Chapter 3 - The Black Fleet
I didn't have the strength to fight him in the dairy aisle, but the moment the automatic sliding doors hissed open and the crisp Chicago autumn air hit my face, my survival instincts flared.
A convoy of four glossy, armored Cadillac Escalades sat idling in the red zone directly in front of the grocery store, hazard lights blinking in unison. Shoppers walked quickly around them, heads down, pretending not to notice the armed men stationed at each corner.
"Stop," I said, digging the heels of my worn sneakers into the pavement.
Adrian paused, turning to face me. The wind ruffled his dark, thick hair. Up close, the sharp angles of his jaw and the dangerous intensity of his amber-flecked eyes were overwhelming. It had been nearly six months since that rainy night at the Drake Hotel—six months since I fled his bed when I learned who he really was.
"You need to sit down, Claire," he said calmly. "Your heart rate is visible in your neck. It isn't good for the baby."
"Do not talk about my baby," I hissed, wrapping my arms defensively around my bump. "What was that in there? Kissing me? Claiming—claiming this child is yours?"
A dark, dangerous amusement curved Adrian’s lips, though his eyes remained fiercely possessive.
"Is it not mine?" he challenged softly.
My breath caught in my throat. I had rehearsed lying to him a thousand times in the small mirror of my rundown studio apartment. I had told myself that if Adrian Moretti ever tracked me down, I would swear on my life that the baby belonged to someone else. Anyone else.
But looking into those piercing eyes, the lie withered on my tongue. He had an intelligence network that rivaled the federal government. He wouldn't have shown up at a suburban supermarket unless he already had the medical files, the timeline, and the truth.
"You have no right to interfere in my life," I countered, trembling despite my best efforts to appear strong. "Nathan was being an arrogant bastard, but I could have handled him."
"Handled him?" Adrian took a single, deliberate step toward me. He didn't touch me, but the sheer gravity of his presence pulled all the oxygen from the air. "He was degrading you. He made you cry, Claire. Men have been buried alive for far less."
"I am not your responsibility! We spent one weekend together, Adrian. One! Before I realized your family operates in bloodshed!"
Marco held open the heavy rear door of the center Escalade.
May you like
"You carried my blood for twenty-four weeks in silence, eating canned soup and letting a sniveling coward toss pocket change at your feet," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register of raw, suppressed fury. "You can hate me all you want. You can scream at me in the car. But you are getting in. Because from this moment forward, no one touches you. No one insults you. And you will never wonder where your baby's next meal is coming from again."
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