HE MOCKED HER PREGNANT BODY—THEN THE MAFIA KING WALKED IN, CLAIMED HIS HEIR, AND DESTROYED EVERY LIE

Three days later, the private VIP suite of the Moretti Medical Center overlooked the golden rays of dawn breaking over the harbor of Blackridge.

The air was sterile, quiet, and warm.

Chloe opened her eyes slowly. The pain had subsided, replaced by a dull, aching exhaustion. She shifted slightly against the pristine white pillows, feeling a soft, rhythmic weight resting against the side of her bed.

Leo Moretti—the ruthless syndicate leader, the man who terrified mayors and crushed rivals—was asleep in a leather armchair beside her bed. His head rested against the edge of the mattress, his strong hand tightly clasping hers as if he had refused to let go for seventy-two hours straight.

The door clicked open softly.

A nurse walked in holding a small, blue-wrapped bundle in her arms. She smiled warmly when she saw Chloe’s eyes open.

“Good morning, Mrs. Moretti,” the nurse whispered softly. “He’s been waiting for you to wake up.”

Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. She reached out with her free hand as the nurse gently placed the tiny, warm infant into her arms.

The baby had a tuft of dark, thick hair and tiny, perfect fingers that immediately curled around her thumb. He breathed with a soft, peaceful rhythm, completely unaware of the empire, the bullets, and the war fought to secure his birth.

At the movement, Leo stirred.

He sat up instantly, his dark eyes instantly snapping to life. When he saw Chloe holding their son, the hard lines of his face dissolved into an expression of profound, overwhelming tenderness.

“Chloe,” he breathed, gently touching the baby’s tiny cheek with the tip of his finger.

“He’s safe,” Chloe whispered, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “He’s really safe.”