I glared at him, seething in silence, unsure of how to react. The hatred in my bones was equivalent to the pain in my heart. My lips trembled as tears trickled down my cheeks. I felt trapped, frozen in place, unable to think or move or even find the right words to say.
Nik hated me, and I could see it in his eyes—in the way he reveled in my pain. But taking my son away from me was a punishment too extreme to bear. I knew he was going to make me suffer, but in all honesty, I hadn’t seen this coming. I hadn’t anticipated being pushed out of my son’s life once he was born.
To make matters worse, he was going to let another woman raise my son—another woman! Fuck, no! But what could I do about it? Did I have a say in this? What power did I possess to put an end to this madness?
I could feel my heart breaking, shattering into a million tiny pieces. My body was shaking, my lips were quivering, and the tears rolling down my cheeks wouldn’t stop flowing like a fucking river. A mix of pain, anger, and resentment flooded my mind, and despite all of these emotions coursing through my blood, there still wasn’t a damn thing that I could do about this.
The world was spinning, and the walls were starting to close in on me. I was stuck in the oversized couch that seemed to be sinking with each passing second. I couldn’t move my hands, let alone stand on my feet. In my heaving chest, my heart was hammering, pounding incessantly. It was starting to get really hot in here, and I was suffocating. Every breath felt like drowning, every second a slow, agonizing death.
The smirk on his face was nothing but sheer mockery, a testament to the joy he found in watching me break down.
“Please…” I said, my voice low and even, eyes red from crying. “I am begging you.” I struggled to lean in, bringing my palms together in a pleading gesture. “Don’t do this, Nik. You’ve hurt me enough already.” I wept, begging him, my gaze locked to his face.
I was a Romano, and a key characteristic of having that last name was pride. Under normal circumstances, I’d never beg anyone. Never. But here I was, swallowing my pride to the point where my knees dropped to the ground. As a potential mother, there was absolutely nothing that I wouldn’t do for my child, including kneeling before a man.
“Punish me however you want, Nik. Hit me, turn me into your punching bag—do your worst. But please, don’t take my son away from me….” My voice trailed off, drowned by my cries, my pleas.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, as calmly as he could, “For you…this is my worst, Alessia.”
I shook my head, uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks.
He continued, “Contrary to what you might think of me, I don’t hit women. And I won’t start with you.” He paused, letting his words, sharp as arrows, pierce my heart. “The punishment for your defiance has been decided. Your fate and that of the unborn child are already sealed.” Nik straightened, his expression dark and unreadable. “You, Alessia, will not raise my son. You will not be his mother and will not be a part of his life,” he declared, his voice laced with finality, leaving no room for further argument.
Nik pulled away from me, and while I lowered my head, crying my eyes out, I heard his footsteps retreating. I hated myself for begging him the way that I did, for letting him see my weakness. I’d thrown my pride out the window, thinking that, somehow, my sincere emotional breakdown would soften his stone-cold heart.
I’d been wrong.
I just ended up embarrassing myself in front of the man responsible for all the bad things that had befallen my family over the last few months.
Why? Why was this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this out of life? Was it a crime to be born into the Romano family?
Thinking about the origin of this madness, I realized just how unnecessary all of this was. This enmity, this war, was over a shipment that went missing under my father’s watch. If the two men had sat down together to sort out their misunderstanding, none of this would have happened. But instead, they chose their stupid pride and decided to draw a battle line over something that the right discussion would have fixed.
Idiots!
Why did these men think that violence was the only answer to all of their problems? Not every issue should be fixed with guns and bloodshed. Sometimes, it was important to just sit back and talk. But men like Nik and my father only understood one language: pain.
I still couldn’t understand how I’d gotten entangled in this mess when I had absolutely nothing to do with their quarrel. I was the one caught in the crossfire, the pawn in this game, and sadly, the only one paying the ultimate price.
Day in, day out, I wept for my unborn child, cooking up crazy scenarios in my head about what growing up in this house would be like for him. As Nik’s first son and heir to his empire, my boy would be drilled without mercy and initiated into the cult of the Bratva. It was hard to imagine my son growing up to be a cold-blooded killer, a heartless beast—a spitting image of his father.
The plan was to raise him on my own and keep him away from the harshness and violence of his father’s world. I was ready to keep him safe with me for as long as I could, but Nik just had to find me and ruin all of my plans.
Could he even do that? Could he snatch my son away from me without some sort of agreement? The Bratva, as an organization, might be ruthless and cruel, but they also operated on a set of rules and regulations. They weren’t mindless savages; they had codes that they must follow. Shouldn’t one of those codes say something about illegally taking a woman’s child from her?
Besides, I was no ordinary woman. I was Dante Romano’s daughter, and the child would carry the Romano blood in his veins. He’d be half-Italian when born. So, surely, Nik shouldn’t have the right to simply do as he pleases with my son.
If there was a loophole in the system regarding this, I’d find it and use it to my advantage. I was a good law student, even though I hated discipline. Finding loopholes, cracks in solid walls, was a part of our training. If Nik messed with me or my child, I’d go to any lengths to fight this fight legally.
However, as angry and pained as I was at the moment, I knew that I would have to tread with caution. Nik had proven to be a force to be reckoned with—a man whose power and influence shouldn’t be underestimated.
In all my dealings with him, I would have to be very smart, and to do that, I’d have to suppress my emotions. I couldn’t have them getting in the way.
I lay in bed, too weak to stand, my body aching, exhaustion pulling at every limb. I hadn’t been able to sleep since I was returned to this prison, and food turned to dust in my mouth. I was trapped with no possible means of escape, and that alone was a fucking nightmare.
Later in the day, I summoned the courage to get out of bed and take a nice, warm shower. I’d been indoors all day, and a little walk around the house would be good for me and the baby. So, I stepped out of the room, my mind flooded with plans and thoughts on how to manage this situation.
While walking down the hallway like a ghost with my hands behind my waist, I heard it—the familiar sound of his low and even voice. It came from the garden outside, and honestly, I had no intention of listening to the words he was spilling. However, I immediately had a change of heart when I heard the second voice—a sweet, feminine tone slithering into my ears like poison.
Another woman.
My breath ceased for a moment, and I stopped in my tracks. It sounded like they were having a good time in the garden, and for some reason, that pissed me off. My brows furrowed, a flame of something I was too scared to name igniting within me. I should move on and mind my own business, but a part of me was too curious to see my replacement.
If another woman were going to raise my son, then at least I should know who she was. I heaved a sigh and strolled over to the window. I looked outside, breath held tight in my throat, heart slamming against my ribs as if it were trying to escape my chest.
The late afternoon sun bathed the garden in a soft golden glow. Flowers bloomed in neat rows, a gentle breeze rustling through the hedges. There, in the middle of the lawn, was Nik, sitting across from a woman on a wrought iron table set for two. A bottle of wine sat between them, half-full. There were two glasses, one lazily tilted in the woman’s hand.
She was beautiful. Effortlessly so.
Long, brunette hair that seemed to simmer in the sunlight fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Her lips, painted a bold shade of red, parted to reveal her whites as she stared affectionately at Nik. She leaned in, elbows on the table’s surface as she spoke, her light brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Her posture was relaxed, comfortable, with an air of confidence like she knew she belonged here.
My gaze shifted to Nik, where he sat across from her, a small smile playing on his lips. This wasn’t his signature cold, razor-sharp smirk—the one he always shot at me. No. This seemed more…real. Authentic, maybe.
As much as it pained me to admit, the smile did look good on him. I’d never seen such a gentle side of Nik before—hadn’t thought he had it in him. Well, except for that wonderful night we spent together.
Wait. If this beautiful woman were his fiancée, then that meant that he’d touched her the same way he touched me. No wonder she was all smiley and happy. She’d tasted him, and now she was glued. I didn’t realize it, but my forehead had wrinkled, and my fingers had clenched into fists.
I’d been away for seven months. Was that how long this woman had been with him? Or was she here before me? Somehow, she managed to bring out a soft side of him that I never could, and that only made my blood boil. They looked happy, like a family, the family that would raise my son.
No, no, no.
My face contorted into a frown, and gradually, I felt jealousy sneaking into my heart. It sank its claws deep, curling inside my chest like a living thing. It burned—hot and ugly—and I hated it.
It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that he looked at her in a sweet way. But why couldn’t I get rid of this stupid jealousy? Why did I hate the woman, even though I knew nothing about her? Maybe it was because she was the one to raise my child. Maybe. Or maybe I hated her because of the chemistry she had with Nik. Perhaps my hatred for her was a combination of both.
It was clear to me now that no matter how hard I tried to hide it, to deny it, the fact remained: I still wanted him. Still longed for the man who shattered me.
And that?
That was, so far, the cruelest betrayal of all.
