressive fire!" Matteo barked orders with chilling composure. He dragged me backward toward the open passenger side of the SUV, keeping low.
My knees felt like water. My shift bag fell to the ground, pens and a stethoscope tumbling out across the wet floor, but I couldn't care less. All I could think about was the tiny, fragile heartbeat that had flickered on the ultrasound monitor just hours ago. Instinct took over; my hands flew to my stomach, curling over my womb defensively.
Matteo saw the movement. His dark eyes caught mine, flashing with something electric, raw, and possessive.
"I have you," he murmured fiercely into the chaos, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made the gunfire fade into background noise. "I swear on my mother’s soul, Sera, nobody touches you. Neither of you."
He shoved me into the plush leather interior of the back seat, practically shielding the open doorway with his torso until I was completely inside. Another round pinged harmlessly off the reinforced steel frame of the SUV door. Matteo dove in directly after me, slamming the door shut with a heavy, pressurized thud that sealed out the noise of the garage.
"Drive!" he commanded.
Marco hit the gas. The SUV roared to life, all four tires biting into the asphalt as the heavy vehicle surged forward. We lurched violently as Marco cut the wheel, clipping the front bumper of the attackers' dark sedan and spinning them into a concrete pillar with a sickening crunch of metal. We burst through the garage barrier, shattering the wooden gate into splinters, and rocketed out into the rainy, neon-strewn streets of the city.
Inside the cabin, the silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.
I was trembling from head to toe. I pressed my back against the far door, clutching my damp coat around me, staring at the man sitting opposite me.
Matteo was breathing evenly, straightening the lapel of his coat as if he had just stepped out of a business lunch rather than a firefight. But his hands weren't relaxed. Carefully, almost reverently, he smoothed out the crumpled corners of the ultrasound scan against his thigh.
His eyes traced every curve of the blurry image. The tiny outline of a head. The minuscule curve of a spine. The typed numbers marking twelve weeks of life.
When he finally looked up at me, the ruthless mafia don everyone whispered about in terrified tones was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a man stripped down to his rawest, most dangerous truth.
"You were going to walk away," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "You were going to carry my child, walk through this city alone, and never tell me."
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"You're a monster to half this city, Matteo," I whispered back, my voice shaking with tears I refused to let fall. "What was I supposed to do? Call your office and leave a message with your hitmen?"
A ghost of a grim smile touched his lips, but his eyes remained burning with lethal resolve. "You should have come straight to me, Sera. Because from this moment on, you are the most protected woman on this earth. And anyone who thinks they can use this child against me is going to learn exactly why they fear my name."
