Trapped by the Mafia Don: Carrying His Secret Heir

"Down! Keep your head down!" Dominic’s voice roared over the deafening cacophony of shattering glass, splintering wood, and shrieking guests.

He didn't hesitate. Pulling a customized Glock from his shoulder holster, Dominic returned fire with chilling accuracy, taking down a masked shooter perched on the upper mezzanine while keeping his broad torso completely covering mine. The smell of cordite and burnt sulfur flooded my lungs, instantly triggering a wave of violent morning sickness that I forced down through sheer terror.

"Marco! Clear the north corridor!" Dominic barked into his lapel comms as his security detail formed a rolling perimeter around us.

Two of Dominic’s men fell, clutching bleeding limbs, but they held the line. Dominic pulled me to my feet, keeping his left arm wrapped tightly around my ribs, practically carrying me as we sprinted toward the service exit behind the kitchens.

We burst through the industrial metal doors into the freezing Chicago alleyway, the sub-zero wind lashing against my bare shoulders. An armored SUV was already screeching to a halt at the curb, its rear doors flying open.

"Get in!" Dominic shouted, shoving me safely into the reinforced leather interior before sliding in beside me and slamming the door shut just as a burst of bullets struck the ballistic glass, leaving spiderweb cracks but failing to penetrate.

"Go! Move now!" he commanded the driver.

The vehicle lunged forward, tires screaming against the slush. I pressed my back against the leather seat, gasping for air, my hands trembling uncontrollably over my stomach.

"Are you hit? Penelope, look at me. Are you bleeding?" Dominic dropped to his knees on the floor of the SUV, his hands frantically searching my body, checking my arms, my chest, my legs for any sign of injury. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a raw, wild panic I had never seen in him before. Chicago's most ruthless kingpin was visibly terrified—not of dying, but of losing me.

"I’m okay," I sobbed, catching his face between my shaking hands. His cheek was smeared with a streak of soot and someone else’s blood. "I’m not hit. The baby... I think the baby is okay."

Dominic let out a shuddering breath that sounded like a cracked rib, resting his forehead against my knees. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking in the darkened cabin. "I thought I had cleared the perimeter. I thought I could keep you safe in public."

"Who did that? Was it Raines?"

Dominic raised his head, his eyes burning with an infernal, merciless fire. "Victor doesn't have the clearance to bribe Drake security. The hit was coordinated from the inside."

A sickening realization washed over me. I remembered the spiteful look in his mother’s eyes that very morning. You are a pathetic liability.

"Helena?" I whispered in horror. "Your own mother?"

Dominic looked toward the front windshield, his jaw set in stone. "My mother forgot the first rule of this family. When you strike at the king's heir, you forfeit your right to breathe."

Before we could clear the highway interchange near Navy Pier, a deafening explosion ripped through the air ahead of us. A semi-truck jackknifed across the highway, cutting off our route, while three black sedans boxed our vehicle in from behind.

"Brace!" the driver screamed.