I’d always known that this day would come—the day that my past would finally catch up with me. Running and staying hidden was only delaying the inevitable because one thing was certain as death itself: Nik’s ability to find me. It didn’t matter where in the world I hid. It didn’t matter how fast I ran. He was always going to find me sooner or later.
He’d burned my father’s empire to the ground, sent my brothers fleeing for their lives like fucking fugitives. Because of him, the Romano name no longer commanded respect; the name no longer offered the same protection and privileges as it used to. That name was now a target, and in the eyes of the world, we were nothing but criminals.
Dad was no saint, yes. But neither was Nik, and he most definitely did not deserve to be framed the way that he was. The details of what he was being accused of were still very vague in my head. I had no idea where my brothers were, and my father had gone underground like a petty thief, hiding for his own safety.
The entire family was scattered, and even Uncle Roberto hadn’t been seen or heard from since the incident. Were they all alright? Were they safe wherever they were?
However, as concerned as I was about my family, the truth was that I was the one in bigger shit than all of them. I was the one trapped in this hellhole—again. This time under worse circumstances. I was the one at the mercy of the man who ruined not just my life, but everyone’s in my family. I was the one back in his mansion, uncertain of what fate awaited me.
I was back in my prison, the four walls that seemed to suffocate me even more than before. The air in this familiar space was nostalgic, bringing back memories that I had long buried. I sat on a couch, my slightly trembling hands rubbing over my belly as I watched the fire crackle in the massive stone hearth.
My heart was racing in my heaving chest, my jaw tightening as I struggled to breathe. Fear had washed over me, my anxiety spiking, my pulse quickening by the second. The fact that he was pissed about me running away while carrying his child meant that there was no telling what he could do to me. Nik was angry—furious—and he still hadn’t come over to have a talk with me.
I knew it was only a matter of time before that door swung open and he walked inside with a mean expression. Was I ready for this confrontation? Maybe. Maybe not. I had spent seven months preparing for this moment, but up until now, I still hadn’t been ready. My head ached from the mild car accident that had ended the chase. The light injuries I’d sustained had been cleaned and stitched, a testament to the fact that Nik was not a man I wanted to mess with.
He’d fired at me and caused my vehicle to skid off the road, regardless of the impact on my life. Nikita Tarasov was a dangerous man, and this action, this stunt he pulled, only proved that his cruelty had no boundaries.
My breath hitched in my throat when I heard the door open, and the rich scent of his cologne filled the air. I swallowed hard, bracing myself at the sound of his approaching footsteps: slow, deliberate, and menacing.
It was him. It was Nikita Tarasov, and he was here to talk.
Fuck! That was scary as hell.
