My husband, Don Cassian, just survived an assassination attempt. He limped in, bleeding, and ordered me to stitch him up.
But when I reached into his blood-soaked suit, my fingers brushed against something soft. Black lace panties. Not mine.
My hand flew to my still-flat stomach. For our child. How could he do this to us?
Ice flooded my veins. “We’re done, Cassian.”
His gaze was heavy, exhausted. He gave a single, sharp nod. “Fine. I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers.”
But then, a frantic little voice—one that wasn't mine—screamed from deep within my womb. [Mom, don’t leave him! Dad didn’t cheat! The family isn’t going to fall. It’s a setup!]
[Oriana Gallo planned all of this! She wants your place! She put those panties in his pocket herself!]
[If you leave, her men will grab you. They’ll take you to an abandoned warehouse and dump your body in Lake Michigan. Then she’ll play the grieving friend, comfort Dad, and become the new Mrs. Marino!]
[Mom, I came back to stop this! Please, don’t fall for it again!]
I snapped back to the present. Spinning around, I launched myself into Cassian's arms, my body wracked with sobs.
“I was just trying to scare you! How could you agree so easily? Are you that tired of me?” I jabbed a finger at his chest, tears streaming down my face.
My husband, Don Cassian, just survived an assassination attempt. He limped in, bleeding, and ordered me to stitch him up.
But when I reached into his blood-soaked suit, my fingers brushed against something soft. Black lace panties. Not mine.
My hand flew to my still-flat stomach. For our child. How could he do this to us?
Ice flooded my veins. “We’re done, Cassian.”
His gaze was heavy, exhausted. He gave a single, sharp nod. “Fine. I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers.”
But then, a frantic little voice—one that wasn't mine—screamed from deep within my womb. [Mom, don’t leave him! Dad didn’t cheat! The family isn’t going to fall. It’s a setup!]
[Oriana Gallo planned all of this! She wants your place! She put those panties in his pocket herself!]
[If you leave, her men will grab you. They’ll take you to an abandoned warehouse and dump your body in Lake Michigan. Then she’ll play the grieving friend, comfort Dad, and become the new Mrs. Marino!]
[Mom, I came back to stop this! Please, don’t fall for it again!]
I snapped back to the present. Spinning around, I launched myself into Cassian's arms, my body wracked with sobs.
“I was just trying to scare you! How could you agree so easily? Are you that tired of me?” I jabbed a finger at his chest, tears streaming down my face.
...
Cassian’s dark eyes bored into me. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I get it. This life is dangerous. You want out, you’re right to.”
“I’ll get you the best lawyer in Chicago,” he continued, his voice flat. “The assets, the accounts… I’ll handle it. You’ll walk away clean.”
I was floored.
That was not what I wanted to hear!
I never wanted to abandon him when he was at his most vulnerable!
Is that what he thinks of me?
A wave of hurt and panic crashed over me. Tears blinding me, I threw myself against his chest.
“How could you think that of me?!” I hammered my fists against his hard chest. “You were just waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, weren’t you?!”
“I knew you never wanted to marry me! And now you finally have your excuse, right?!”
As the spoiled princess of the Rossi family, I knew the deal.
If it wasn’t for the alliance between our families, why would Cassian Marino ever look twice at a trophy wife who only knew how to buy handbags?
The thought made me feel so cheap. So used. The sobs tore from my throat.
Cassian’s hard expression softened for a fraction of a second. He raised a hand, as if to touch my hair, then let it drop.
“Then what do you want, Arabella?”
That pushed me over the edge.
What do I want?
I want an explanation!
I want his trust!
The image of my body at the bottom of a lake flashed in my mind. I swallowed my rage, my voice thick with tears.
“The other day on Michigan Avenue… a woman in sunglasses. She slipped me a manila envelope!”
“It was full of pictures of you and Oriana Gallo! In front of a hotel, in a private room at a restaurant… there was even one of her in your car!”
Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Show me.”
“It’s in my Hermès bag, just wait!”
I scrambled to my vanity, grabbing the hundred-thousand-dollar crocodile handbag.
I pulled out the envelope and opened it with confidence.
The photos were gone. All of them replaced by blank sheets of paper.
At the bottom of the pile was a glossy poster. Some Hollywood actor and his stupid, perfect abs.
“This… how is this possible?!” I said in shock, flipping through the papers. “They were right here!”
Cassian pushed himself up, wincing. A flicker of… something… crossed his face. Then it was gone, replaced by a cold, mocking smirk.
“So, where is this proof, mia cara?”
Humiliation burned through me. Panic clawed at my throat.
Someone was playing me.
That bitch, Oriana. It had to be her.
I put the envelope away, my jaw tight. “Someone must have switched them! I should have taken pictures right away!”
Then I changed tactics. I lunged at Cassian, clinging to his arm like the spoiled princess he thought I was.
“But it doesn’t matter! I am Mrs. Cassian Marino!”
“And I won’t let any little tramp think she can take my place!”
[Yes! That’s it!] my son cheered in my belly. [Hold your ground, Mom! Defend your territory!]
Seeing me, fuming and tear-streaked, the corner of Cassian’s mouth twitched into a barely-there smile.
But in a blink, the mask of indifference slammed back into place.
“Do whatever you want, Arabella. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and sleep in the study.”
My heart sank.
He still didn’t believe me.
Cassian struggled to his feet and limped toward the bathroom.
I sat on the bed as despair washed over me.
[Don’t be sad, Mom!] my son comforted me. [Dad probably thinks you’re just being dramatic, but it’s not your fault!]
[The important thing is me! You need to be the mother of a Marino heir. Without that, you’re just another body for the fishes!]
[Think of that cold water, think about never seeing Dad again…]
The image of myself sinking into the dark depths of Lake Michigan flashed in my mind. I started wailing again.
My sobs hitched in my throat the second the bathroom door swung open.
Cassian stood there, a single black towel wrapped around his waist.
Water trickled down his perfect chest and abs. The ugly scars only added to his dangerous appeal.
My eyes went wide.
I’d seen it a million times, but still.
God, he made that Hollywood poster boy look like a child.
Cassian caught my stare. One eyebrow arched. “Get an eyeful?”
My face turned beet red. I quickly looked away.
I snapped out of it.
If I were Cassian—if I’d just survived a hit, the family was in trouble, and my wife picked now to ask for a divorce—I’d be suspicious too.
The most important thing now is to figure out Oriana Gallo’s real plan.
And—I had to prove I was pregnant. Now.
Only a Marino heir could save my life.
I leaped off the bed and grabbed my car keys.
“Cassian! I have to go out, it’s urgent!”
“Where are you going this late?” he asked, frowning.
“Woman stuff!” I was already at the door. “You get some rest. I’ll be back soon!”
Without another word, I bolted from the villa.
In the dead of night, my Maserati roared onto the streets of Chicago.
I floored it, heading straight for the 24-hour pharmacy the family owns.
The owner, Tony, knew me. He didn’t ask why the Don’s wife was showing up in the middle of the night. He just nodded respectfully. “What can I get for you, Mrs. Marino?”
“Pregnancy tests. The most accurate ones you have. Give me three different brands.”
Tony’s expression didn’t flicker. He simply retrieved them, bagged them discreetly, and passed them over.
“Thanks, Tony. About this…”
“I didn’t see a thing, Mrs. Marino,” Tony said. He knew the score.
Back at the estate, I ran straight to the master bathroom.
I ripped open the packages and followed the instructions.
The three-minute wait felt like three centuries.
The results came back.
Three tests. All of them showed a single line.
Not pregnant?!
I reread the instructions in disbelief. Nope. Two lines meant pregnant.
I collapsed onto the floor, my mind racing.
When was the last time we’d been together?
Vegas, two weeks ago… but that felt too recent.
The wild night in Napa before that?
My thoughts were a panicked jumble.
Maybe it was just too early to tell. But the single pink line felt like a death sentence.
[Don’t panic, Mom,] my son’s voice soothed me. [Right now, the most important thing is to hold on to Dad! Give it some time, the test will be positive soon!]
Right. My son was right.
I took a deep breath and decided to find Cassian in the study.
If I couldn't prove I was pregnant, it was time for Plan B: Seduction. I’d remind him exactly what he was about to lose.
I changed into my sexiest silk nightgown, spritzed on the perfume he loved, and tiptoed toward the study.
It was empty.
I searched the house and finally found him in the living room.
Cassian was sitting on the fifty-thousand-dollar Italian leather sofa, a Cuban cigar in his hand. The air around him was heavy, dangerous.
Shrouded in smoke, he looked less like a man and more like a devil surveying his personal hell.
“Cassian…” I said softly, ready to turn on the charm.
He looked up at me, and his cold expression made the words die in my throat.
“If you’ve made up your mind about leaving,” he said, flicking the ash from his cigar, his voice flat, “the lawyers will be here tomorrow.”
“The Manhattan penthouse. Your boutique on Oak Street. And a fifty-million-dollar trust fund. They’re yours.”
Fifty million?!
A sharp pain shot through my chest.
I knew it was pocket change for the Marino family, but it was enough for a lifetime of luxury.
But I didn’t want it.
The back of my throat burned. My eyes stung with fresh tears.
“I’m not leaving, Cassian,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m Mrs. Marino forever. You’re not getting rid of me.”
And I’m not letting that bitch Oriana take my place, I thought.
Besides, once this crisis blew over, Cassian would shower me with far more. Why settle for crumbs?
Cassian’s expression was still grim, but it softened slightly.
He put out his cigar. “Whatever you decide,” he said, his voice tired, “I’ll give you your freedom when you want it.”
He stood up to leave.
“Wait!” I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind.
God, even through the fine cotton of his shirt, his abs were pure steel. I couldn’t resist. My fingers tightened, just for a second.
“Where are you going?” I looked up at him, putting on my most pitiful face.
“The docks. We have ‘cargo’ arriving.” His voice was ice. “This is family business. Not for you.”
I knew exactly what he meant by ‘cargo.’ It wasn’t a legitimate shipment.
Cassian broke my hold and strode toward the door.
Watching his back disappear, a wave of panic hit me.
“Cassian!” I shouted. “Come home soon! I’ll be waiting for you!”
I’ll be waiting. The baby and I will be waiting. I couldn’t say the last part.
Cassian paused in the doorway, his back to me. For a long second, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock.
Then, without turning, he gave a low grunt. “Hmph.”
After Cassian left, a dead silence fell over the huge estate.
I sat on the sofa where he’d just been, the smell of his cigar still in the air.
Memories came flooding back.
Three years ago, my father, Salvatore Rossi, lay on his deathbed. He held my hand and spoke his last words.
“Arabella, my time is up. But I’ve arranged your future.”
“Cassian Marino will marry you. Protect you. He owes me his life. He won’t let you be mistreated.”
At the time, Cassian had just taken over as Don of the Marino family. There were enemies within. He needed my father’s old loyalists to secure his power.
Marrying me was the perfect alliance.
The day of my father’s funeral, we were married in front of the family.
I remember that night. I was wearing a hundred-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, huddled on the far side of the bed, terrified.
“If… if you don’t want to,” I whispered, “we can just… be married in name only.”
Cassian sat on the edge of the bed. He looked younger then, but his eyes were just as deep.
He reached out, his calloused thumb brushing my cheek. “You are my wife, Arabella. My only wife.”
Then he kissed me. It was gentle, careful, like I was a fragile doll.
That night, we found a pleasure neither of us had known before.
But the good times didn’t last.
After we were married, Cassian was always busy. Either dealing with family wars or expanding his territory overseas.
We saw less and less of each other, like two strangers living under the same roof.
Until the accident two months ago.
Cassian finally had some time off and took me to Napa Valley.
Under the stars at a vineyard, he drank a lot.
“You know, Arabella?” a drunk Cassian said, his arm around me. “I wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you.”
“The alliance, all of it… that was just an excuse. I just wanted you.”
That night, he was wilder than on our wedding night, more possessive.
Our relationship finally started to warm up.
Then came Vegas, two weeks ago. I insisted on going with him for a “business negotiation.”
I knew it wasn't legitimate business, but I just wanted to be with him.
In the presidential suite at Caesars Palace, after some champagne, we had another wild night.
I thought we were finally moving past a political marriage and toward real love.
And now here we were. He’s wounded, the family is in crisis, and he thinks I’m going to bail on him.
I thought about the future my son warned me about.
I’d be at the bottom of Lake Michigan, and Oriana would be the new Mrs. Marino, enjoying everything that should have been mine.
Like hell.
I gritted my teeth.
That bitch Oriana Gallo wants my place?
She can dream on.
I tossed and turned until two in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I just scrolled through social media on my phone.
Suddenly, a message from an encrypted number popped up.
It was a photo.
Cassian’s custom Bentley was parked in front of the most luxurious hotel in Chicago. Oriana was getting out of the passenger seat, smiling like a woman who’d just been thoroughly satisfied.
The angle was damning. It looked like they’d just had a very “pleasant” evening together.
My heart stopped.
This time it was sent straight to my phone. I finally had hard proof.
I immediately hit save and tried to take a screenshot.
But the photo immediately pixelated, dissolving into a meaningless scramble of colors. A digital dead end.
“Dammit!” I cursed.
This wasn't a coincidence. Someone was playing me.
My hands trembled as I dialed Cassian’s private number, the one only I and his inner circle knew.
It rang a few times, then went straight to his second-in-command’s voicemail.
“Don Marino is unavailable. If this is an emergency, contact me, Vito…”
Cassian never turns his phone off. And no one touches his private line. No one.
A chill ran up my spine.
Something was wrong.
Either Cassian was in mortal danger… or he was in bed with Oriana, ignoring my call.
I imagined the worst, and my vision blurred with tears.
[Mom! Don’t panic!] my son’s voice cut through the fear. [Dad will be okay! He’s the most powerful Don in Chicago!]
[But you have to watch out for Oriana. She’s definitely plotting something!]
