Chapter 1 - Her Cruel Ex Called Her a Desperate Single Mother—Until Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss Walked Straight Toward Her and Saw Her Pregnant BellyMaeve wanted a decaf.
Not rescue. Not romance. Not another complication in a life already held together by overdue notices and calculations made at three in the morning.
Just something warm to carry to her car after an appointment she had attended alone.
Rain striped the windows of the Daily Grind. Inside, wet coats steamed near the radiators, and the smell of espresso mingled with scorched milk. She shifted her weight, trying to ease the pressure in her lower back.
Nineteen weeks pregnant.
Five more months to prepare for a child she already loved and a future she could not afford.
“Decaf oat latte for Maeve.”
She reached for the cup.
“Well, if it isn’t the ghost of mistakes past.”
Her fingers tightened around the cardboard sleeve.
Derek stood beside the pastry display in a camel-colored coat she remembered from the winter before their breakup. Beside him was a woman in cream trousers, one hand resting lightly on his arm.
Maeve had spent five years learning what Derek’s expression meant.
That smile meant he had found something to use.
“Derek.”
She offered nothing else.
His eyes moved over her worn sweater, tired face, and stomach. Surprise interrupted his expression for a moment. Then his smile widened.
“Wow. You really didn’t waste any time.”
“I’m leaving.”
She moved toward the door.
He stepped into her path.
“Don’t be rude. This is Paige.”
The woman gave Maeve an uneasy smile.
“The one who needed space,” Derek added. “Apparently, she needed quite a lot of it.”
His gaze dropped again.
“You’re huge.”
The barista stopped wiping the counter.
Maeve could feel strangers pretending not to listen. She could also feel the old instinct beginning: explain, reassure, make the exchange less uncomfortable.
She swallowed it.
“Move.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“That isn’t your business.”
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Derek leaned closer, pleased by her silence.
“God, Maeve. You couldn’t keep a houseplant alive. Now you’re going to raise a baby in that little apartment?”
Paige tugged his sleeve.
“Leave her alone.”
But he had an audience, and Derek had always mistaken attention for permission.
“I could give you a loan. Or a social worker’s number. I’d hate to see you desperate.”
Maeve held the cup so tightly its lid bent.
There were answers she could have given. There were five years of them, waiting somewhere behind the exhaustion. But her throat would not open, and the room seemed suddenly too warm.
The bell above the door rang.
Cold air moved through the café.
The barista looked toward the entrance, then went still.
Two black SUVs waited beyond the rain-blurred glass. A man in a charcoal overcoat stood inside the doorway, water shining on his dark hair.
Donovan Hayes.
Maeve’s breath caught.
Seventeen weeks earlier, she had met him on a balcony above a charity gala. He had found her crying over a catering disaster, offered a clean handkerchief, and stayed when she expected him to leave.
One conversation had become one night.
She had slipped away before dawn.
She had not told him what happened afterward.
Now his eyes found her.
He studied her face, her defensive shoulders, the hand she had placed over her stomach without realizing it. His gaze stopped there.
Derek kept talking.
“You’re a sinking ship. Try not to drown in public. It’s embarrassing.”
Donovan looked away from Maeve.
Toward him.
He crossed the floor without hurrying.
“Are you finished?”
Derek turned, irritation already forming.
Then he saw who had spoken.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Donovan stepped closer.
“I asked you a question.”
Maeve watched the color leave her ex’s face.
Then Donovan looked at her again—and this time, there was no mistaking the question in his eyes.
He knew whose child she was carrying.
The café had become so quiet that Maeve could hear rain dripping from Donovan's coat onto the tile.
Derek recovered first.
“Mr. Hayes,” he said, forcing a smile. “I didn't realize you knew Maeve.”
Donovan didn't answer him.
Instead, he looked at Maeve.
“Do you want this man to leave you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then he will.”
He turned back to Derek.
“You heard her.”
Derek swallowed.
“Of course. I was only joking.”
“Then you should reconsider your sense of humor.”
Paige stepped away from Derek.
“That's what I told him.”
Donovan glanced at her.
“Then you were right.”
Maeve wanted to disappear.
She had spent months carefully separating her life into manageable pieces.
Work.
Rent.
Doctor's appointments.
Prenatal vitamins.
The secondhand crib she had found online.
And the memory of Donovan Hayes, which she kept locked in a place she rarely allowed herself to visit.
Now every piece had collided inside a coffee shop.
Donovan turned toward her.
“Maeve.”
Hearing her name in his voice brought back the balcony.
The cold Chicago night.
His hand resting lightly against her waist.
The way he had listened when she spoke about wanting to open a bakery someday.
She swallowed.
“Hello, Donovan.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach.
Then returned to her face.
“Can we talk?”
She glanced at Derek.
He was watching them with an expression that had shifted from embarrassment to calculation.
Maeve recognized it.
Derek was already deciding how to use what he had witnessed.
“Not here,” she whispered.
Donovan nodded.
“Of course.”
He stepped aside, giving her a clear path to the door.
Maeve took one step.
Then another.
Derek spoke behind her.
“Wait a minute.”
She stopped.
He looked between them.
“Is he the father?”
Maeve felt cold.
Donovan turned slowly.
“That's none of your business.”
Derek gave a short laugh.
“Interesting.”
Paige caught his arm.
“Derek, stop.”
But he ignored her.
“You know, Maeve, if you'd told me you were trading up, I might have understood the breakup.”
The words struck harder than Maeve expected.
She turned.
“I left you because you cheated on me.”
Derek's smile vanished.
Several people looked up.
Maeve continued.
“You lied about your business trips. You used my savings to cover your credit card debt. And when I confronted you, you told me nobody else would want a woman who complained so much.”
Derek's face reddened.
“That's not what happened.”
“It is.”
Her voice trembled.
But she didn't stop.
“And you don't get to rewrite it because there's an audience.”
For the first time, Derek had nothing to say.
Maeve turned away.
Donovan opened the café door.
She walked into the rain.
Outside, the air was cold enough to make her shiver.
Donovan removed his overcoat and offered it to her.
Maeve shook her head.
“I'm fine.”
He studied her soaked sweater.
“You're freezing.”
“I said I'm fine.”
He lowered the coat.
“All right.”
That small act of restraint unsettled her more than if he had insisted.
She had expected commands.
Questions.
Anger.
Instead, Donovan stood beside her beneath the café awning and waited.
Finally, he said, “You disappeared.”
Maeve looked down.
“I know.”
“I tried to find you.”
Her heart tightened.
“What?”
He nodded.
“The hotel had your first name, but you weren't registered as a guest. You were working with the catering company.”
Maeve swallowed.
“I quit that job.”
“I know.”
She looked up sharply.
He continued.
“By the time I contacted them, you'd already left.”
Maeve felt a strange mixture of relief and fear.
She had convinced herself that Donovan forgot her the moment she walked out of his hotel room.
That their night together meant nothing.
That he was probably accustomed to women disappearing before breakfast.
But he had looked for her.
“Why?” she asked.
His expression softened.
“Because I wanted to see you again.”
Maeve stared at him.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then Donovan looked at her stomach.
“Maeve.”
She closed her eyes.
Here it was.
The question she had rehearsed a hundred times.
He waited until she looked at him.
“Is the baby mine?”
Her throat tightened.
She could have lied.
She could have delayed.
She could have said she wasn't sure.
But she was tired of hiding.
“Yes.”
Donovan went completely still.
The rain continued falling.
Traffic moved through the intersection.
Somewhere behind them, the café bell rang.
But Maeve heard only her heartbeat.
Donovan looked down.
Then back at her.
“How far along?”
“Nineteen weeks.”
He swallowed.
“And we met seventeen weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, his expression was unreadable.
Then he asked, “Have you been seeing a doctor?”
Maeve blinked.
“What?”
“Are you getting prenatal care?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay?”
She stared at him.
She had expected anger.
Accusations.
Questions about whether she wanted money.
Instead, he was asking about the baby.
She nodded.
“So far.”
Donovan exhaled.
His shoulders lowered slightly.
“Good.”
Maeve looked away.
“You don't have to do anything.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“I didn't come looking for you. I wasn't planning to ask for money.”
His expression changed.
“Maeve.”
She continued quickly.
“I know who you are. I know what people say about you.”
He said nothing.
“And I don't want my child growing up around violence.”
Donovan looked at her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“Neither do I.”
She stared.
He continued.
“I understand why you were afraid.”
Maeve swallowed.
“But?”
“No but.”
His voice softened.
“You don't owe me a relationship. You don't owe me forgiveness for anything I haven't earned.”
He looked toward her stomach.
“But I would like the chance to be this child's father.”
Maeve felt tears rise.
She looked down.
“I don't know how to do this.”
Donovan stepped closer, then stopped.
“Neither do I.”
She laughed weakly.
He smiled faintly.
“But I can learn.”
They agreed to meet the next afternoon at a quiet restaurant.
No entourage at the table.
No lawyers.
No assumptions.
Just a conversation.
Donovan offered to drive her home.
Maeve refused.
He accepted it.
But before she left, he asked for her phone number.
She hesitated.
Then gave it to him.
He entered his own number into her phone.
“Call if you need anything.”
Maeve looked at him.
“I don't want to become dependent on you.”
His expression softened.
“Then don't.”
She blinked.
He continued.
“I want to help, Maeve. Not control you.”
For a moment, she studied him.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That night, Maeve sat on the edge of her bed holding her phone.
Her apartment was small.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A living room filled with secondhand furniture.
The radiator clicked loudly.
The window leaked cold air.
And the stack of unpaid bills on her table seemed taller than ever.
She looked down at her stomach.
“Well,” she whispered, “your father knows.”
The baby moved.
A tiny flutter.
Maeve smiled through tears.
“Apparently, he's not running away.”
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Donovan.
I hope you got home safely.
She stared at it.
Then typed:
I did. Thank you.
A moment later, another message appeared.
Did you eat dinner?
Maeve laughed softly.
Yes.
Good. Sleep well, Maeve.
She placed the phone beside her pillow.
For the first time in months, she allowed herself to imagine that she might not have to do everything alone.
Across the city, Donovan stood in his penthouse office overlooking Lake Michigan.
His security chief, Marcus Bell, waited near the door.
“You wanted to see me?”
Donovan nodded.
“Find out everything you can about Derek Collins.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“The man from the café?”
“Yes.”
“Any particular reason?”
Donovan looked toward the window.
“He was harassing someone I care about.”
Marcus nodded.
“Understood.”
Donovan turned.
“And Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing illegal.”
Marcus blinked.
Then smiled faintly.
“That's new.”
Donovan didn't smile.
“I'm serious.”
Marcus nodded.
“So am I.”
At 2:13 a.m., Maeve's phone rang.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered, “Is this Maeve Sullivan?”
Maeve sat upright.
“Yes.”
The woman hesitated.
“My name is Elena Price. I work for Derek Collins.”
Maeve felt cold.
“What do you want?”
The woman began crying.
“I think you need to know something.”
Maeve swallowed.
“What?”
Elena's voice trembled.
“Derek has been stealing from people.”
Maeve closed her eyes.
She wasn't surprised.
Then Elena continued.
“And when he saw you with Donovan Hayes today, he made a phone call.”
Maeve felt her stomach tighten.
“To whom?”
Elena hesitated.
Then whispered a name.
“Victor Sloane.”
Maeve went completely still.
Even she knew that name.
Victor Sloane was Donovan Hayes's most dangerous rival.
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And Elena's next words made the blood drain from her face.
“Derek told him you're pregnant with Donovan's child.”
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