My ex laughed and asked "what happened to you?" pointing at my body—unaware I was six months pregnant with the mafia boss's son.

The heavy oak door didn't open—it rattled violently against its hinges.

"Tessa! I know you're in there!"

Caleb’s voice was ragged, shrill with hysterical desperation. He sounded like a man who had watched his entire life collapse in the span of twenty minutes and was now clawing at the rubble with bloody fingers.

"You can't do this to me! Open the door!"

Roman was on his feet before Caleb could finish his second sentence. The tenderness vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the deadly, lethal stillness that made even seasoned cartel bosses tremble. He reached inside his vest, his hand resting casually on the grip of the concealed pistol holstered under his left arm.

"Stay here," Roman said, his voice dropping into a flat, terrifying whisper.

"Roman, don't kill him in the hotel," Tessa said, sitting up, her instincts as a doctor and a mother kicking in. "It’s not worth the mess."

"I wasn't going to kill him in the hotel," Roman replied smoothly. "The carpet is imported."

He reached the door and pulled it open with blinding speed.

Caleb, who had been leaning heavily against the wood, stumbled forward, nearly falling onto the Persian rug. His bow tie was undone, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot with drunken rage and panic. Behind him, Marco was nowhere to be seen—which meant Caleb had managed to slip past the security line during a shift change, or Marco had deliberately let him walk into the lion’s den to be slaughtered.

"Tessa!" Caleb screamed, ignoring the hulking billionaire standing in the doorway. "You're ruining me! The chief just called an emergency board meeting! They're pulling my surgical privileges!"

He tried to push past Roman, his hands reaching frantically toward the sofa where Tessa sat.

Roman didn't draw his gun. He simply grabbed Caleb by the throat with one massive hand.

The impact was sickening. Caleb’s feet left the carpet, his airway instantly crushed beneath Roman’s iron grip. His hands flew to Roman’s wrist, clawing uselessly at the cuff of his dress shirt as his face turned from pale to a dark, mottled purple.