Chapter 1 - THE THIRD SLAP
The third slap never landed.
A man in a black coat caught Bianca Thorne’s wrist inches from Mara Whitfield’s face and said, very quietly,
“Try that again.”
Bianca went white.
Mara stayed on her knees in the mud.
Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. One hand pressed against the wet ground beside her mother’s grave. The other covered the small curve beneath her loose black dress.
She had been trying to hide that curve for fourteen weeks.
Now the worst possible man in Chicago was staring directly at it.
Dominic Vale.
His name never appeared in polite conversation unless people lowered their voices first.
Businessman, according to newspapers.
Monster, according to men who owed him money.
Mafia boss, according to everyone who knew better than to say it near him.
Bianca yanked at her wrist.
Dominic didn’t move.
“Let go of me.”
“Step away from her.”
“Do you know who my father is?”
“Yes.”
His eyes did not leave hers.
“That’s why I’m only asking once.”
Behind him, two men in dark suits stood near the cemetery gate. They weren’t looking around nervously. They didn’t need to. Men like that made everyone else nervous for them.
Bianca’s fury came rushing back.
“This woman is my employee.”
“She’s a human being.”
“She slept with my husband.”
Mara shut her eyes.
There it was.
The lie.
Or rather, the mistake.
Bianca pointed down at her.
“I found a pregnancy test in her room. And Preston has been acting guilty for months.”
Dominic finally looked at Mara.
Not at her split lip.
Not at the mud on her stockings.
At her stomach.
Mara’s throat tightened.
Six months earlier, she had met Dominic in a quiet hotel bar on the worst night of her life.
She had not known who he was.
He had not known who she was.
They had shared drinks.
Then secrets.
Then one reckless night neither of them had promised to remember.
She remembered every second.
Dominic’s gaze sharpened.
“How far along?”
Mara said nothing.
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“Look at her. She won’t even answer.”
Dominic released Bianca’s wrist.
Bianca stumbled back, rubbing it.
“You’re protecting a liar,” she snapped.
Dominic crouched in front of Mara.
That frightened her more than his anger.
He picked up the silver bracelet lying half-buried in mud beside the grave. Her mother’s bracelet. The clasp had broken when Bianca struck her.
Dominic wiped the dirt away with his thumb.
Then he looked at the name carved into the headstone.
ELEANOR WHITFIELD.
Something changed in his face.
Recognition.
Pain.
Mara saw it.
“What?” she whispered.
Dominic looked from the grave to her.
“You’re Eleanor’s daughter?”
Mara’s stomach turned cold.
“You knew my mother?”
Before he could answer, tires screamed on the road outside the cemetery.
One of Dominic’s men turned sharply.
A black SUV burst through the open gates.
Too fast.
Straight toward them.
Dominic grabbed Mara around the waist.
“DOWN!”
He threw her behind the stone monument as the SUV jumped the curb.
Bianca screamed.
The vehicle missed them by less than six feet, tore through a row of flowers, smashed a marble angel, then raced toward the far gate.
Dominic’s men ran for their cars.
Mara was shaking beneath him.
Dominic looked down.
His hand was still covering hers.
Both hands rested over her unborn child.
His eyes met hers.
And then Mara felt it.
A tiny flutter beneath her palm.
Dominic felt it too.
His face went perfectly still.
“How far along are you, Mara?”
She swallowed.
“Fourteen weeks.”
He did the math.
So did she.
And suddenly the gunmen, the SUV, Bianca, the blood on Mara’s mouth—none of it mattered.
Dominic stared at her stomach.
Then at her.
“Is that baby mine?”
Mara could not breathe.
May you like
Because the answer was yes.
And someone had just tried to kill them both.
