Part 2: The Mafia Boss Came to End His Marriage, but the Midwife Said She Was Only Twenty-Nine Weeks Pregnant

Lucian returned to Kate’s room before departing for the city.

The lights were dimmed. Kate lay propped against the bed, an IV drip quietly feeding saline into the back of her hand. Miriam sat in an armchair nearby, peeling an apple with a paring knife, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

When Lucian entered, Miriam stood, wiped her blade, and slipped it into her apron pocket. “I’m getting tea,” she announced without looking at him, brushing past his shoulder to give them privacy.

Lucian stopped at the edge of the bed. Kate looked up, noticing the cold, calculating detachment that had settled over his features—the face of the Don, not the husband who had held her while she bled.

“You’re leaving,” she said, her voice flat.

“For a few hours,” Lucian replied. “I have business in the city.”

Kate gave a bitter, breathless laugh. “Business. Of course. Your uncle is making a move, isn't he?”

Lucian didn't lie to her. “Vincent overstepped. He tracked you to Hawthorne. He tried to ensure that our son never took his first breath.”

Kate’s knuckles turned white against the cotton blanket. The exhaustion that had weighed her down seemed to evaporate, replaced by a mother’s primal fury. “Don't let him touch Leo, Lucian. I swear to you, if anything happens to my baby because of your family’s greed, I will never forgive you.”

Lucian stepped forward, taking her trembling hands in his. She tried to pull away, but he held firm, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Listen to me, Katherine,” he said, his eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before. “I came to Hawthorne Ridge today carrying divorce papers because I thought you despised me. I thought leaving you with your freedom and half my empire was the only honorable thing I had left to give you.”

Kate stared at him, stunned into silence.

“I was a fool,” Lucian continued, his voice thick with raw emotion. “I spent seven months drowning in my own arrogance while you were carrying my world on your shoulders. I cannot undo the fear I caused you. But I swear on my life, on my father’s grave, and on our son’s heartbeat: no one will ever threaten you again. Vincent will answer for every drop of blood you spilled today.”

He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out the crumpled divorce agreement he had salvaged from the floor of Hawthorne Ridge, and tore it in half. Then in half again.

He dropped the pieces into the wastebasket by her bedside.

“You are my wife,” Lucian stated, his voice a decree carved in granite. “You will always be my wife. And Leo is my heir.”

Kate’s lips parted, tears welling in her eyes, but before she could answer, Lucian leaned down and kissed her forehead with gentle reverence.