Chapter4

A shrill scream tore from my throat as I watched my child being forcefully ripped from my body.

My body and mind shattered in agony; I coughed up a mouthful of blood and fainted.

When I woke up again, it was the early morning of the second day after the surgery. The first thing I saw was the familiar bedroom, my lower abdomen feeling terrifyingly hollow, as if a piece had been carved out. Dante sat by the bed. The curtains were drawn halfway, and sunlight fell on the back of his hand. Seeing me open my eyes, he reached out and tucked the blanket in.

"You're awake?" he asked, his tone very light. "The doctor said you need to rest for a few days."

I looked at that face of his. He had returned from outside; his overcoat was draped over the back of the chair.

"There's no rush about the child." He leaned over and brought a water glass to my lips. "Focus on healing your body first."

I took a sip of water. The temperature was just right.

His thumb wiped away the moisture at the corner of my mouth. "I still have things to handle down South. Rest up, and wait for me to come back."

The footsteps faded away.

I threw off the covers and sat up. With every movement, my lower abdomen felt like someone was dragging it downward. There was a blister pack of painkillers on the nightstand; I popped out two pills and swallowed them dry. I waited for the medicine to kick in before propping myself up on the edge of the bed. Stepping barefoot onto the carpet, I inched my way to the door of his study.

The computer was locked. I entered the sequence of numbers from last time: 0914. Only then did I recall that it was the date he had first saved me.

Inside the system folders, there was a directory labeled "South District". Underground network distribution maps, cash flow summaries, and the transaction records of the past three months. I plugged in the flash drive, and the progress bar finished in three minutes. I tucked it into the lining of my bra and cleared the access history. Before leaving, I restored the computer lock to its un-triggered state—he checked the study's surveillance camera playback every morning in the early hours, and any anomaly would be seen by him.

Returning to the bedroom, I threw on a heavy coat. The side gate of the estate often had people coming in and out during the day, and the bodyguards wouldn't stop me—my freedom had never been explicitly restricted; they only followed to ensure I didn't run. Today, I changed routes twice, turned a few corners, ducked into a public restroom, and bought the clothes off a passerby's back, finally managing to shake off the men tailing me by a fair distance.

Slipping through the alleys, I hailed a taxi. After the car had driven past two streets, I fished out the micro-alarm that looked like a lipstick tube from deep inside my bag. Half a year ago at the mall, Liam had slipped it into my hand while the bodyguards turned a corner.

Liam was my high school desk-mate. When he ran into me at the mall six months ago, he knew the man I had married was Dante. He was deeply worried, so he secretly gave me this device, taking the chance to whisper: "If you ever want to live, just press it."

I pressed it. Three seconds later, my burner phone buzzed:

[Pier 63, gray speedboat.]

I had the driver stop two blocks away. The painkillers were starting to wear off. Biting through my lower lip, I used the pain to force myself to stay awake as I walked toward the river.

I arrived at Pier 63. There was no speedboat. The water's surface was dead silent.

Liam hadn't arrived yet. His text was a preset command, but he himself had not yet made it.

Panting, I leaned against a rusted shipping container. Just as I was about to reach for my phone to double-check—

Click.

The sound of a lighter echoed. A silhouette stepped out of the shadows. The very face that had haunted my nightmares for three years.

Dominic Greco.

"Running pretty fast, aren't you, my little canary?" he sneered, blowing out a ring of smoke.

My brain buzzed violently. I turned to run, but my weak, post-surgery body simply couldn't outrun Dominic.

Dominic grabbed a brutal fistful of my hair.

"I heard the Don got tired of playing with you?" He brought his face close to mine. "But that's fine. I don't mind that you had some other bastard's mutt growing inside you."

I glared at him fiercely: "How did you know I was here?"

He let out a low laugh and patted my pale cheek: "Don't be a stranger, darling."

"Those shoes on your feet, Dante installed the trackers in them himself. In every single pair." He glanced down at my feet. "That kind Miss Serafina got a hold of your entire movement trajectory using exactly this."

I looked down at my own feet. Dante had bought those shoes three months ago; handcrafted with Italian leather soles, he had said they complemented the shape of my feet perfectly.

Turns out, what they perfectly complemented was the size of a tracker.

"Let's go." Dominic tossed away his cigarette butt and dragged me by my hair toward an abandoned ferry nearby. "We have an entire night on this boat to catch up." He licked his lips. "Let me teach you what kind of punishment you get for betraying your real husband."

As I was dragged onto the rusted deck of the ferry, my fingernails dug into the iron railings in a frantic struggle. "Wait..." I gasped heavily, looking down at the dark, murky river water below.

If only I could jump down, I would be able to hold out until Liam arrived.

But before I could climb over the guardrail, Dominic forcefully kicked the back of my knee. I crashed heavily to my knees on the steel deck.

He pulled a syringe from the pocket of his leather jacket; a cloudy blue liquid sloshed inside the barrel.

"This is some good stuff I paid top dollar for from Mexico." He pressed his heavy knee into my back, hauled up my bruised arm, and aimed the needle right at my vein. "Once this is injected, you'll be crying and begging me to fuck you."

"No—!"

The needle pierced my skin.