Chapter 2 - SHE AGREED TO BECOME THE MAFIA BOSS’S WIFE ONLY TO KEEP HER FAMILY ALIVE—THEN A DOCTOR LOOKED KIERAN IN THE EYES AND SAID, “THE BABY IS YOURS”
Kieran Moretti's house did not look like a home.
It looked like a government building designed by someone with excellent taste and severe trust issues.
Stone walls.
Bullet-resistant glass.
Cameras.
Security gates.
Men at every entrance.
Lily loved it immediately.
“There's a movie theater!”
“We are not staying long,” I told her.
“There are twelve seats!”
“Temporary twelve seats.”
Ryder looked around.
“This place is insane.”
“You are not allowed to enjoy anything.”
“Why?”
“Because you're why we're here.”
Kieran entered behind us.
“Technically, someone framed him.”
I turned.
“Don't help.”
Ryder smiled.
Kieran did not.
But his eyes almost did.
He gave us the entire east wing.
Three bedrooms.
A sitting room.
A kitchen.
“No guards inside,” he said.
“Good.”
“One outside.”
“I said—”
“Outside.”
I considered.
“Fine.”
“And nobody enters without permission.”
“Yours?”
“Yours.”
That surprised me.
Kieran turned to Ryder.
“You leave the property only with security.”
Ryder opened his mouth.
“No,” I said.
He closed it.
Kieran looked at Lily.
“You can go anywhere inside except the west office and basement.”
“Why?”
“Boring adult things.”
“Bodies?”
I nearly died.
Kieran stared at her.
Ryder laughed.
I covered my face.
“Where did you learn that?”
Lily shrugged.
“TV.”
Kieran crouched until he was at eye level with her.
“No bodies.”
“Okay.”
She considered.
“Do you have ice cream?”
“Yes.”
“Then I like your house.”
Kieran stood.
“I've negotiated with senators who were more difficult.”
“She's eight.”
“Exactly.”
That first night I did not tell him.
I tried.
Three times.
Each time something interrupted.
Security briefings.
Telephone calls.
Lily having a nightmare.
Ryder apologizing again.
By morning, nausea returned.
I made it to the bathroom.
Barely.
When I emerged, Kieran stood in the hallway.
“You're sick.”
“I'm fine.”
“You've been vomiting.”
“Were you listening?”
“You left the door open.”
“I'll survive.”
His eyes narrowed.
“When did you last eat?”
“I don't need a criminal nutritionist.”
“Talia.”
“Coffee.”
“That isn't food.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
Something crossed his face.
Pain.
I immediately regretted it.
His mother had died when he was twelve.
I knew that from newspapers.
“Sorry.”
“It's fine.”
“No. It wasn't.”
Kieran nodded once.
Then:
“Breakfast.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
Because your baby apparently hates eggs.
“I don't like breakfast.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It is none of your business.”
He stared.
I stared back.
Then Lily appeared.
“Talia threw up.”
“Traitor.”
“She did it yesterday too.”
Kieran's expression changed.
“Yesterday?”
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
Then dizziness hit.
Hard.
The hallway tilted.
Kieran moved.
He caught me before I fell.
His arm went around my waist.
I felt his body become completely still.
“Talia.”
“Put me down.”
“You fainted.”
“I almost fainted.”
“An important medical distinction.”
“Kieran.”
“Doctor.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I said no.”
He looked at me.
Then stopped.
That mattered.
“All right.”
He released me carefully.
“But I'm asking you to see one.”
“I'll think about it.”
Thirty minutes later I asked.
Because I started bleeding.
Not much.
Enough.
Fear erased pride.
The physician arrived within twenty minutes.
Dr. Miriam Patel.
Mid-fifties.
Calm.
She examined me in a guest bedroom while Kieran waited outside.
“How far?”
she asked.
“Six weeks.”
“Does the father know?”
“No.”
“Is he here?”
I stared toward the door.
Dr. Patel understood.
“Oh.”
“Complicated.”
“I gathered.”
She performed an ultrasound.
I held my breath.
Then sound filled the room.
Fast.
Tiny.
Impossible.
Heartbeat.
My eyes filled.
“That's the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Right now, yes.”
The bleeding appeared minor.
But my blood pressure was low.
Exhaustion.
Poor nutrition.
Stress.
The accumulated bill for years of survival.
“You need rest.”
I laughed.
Dr. Patel did not.
“I mean it.”
She asked whether I wanted Kieran present.
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
He entered.
His face was controlled.
“What happened?”
Dr. Patel looked at me.
I nodded.
“Ms. Renlow is pregnant.”
Kieran stopped.
The silence lasted so long I heard the heating system.
Then:
“Pregnant?”
“Yes.”
His eyes moved to me.
“How far?”
“Approximately six weeks.”
The blood drained from his face.
Six weeks.
The hotel.
He knew.
I saw the calculation.
Dr. Patel continued.
“The conception window is consistent with approximately forty-two to forty-eight days ago.”
Kieran sat down.
Chicago's feared mafia boss simply sat.
He looked at the ultrasound monitor.
Then at me.
“The baby is mine.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
For one second.
Then opened them.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I found out three days ago.”
“Before the attack?”
“Yes.”
“And you were going to tell me?”
“I don't know.”
Pain appeared.
He hid it quickly.
Dr. Patel looked between us.
“I'll give you privacy.”
When she left, Kieran remained seated.
I expected anger.
Instead:
“Are you afraid of me?”
I didn't answer immediately.
“Sometimes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Because of Pier Seventeen?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“You should be.”
That surprised me.
“You threatened my brother.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to use his life to get a wife.”
“Yes.”
“You don't get to become happy about this baby and pretend that didn't happen.”
“I know.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“What do you want?”
He stared at the ultrasound.
“The honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“I want both of you protected.”
“That sounds like control.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his face.
“I don't know how to separate them yet.”
That was perhaps the first thing he said that made me trust him one inch.
Not because he was good.
Because he knew he wasn't.
Kieran stood.
“I will not force you to marry me.”
“Good.”
“I'll protect you whether you marry me or not.”
“Good.”
“And if you decide you don't want me involved—”
He struggled.
“I'll respect whatever legal rights you have.”
I stared.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then his phone rang.
The moment disappeared.
Kieran answered.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“My uncle wants a meeting.”
“Which uncle?”
“Salvatore Moretti.”
The man who had practically raised Kieran.
Chairman of Moretti Maritime.
And, according to the mysterious caller, the man behind the attack.
“Why?”
“He knows you're pregnant.”
My blood went cold.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Kieran's face became terrifying.
“But I'm going to find out.”
The answer came before sunset.
A nurse from the pharmacy clinic where I bought the pregnancy test had sold information.
Not directly to Salvatore.
To a private investigator.
The investigator worked for a Moretti shell company.
Kieran fired three people.
Then he did something I did not expect.
He called the FBI.
“You're joking.”
“No.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Calling federal agents?”
“Enjoy the moment.”
“I'm framing it.”
He almost smiled.
Salvatore had crossed a line even Kieran understood could not be handled privately.
Not anymore.
Then Kieran explained the larger problem.
His grandfather's trust.
If Kieran remained unmarried at thirty-four, voting control passed temporarily to Salvatore.
If Kieran had a legitimate child, however, the trust changed.
Control remained with Kieran as trustee for the child.
I stared.
“So the baby makes marriage unnecessary.”
“Yes.”
“And makes our child valuable.”
“Yes.”
“Which means Salvatore—”
“Needs to make sure the baby never becomes legally recognized.”
My hand moved over my stomach.
Kieran's eyes followed.
Something dark appeared in them.
I pointed at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“Whatever you're thinking.”
“You don't know what I'm thinking.”
“I can guess.”
“Talia—”
“No killing people.”
His jaw tightened.
“That's an ambitious request.”
“Start practicing.”
He stared.
Then, impossibly:
“Fine.”
Salvatore requested the meeting at the Moretti family mansion.
Kieran refused to bring me.
I refused to remain behind.
“We've discussed this.”
“No. You announced it.”
“He wants you dead.”
“Then perhaps I should hear what he says.”
“Talia.”
“Ask.”
Kieran stopped.
He understood.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go.”
He hated it.
But he nodded.
The Moretti mansion stood on Lake Michigan.
Old stone.
Old money.
Old sins.
Salvatore waited in the library.
Sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Beautiful suit.
Warm smile.
He kissed Kieran's cheek.
Then looked at me.
“So this is Talia.”
I hated him instantly.
“Apparently.”
His gaze dropped briefly toward my stomach.
Kieran moved between us.
Salvatore smiled.
“Protective already.”
“Careful.”
“Oh, nephew.”
He poured whiskey.
“You've misunderstood everything.”
“Explain.”
“I didn't attack her.”
“Your investigator bribed a clinic employee.”
“I was gathering information.”
“You framed Ryder.”
“No.”
That stopped us.
Salvatore placed a photograph on the desk.
Dennis Colfax.
Alive.
Taken that morning.
Kieran stared.
“We found his body.”
“You found a body carrying his identification.”
Salvatore smiled.
“Dennis is working for someone else.”
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
Kieran stopped breathing.
I looked at him.
“You have a sister?”
His face had gone white.
“She died.”
Salvatore shook his head.
“No.”
Kieran whispered:
“Isabella died when I was sixteen.”
“No.”
Salvatore placed another photograph down.
A woman in her thirties.
Dark hair.
Kieran's eyes.
Standing beside Dennis.
Alive.
On the back:
ISABELLA MORETTI.
My stomach tightened.
Kieran stared.
Salvatore continued.
“Your sister is alive.”
“Where?”
“She wants the company.”
“Why?”
“Because she believes you stole the life that should have been hers.”
Kieran looked up.
Salvatore smiled sadly.
“And now that you have an heir, she has decided there is one more Moretti standing between her and everything she believes belongs to her.”
That night, someone penetrated the estate's outer security.
They did not shoot.
They left a gift.
A small wooden cradle.
Inside it was a black rose.
And a note.
DEAR LITTLE BROTHER,
CONGRATULATIONS.
YOU TOOK MY INHERITANCE ONCE.
May you like
I WON'T LET YOUR CHILD TAKE IT TWICE.
—ISABELLA
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