Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Fortieth Floor
The memory of the night I was cast out rushed back, vivid and burning, as if the last two years had been nothing more than a fever dream.
Two years ago, Nico Falcone was engaged in a blood feud with the Moretti syndicate—a brutal war that had turned the city's underbelly into a slaughterhouse. I had been his secret, his soft spot. A bakery worker who had somehow stumbled into the life of the city’s most dangerous man and stayed because I saw the wounded soul beneath the formidable exterior.
Then came the night on the fortieth floor of the Falcone Tower.
I remembered standing in his vast, glass-walled office overlooking the glittering city skyline. The glass was thick enough to stop a high-caliber rifle bullet, but the air inside had been ice cold. Nico had stood behind his mahogany desk, refusal written in every line of his body.
“Take your things and leave, Claire,” he had said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. “You were a distraction. A pleasant one, but a distraction nonetheless. The game is changing, and I have no room for liabilities.”
I had begged. I had cried. I had searched his eyes for a flicker of the man who kissed me softly in the dark, who held me when the nightmares of his past kept him awake. But there was only granite.
“Don’t contact me again,” he had added, turning his back to me to look out over the city. “If you return, my men will treat you like any other trespasser.”
I had left that night with one suitcase and a heart broken into a thousand jagged pieces. Four weeks later, morning sickness hit. Eight months later, in a charity ward on the east side of town, Milo came into the world with a tuft of dark hair and a cry that demanded to be heard.
Now, sitting in the dimly lit hospital room, two years later, I looked at the man who had torn my world apart.
"You could have told me," I whispered, turning around to face him. "If it was a threat, if it was danger—you could have trusted me. Instead, you made me believe I was garbage to you. You made me raise our child in a tiny apartment above a bakery, counting pennies for formula, while you sat in your fortress!"
Nico stood up slowly, the dark intensity returning to his eyes, though the anger wasn't directed at me. It was a cold, self-loathing fire.
"Four hours before I sent you away, a bomb went off in my car," Nico said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper so he wouldn't disturb Milo. "My lieutenant died in the driver's seat. Ten minutes later, I received a photograph of you leaving your apartment, taken through a sniper’s scope with a red dot over your chest."
My breath hitched in my throat.
"The Morettis knew about you, Claire," Nico continued, stepping toward me. The physical space between us seemed to shrink, heavy with the weight of unsaid truths. "They didn't want to kill you immediately. They wanted to take you. They wanted to spend weeks breaking you to force me into surrendering my territory. If I showed even a shred of affection, if I put guards around you, they would have known you were my weakness and struck immediately."
He stopped a foot away from me, his eyes searching my face, lined with exhaustion and tears.
"The only way to save your life was to make them believe I was tired of you. To make the whole city see me throw you out like trash. I made sure my men leaked the story. I made sure Moretti's spies saw you leave alone, unprotected, because a Don does not protect a woman he has discarded. They lost interest in you because they believed you were worthless to me."
"You... you lied to me," I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth as the realization crushed my chest. "All those cruel words... it was an act?"
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"It was the hardest thing I have ever done," Nico said, his voice cracking slightly. "I watched you walk out of that building through my window, and I wanted to tear the city apart with my bare hands. Every day for the last two years, my men have watched you from a distance. I knew you opened the bakery. I knew you were safe. But..."
He looked toward the bed, his expression shattering completely. "I did not know about him. My men were ordered to keep their distance to avoid drawing attention. They thought the baby was just a nephew or a relative staying with you. If I had known... God help me, Claire, if I had known you were carrying my child, I would have burned the city to the ground to keep you both beside me."
