Chapter 1 - The Ash and the Wrath
The silence in Dominic Russo’s Chicago office was more suffocating than a tomb.
Dominic stared at the plastic evidence bag resting on his mahogany desk. Inside lay a few flakes of charred, gray paper—the tragic remains of an ultrasound. His chest heaved, a sudden, violent spasm of agony ripping through his heart.
Six weeks and four days.
She had been carrying his child. When she stood outside his door, holding her womb, hope in her eyes, he had been playing a deadly game of chess, pretending she was nothing but a "civilian who wouldn’t be a problem." He had done it to keep Isabella Moretti and her psycho father from targeting her. But instead of saving her, his words had burned her world to the ground. She had burned their baby's first picture, believing he had discarded her like trash, and then she had vanished.
"Where is she?" Dominic’s voice wasn't a roar; it was a low, lethal vibration that made his highest-ranking capos step back.
"Our analysts traced a cash-only apartment lease in Boston under the name Emily Carter, Boss," his head of security, Viktor, stammered, sweat beadings on his forehead. "But she’s smart. She’s using no digital footprint. If she realizes we are looking, she’ll run again."
"She won't get the chance," Dominic growled, standing up and fastening his charcoal suit jacket. The gray in his eyes had turned to pure, molten steel. "Get the jet ready. We go to Boston. Now."
"And the Morettis, Boss? The wedding plans—"
"Burn them," Dominic hissed, his expression savage. "Burn the alliance. If Isabella or her father stand in my way, I’ll paint the streets of Chicago with their blood. No one keeps me from my wife and my child."
Meanwhile, in Boston, the winter wind howled against the window of a tiny, cramped studio apartment. Megan—now Emily—sat on a worn-out rocking chair, her hand resting over the prominent swell of her five-month pregnancy belly. Just an hour ago, she had felt a distinct, strong flutter. A kick.
"We're going to be okay, little one," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
May you like
She lived in constant fear. Every shadow looked like a hitman; every passing black SUV made her heart leap into her throat. She had taken a job cleaning a local art gallery after hours—low pay, cash, no questions asked. It was exhausting, her back ached constantly, but it kept them fed.
She stood up, pulling a thick, oversized wool sweater over her belly, and headed out into the freezing snowstorm for her night shift. She had no idea that across the country, a private beast of a machine was tearing through the clouds, carrying a man who would set the world on fire just to touch her hand again.
