Dante returned fire, his face a mask of cold, concentrated fury.

The shooter’s bullets tore through the wooden crates, showering us with splinters.

By the time the shooting stopped, the warehouse was silent again, save for the patter of rain on the metal roof.

The two gunmen had vanished, retreating into the wet night.

Dante stood up, checking his weapon before looking down at me.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice tight and low.

“I am fine,” I whispered, my knees still shaking as I stood up.

He gripped my elbow, his touch firm and grounding.

“We are leaving,” he said. “My men will clean this up.”

We rode in silence back to the penthouse.

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows of the armored SUV.

I rested my hand on my stomach, feeling the slight swell that no one else could see yet.

I was twelve weeks pregnant with Marcus’s child, a secret I kept locked away.

If Marcus found out, he would use the baby as leverage to save his own skin.

If Dante found out, I did not know what he would do.