Chapter 3 - The Blood on the MarbleThe ringing in Amelia’s ears was deafening.
For three terrifying seconds, she couldn't breathe. She lay pinned against the cold marble floor beneath the solid, heavy weight of Dominic Castellano. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mixing sharply with the metallic scent of fresh, hot blood.
“Dominic?” Amelia whispered, her voice trembling violently as she reached up, her fingers brushing against the back of his shoulder.
When she pulled her hand back, her palm was slick and glistening with crimson.
“Dominic!” she sobbed, panic tearing through her chest.
Dominic didn't move for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his dark gray eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that defied the gunshot wound tearing through his flesh.
“Are... are you okay?” his voice was raspy, strained, but fiercely protective as his gaze darted down to her swollen belly. “Did... did it hit the baby?”
“No! No, we’re okay, but you’re bleeding—you’re bleeding so much,” Amelia cried, pressing her hands frantically against the wound on his back to stem the flow.
Across the room, chaos erupted.
The sniper lasers outside—synchronized to the tactical command of Dominic’s personal private security force—suddenly stopped dancing and locked permanently onto Valentin and his men through the reinforced glass windows.
CRASH!
The massive glass skylight above the lobby shattered into a million sparkling pieces as heavily armed tactical operatives in black tactical gear dropped ropes from the ceiling, rappelling down with military precision. Flashbang grenades detonated with blinding, deafening concussions.
Valentin screamed, dropping his shotgun as a high-velocity rubber baton round caught him squarely in the chest, folding him like a cheap tent. His cronies were swarmed, disarmed, and zip-tied face-down into the broken glass within twenty seconds.
“Secure the perimeter! Clear the hostages!” a gruff voice barked over tactical comms.
But in the center of the lobby, nobody was paying attention to the captured criminals.
Rocco, Dominic’s lifelong enforcer and head of security, sprinted across the floor, dropping to his knees beside them. “Boss! Boss, talk to me! You took a round to the shoulder blade!”
“Shut up, Rocco, and get an ambulance here now,” Dominic gritted out through clenched teeth, refusing to let go of Amelia even as his strength began to wane from blood loss.
“I’m fine, Dominic, please, let them look at your shoulder,” Amelia wept, her hands covered in his blood as she tried to help him sit up.
Dominic reached up, his large, calloused hand gently cupping her pale cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear. Despite the bullet lodged in his back, his gaze was softer than she had ever seen it—filled with a terrifying, absolute devotion.
“I told you to disappear, little bird,” Dominic murmured, a faint, breathless ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I told you to run far away from my world.”
“I tried,” Amelia sobbed, burying her face against his chest. “I swear I tried. But I couldn't run away from you... and I couldn't hide your son.”
Dominic’s breath hitched. Hearing her say the words out loud—confirming what his gut had known the moment he saw her—sent a shockwave of profound, overwhelming emotion through his hardened heart.
“My son,” Dominic repeated softly, the words tasting like salvation.
Paramedics rushed into the lobby moments later, pushing a gurney with frantic efficiency. They began barking orders, sliding a board beneath Dominic and trying to pry him away from Amelia.
“No,” Dominic growled, grabbing the paramedic’s wrist with a grip of iron despite his injury. “She comes with us. Both of them.”
“Boss, you need surgery to extract that buckshot—!” Rocco argued.
“I said,” Dominic’s voice rose, cutting through the chaos with absolute, undeniable kingpin authority, “she comes with us.”
Amelia allowed the medics to help her up, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. She kept one hand firmly locked around Dominic’s large, warm hand as they wheeled him toward the armored medical transport waiting outside in the freezing New York night.
As the doors slammed shut and the sirens began to wail, cutting through the dark city streets, Amelia realized something terrifying and wonderful:
The walls she had built around her life were completely gone. And the most feared man in New York was not going to let her go ever again.
Three days later, Amelia woke up in a room that felt larger than her entire childhood home.
She was lying in a massive, four-poster mahogany bed draped in silk velvet sheets. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling arched windows overlooking a private, snow-covered sculpture garden surrounded by twenty-foot security walls.
The Castellano family estate in Westchester County.
She sat up quickly, clutching the sheet to her chest, her heart racing. Her clothes had been replaced by a soft, cashmere lounge set, and a tray of nutrient-rich food and herbal tea sat on a bedside table.
Before she could panic, the heavy double doors swung open quietly.
Dominic walked in.
He looked pale, and his right arm was held stiffly in a black medical sling beneath a charcoal sweater, but he was standing on his own two feet. The sheer, terrifying presence of him filled the room instantly.
“You shouldn't be out of bed,” Amelia blurted out, her voice raspy. “The doctor said the buckshot narrowly missed your scapula—”
“I don't care what the doctor said,” Dominic interrupted smoothly, walking over to the edge of the bed. His dark gray eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “How are you? How is the baby?”
“We’re fine,” Amelia whispered, pulling her knees up slightly. “Dr. Vance checked on us yesterday while I was still sleeping. He said the stress caused Braxton Hicks contractions, but our son is healthy and stubborn as his father.”
A faint, genuine smile touched the corner of Dominic’s mouth—a rare, unguarded expression that softened his hard features. He sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, wincing slightly as his injured shoulder protested.
“Good,” Dominic murmured. Then his expression darkened, turning serious. “Amelia... we need to talk about why you ran.”
Amelia looked down at her hands, a sudden surge of defensive pride rising in her chest. “I ran because I’m not stupid, Dominic. You’re a mafia boss. Your enemies plant car bombs, shoot up banks, and wage wars in the streets of Manhattan. I didn't want my child growing up in the crossfire.”
“And you thought hiding in a cramped Brooklyn apartment while working two jobs was safer?” Dominic challenged softly, his voice dangerously low.
“It was safer than being a pawn in your world!” Amelia snapped back, finally letting out the fear and frustration she had bottled up for eight months. “And what about your family? What do you think your mother or your board of directors would say if some broke, ordinary girl showed up claiming to carry the next Castellano heir? They would have tried to pay me off or sue for full custody!”
Dominic reached out, catching her chin gently between his fingers and tilting her face up so she was forced to look into his eyes.
“My mother passed away ten years ago,” Dominic said quietly. “And my board of directors doesn't run my personal life. Nobody touches what is mine, Amelia.”
“I am not your property, Dominic!”
“No,” Dominic agreed instantly, his gaze burning with a fierce, possessive heat. “You are the mother of my child. You are the only woman who ever walked into my life and saw past the monster everyone else is terrified of. And from now on, you are never leaving this house.”
“You can’t just keep me here like a prisoner!” Amelia protested, though her heart was hammering against her ribs for an entirely different reason now.
“It’s not a prison,” Dominic replied smoothly, standing up and walking toward the grand balcony doors. He turned back to look at her, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked no argument. “It’s a fortress. And starting tonight, every guard on this estate answers directly to you.”
Before Amelia could formulate a furious response, a sharp knock echoed at the bedroom door, and Rocco poked his head into the room.
“Boss,” Rocco said, his face grim. “We have a visitor at the front gates. Elena Castellano’s legal counsel just arrived unannounced.”
Dominic’s expression instantly turned to carved granite.
May you like
Amelia’s blood ran cold. “Who is Elena Castellano?”
Dominic turned back to her, his jaw tight. “My late uncle’s widow. And she just found out that my son is about to be born.”
