Page 58 of Forbidden Vengeance

My knees buckle as the magnitude of our exposure hits. The bracelet. Such a simple oversight. Such a deadly mistake.

And then another realization slams into me—Bella knows about my pregnancy. Which means Anthony knows. Because Bella confirmed it.

The room starts to spin as panic claws at my chest, stealing my breath. My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

“Elena?” Mario’s voice sounds far away, underwater. Dark spots crowd my vision as I gasp for air that won’t come. The last thing I feel is him catching me, that familiar cologne mixing with the metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

I wake in a different room,monitors beeping steadily beside me. Not a hospital—too luxurious, too private. The walls are asoft cream, original art hanging between bulletproof windows. Another safe house, I realize. Probably one of Mario’s many contingency plans.

Mario sits beside me, his usual dangerous grace softened by what looks suspiciously like fear. His hand hasn’t left mine since I passed out, if the warmth of his grip is any indication.

“The baby?” I ask immediately, hand flying to my stomach.

“Is fine,” he assures me, but his voice holds an edge I’ve never heard before—something raw and protective that makes my stomach tighten with something other than morning sickness. “But you’re not leaving this bed until the doctor clears you. No more games, no more risks.”

“We have to move,” I argue weakly. “If Matteo?—”

His kiss silences me, gentler than our usual desperate encounters. “The only thing that matters right now is keeping you safe,” he growls against my lips. “Both of you.”

My hand finds his, pressing it against my stomach where his enemy’s child grows. The gesture feels impossibly intimate, impossibly right.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for. The bracelet? Bella? Every choice that led us here?

“Don’t.” His voice is rough with emotion I’ve never heard from him before. “Don’t apologize for choosing me.”

But as sirens wail in the distance, growing closer with every heartbeat, I wonder if we’ll live long enough to regret our choices.

If this baby will ever have a chance to grow up in a world where her mother’s decisions haven’t damned her before she’s even born.

19

MARIO

The beeping of medical monitors fills the safe house bedroom as I watch Elena sleep, her hand curled protectively over her growing stomach even in rest. She looks almost ethereal in the predawn light—golden hair spread across the pillow, long lashes casting shadows on too-pale cheeks.

Even exhausted and hunted, she maintains that meticulous composure that first caught my attention.

The past twenty-four hours have stripped away every carefully constructed layer of our game. The Clinton House is probably in pieces by now—Matteo’s men, O’Connor’s thugs, and Calabrese’s soldiers all tearing through my carefully curated sanctuary.

My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating:

O’Connor wants your head on his desk by morning.

Calabrese offering five mil for her location.

Your brother’s men spotted in Brooklyn.

Boss, they’re closing in from all sides.

But for once, I don’t care about the implications. All I can focus on is how Elena looked when she collapsed—her skin gray,lips blue, one hand pressed to her stomach as if she could protect the baby through sheer will.

My heart had seemed to stop until the doctor confirmed they were both stable.

The phone buzzes again. Siobhan’s number. Goddammit. What does she want?

“What?” I snap, answering the phone against my better judgment.

“Now, now.” Her voice holds none of its usual mocking edge. “Is that any way to talk to someone asking after Elena’s health?”

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