Chapter 1 - THE BLOOD ON THE KITCHEN FLOORThe air in my small Wicker Park apartment tasted like iron and dust.
The living room was a scene of calculated devastation—cushions slashed open, floorboards pried up, and my father’s precious investigative files scattered across the floor like dead leaves. Near the kitchen counter, a dark, spreading stain of blood marked the spot where Liam had fought before he was taken.
Standing amidst the wreckage was Alessandro Vitali.
He was holding two conflicting pieces of my shattered world in each hand: a yellowed newspaper photograph of himself and my murdered father standing side-by-side outside a county courthouse six years ago, and the plastic pregnancy test I had buried deep beneath the coffee grounds.
Alessandro’s amber eyes flicked from the two pink lines to my face. The cold, impenetrable mask he usually wore for the city of Chicago dissolved, replaced by a terrifying, turbulent storm of realization.
"Elizabeth," he said, his voice dropping into a quiet, trembling register that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. "You're pregnant."
"Where is Liam?" I demanded, my voice shaking with rage and terror as I stepped back against the broken doorframe. "What did you do to him?"
Alessandro ignored the question, stepping closer. His eyes dropped to my stomach, then back to my face. "Is it mine?"
"Yes!" I shouted, tears hot in my eyes. "It's yours! And you will never touch this child!"
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Instead of the anger I expected, Alessandro’s expression hardened into absolute, unyielding iron. He stepped right into my personal space, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"Pack what you need," Alessandro whispered, his voice leaving zero room for argument. "Because you're coming with me."
