Chapter3

Serafina’s tear-choked shriek pierced through the phone. "Dante! The bulletproof glass at the safe house is cracking! Someone's trying to kill me, help—"

The man, who had been ice-cold just a second ago, instantly went pale.

He violently threw my hand off his. Caught entirely off guard, my side slammed hard into the sharp corner of the workbench. I doubled over in agony, a sudden layer of cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

He spun around and grabbed the handle of the studio door.

A tearing, agonizing cramp suddenly ripped through my lower abdomen. A warm, sticky trail of liquid slipped down my inner thigh.

"Dante..." I gasped for air. "Don't go... my stomach hurts so bad..."

He stopped in his tracks, staring down at me with absolute disdain.

"Enough. Serafina is in real danger. Don't disgust me with these pathetic stunts right now."

The door slammed shut in my face.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I slowly shuffled to the garage and climbed into my car. I had no idea how I managed to drive myself to the clinic. My sweat-slicked hands slipped off the steering wheel twice on the way, forcing me to pull over just to breathe. It wasn't until I reached the entrance that I remembered this facility was a property owned by Dante. Two burly bodyguards with earpieces flanked the main doors. The receptionist nurse recognized me and hurriedly helped me notify a doctor.

Dr. Vito was waiting in the ultrasound room.

"Six weeks, Madam," he said, handing me the printed slip. "You are showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. You must be put on strict bed rest immediately to save the pregnancy, and you cannot afford any more severe emotional fluctuations."

I looked down. The top half of the paper featured a black-and-white scan, the blurry outline of a gestational sac embedded in gray static. The bottom half bore a printed line: Intrauterine early pregnancy, approx. 6 weeks. Indication: Threatened miscarriage.

Leaning against the wall for support, I made my way toward the pharmacy to pick up my stabilizing medication. But as I rounded the corner into the VIP wing, my feet froze to the floor.

Dante was walking with his head bowed, attentively pushing a wheelchair. In that wheelchair sat Serafina. A tiny, cartoon-print Band-Aid was wrapped tightly around her index finger. Her face was immaculately clean, without a single trace of someone who had "just survived an attack." The armrests of her wheelchair were pristine—no bloodstains, no shattered glass, not even a single scratch.

Dante gently held her bandaged hand, coaxing her in a soft, low murmur. "It won't leave a scar."

A violent spasm twisted my stomach, and all the blood in my body rushed straight to my head.

Just then, Dante released her hand and turned, walking away into a doctor’s office at the opposite end of the hall.

That left only Serafina and me in the corridor.

She spun the wheelchair around and slowly wheeled herself closer. Her gaze dropped instantly to the ultrasound slip trembling in my hand.

"Hoping the little thing in your belly will earn you some favor?" She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a vicious whisper. "You're just a meat shield, a scapegoat meant to be tossed aside the second you've served your purpose. Do you really think someone with your filthy bloodline deserves a life inside the Vitale family?"

I didn't say a word. I simply raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face.

Smack!

Serafina shrieked, clutching her cheek and sobbing as if her heart had been ripped out.

Heavy leather footsteps thundered down the hall. A brutal force violently slammed into my shoulders, and Dante shoved me hard onto the cold tile floor.

The ultrasound slip slipped from my grasp, drifting down to land right by the toes of his shoes.

He leaned over and picked it up. His dark eyes swept over the black-and-white image and that single printed line.

"How could I possibly let a target who could die at any moment give birth to a child of the Vitale family?"

He ripped the scan in half and tossed the pieces into a nearby trash can.

"Drag her into the operating room. Get rid of it."

The bodyguards surged forward, viciously grabbing my arms from both sides. I fought with everything I had, thrashing wildly. "Let me go! Dante, this is your baby!"

Serafina sobbed, clinging tightly to his arm. "My face hurts so much... is it swollen?"

Dante glanced down, his fingers gently brushing her cheek, before he raised his eyes.

"Don't use a single drop of anesthesia. Let her learn her lesson."

The heavy doors of the surgical suite sealed shut ruthlessly behind me.

I was forced down onto the cold metal operating table. Thick leather restraints buckled mercilessly around my wrists and ankles, locking me in place. The doctor walked toward me gripping the surgical instruments, his gaze fixed elsewhere.

I turned my head. Out there through the observation glass, Serafina sat comfortably in her wheelchair, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, a triumphant smile lingering on her lips.