The cold ceramic tile beneath my knees was the only thing grounding me as another violent wave of nausea ripped through my stomach.

The master suite was larger than my entire apartment with Liam. It had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a manicured courtyard, a king-sized bed with silk sheets, and a walk-in closet filled with brand-new, high-end clothes in my exact size. But the windows were made of reinforced bulletproof glass that didn't open, and the doors were locked from the outside.

Every morning, a doctor accompanied by two armed guards came to check my vitals, draw blood, and administer prenatal vitamins. Alessandro was treating my body like a priceless museum artifact—and treating me like a lethal biohazard.

On the fourth evening, the heavy oak door unlocked, and Alessandro walked in. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked tired, dark shadows hanging beneath his sharp amber eyes.

"You haven't been finishing your dinners," he said, walking over to the dining table where a plate of untouched filet mignon and roasted vegetables sat cold.

"I don't have much of an appetite when I'm being held hostage," I said, sitting on the edge of the plush sofa, crossing my arms over my chest.

Alessandro poured himself a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter on the sideboard—the only glass object permitted in the room, kept strictly under his watch.

"You are not a hostage," he said, taking a slow sip. "You are the mother of my child. There is a distinction."

"Not from where I'm sitting," I retorted. "You killed my father, Alessandro. And now you expect me to carry your child and act like a dutiful wife?"

"I did not kill your father," Alessandro said flatly, his tone shifting from cold to deadly serious.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Right. And the Vitali syndicate had nothing to do with the car bomb that blew up my house?"

Alessandro walked over, towering above me, his presence suffocating. "If I wanted Arthur Vance dead six years ago, I would have shot him in the head and dumped his body in Lake Michigan. I don't use bombs, Elizabeth. Bombs are messy. Bombs are loud. Bombs are the sign of an amateur... or a traitor within my own ranks."

I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie. But his amber eyes were unwavering, sharp, and terrifyingly sincere.

"What are you saying?" I whispered.

"I am saying that six years ago, my father was dying of cancer, and a faction within the Vitali family was trying to trigger a war with the feds to take control," Alessandro explained, kneeling down so he was eye-level with me. "Your father was hit by someone inside my organization, yes. But it was done without my knowledge, and without my father's order. The man who ordered that hit... is still alive."

My heart skipped a beat. "Who?"

Before Alessandro could answer, the door to the suite burst open without a knock.

A tall, striking woman with ice-blonde hair, wearing a white designer pantsuit, strode into the room. Her eyes swept over me with pure, unadulterated disgust before turning to Alessandro.

"Alessandro! What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice piercing the air. "The entire commission is buzzing! You brought Arthur Vance's rat daughter into the compound? And you're keeping her in the master suite?"

Alessandro stood up slowly, his body language shifting instantly into that of a cold-blooded Don.

"Watch your mouth, Victoria," Alessandro said softly, a tone far more dangerous than yelling. "You do not enter my private quarters without permission."

Victoria—who I immediately recognized from newspaper clippings as Victoria Moretti, the heiress to the secondary branch of the Chicago syndicate and Alessandro's long-rumored fiancee in the underworld—stepped closer, her designer heels clicking angrily.

"She is the daughter of the man who almost destroyed us!" Victoria spat, glaring at me like I was something she had stepped in on the street. "And you have her living like a queen while the feds are sniffing around our docks? Have you lost your mind?"

"She is carrying my child," Alessandro declared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Victoria went deathly pale. Her eyes snapped to my stomach, then back to Alessandro. The sheer hatred radiating from her was palpable.

"A child?" Victoria whispered, her hands trembling with rage. "You made a deal with my father. You were supposed to unite the Moretti and Vitali families before the end of the year!"

"The deal is off," Alessandro said coldly. "Leave."

Victoria stared at him for three agonizing seconds before looking back at me. A slow, chilling smile spread across her red lips—a smile that sent a wave of nausea far worse than morning sickness through my gut.

"You think you've won, little girl?" Victoria whispered to me, her voice dripping with venom. "You think carrying a mobster's bastard makes you safe? You're just a dead girl walking."

She turned on her heel and slammed the heavy door behind her.

Alessandro stood motionless for a moment before turning back to me. "Starting tomorrow, your guards are doubled. You do not leave this room without me."

"Alessandro..." I breathed, terror gripping my throat. "Who killed my father?"