Chapter 2

Nobody moves. Every man in the room stares at the floor, not breathing.

Roman lets the silence sit for a second, then reaches for the gun at his hip and presses it into my hand.

He wraps his arm around me from behind, his hand over mine, and sweeps the barrel slowly across the room.

"Anyone who upset you, baby. Pick one. I'll handle the rest."

Every man the gun passes over flinches, but no one dares move.

They all know what happens to people who cross Roman Voss.

He runs the docks, controls the courts, and owns half the city's supply lines. The other half is controlled by a rival he's been circling for years.

The barrel lands on Silas.

I go still.

Silas's face drains, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He doesn't say a word. And all I can hear is his voice from earlier, easy and proud.

I was the one who handpicked every man from that night. Every single one.

My finger finds the trigger.

Roman's hand closes over mine and pushes the barrel down.

"The doctor just called. The IVF worked." He presses his lips to my temple and his voice goes soft.

"Let's not scare our son before he's even born."

He looks at me the way he always does. Like I'm the only thing in the room.

If I hadn't heard what I heard tonight, I might have believed it.

He glances at the empty wine glass on the side table. His thumb traces slow circles over my fingers.

"How long have you been down here? Did you come up looking for me?"

I keep my voice steady. "No. You know I hate the smoke. I stayed down here."

He watches me for two seconds. Then he smiles, pats my head once, and tells the housekeeper to bring me some juice.

She steps forward and holds it out.

Roman raises the gun and shoots her in the head.

The glass hits the floor. She doesn't. She stays upright for one terrible second, arm still extended, eyes wide open, then drops at my feet.

Blood spreads across the tile in a slow, dark line.

I can't move. My whole body is locked, stomach lurching hard, and I can't make any part of me work.

Roman pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my face clean. Then he picks up the juice, crouches in front of me, and feeds it to me sip by sip like nothing happened.

His soldiers line the walls and not one of them looks at the body.

Behind him, two of them drag the housekeeper out by her ankles.

"Giving alcohol to a pregnant woman. She had no business being in this house." He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, baby. You've been through enough. We have a baby now. No more wine, okay? Promise me."

He pulls back and looks at me. "This baby is going to be born healthy. No matter what it takes. You understand?"

I smile. "Okay."

My heart feels like ice.

Three years. Eight pregnancies. Every single one lost, for no reason the doctors could ever explain.

Six months ago they told me my body was done, that I'd never carry naturally again.

Roman held me while I cried. He told me it didn't matter, that all he needed was me.

I was the one who couldn't accept it.

I was the one who pushed for IVF, who let them stick me with needles, who swallowed hormones that kept me up every night for months.

I thought I was fighting for us.

Delphine wanted the Foster name, so Roman destroyed mine instead.

Delphine didn't want the pain, so Roman gave her my body to carry it instead.

Roman touches my forehead, gentle as always.

"You look pale. Are you feeling sick?"