"You can leave now," Carla said. It wasn't a request… more like an order from a true Donna of the house. "I'll take care of my fiancé myself."
Mara didn't move at first.
She stood there in the small concrete safe room, staring at the woman who had just called Nico her fiancé.
Carla's hand was still on Nico's chest in a possessive, familiar gesture… like she'd traced those muscles a thousand times before and had every right to do it again.
Nico didn't pull away.
"I said you can leave," Carla repeated in a sharper tone this time.
Mara looked at Nico.
He was watching her with that same unreadable, dead-eyed expression he'd worn while standing over his father's corpse. He was back to being the Don… cold and detached.
"Go," Nico said flatly.
The single word felt like a slap.
Carla's red-painted lips curved into a mean, victorious smile."Guards," she called out over her shoulder.
Two massive men in dark suits stepped into the doorway.
"Escort the widow back to her room," Carla ordered, her voice dripping with authority. "Ensure she stays out of the way while I tend to my fiancé."
Mara didn't wait to be grabbed. She lifted her chin, refusing to let either of them see how violently her hands were shaking, and walked out of the safe room.
She didn't look back.
—
The walk back to the North Wing was a blur of adrenaline and bitter realization.
She had actually let herself feel something in that room. When she was cleaning his wound, when he had looked at her scars, when his eyes had dropped to her lips… she had almost forgotten who and what he was.
First, he was technically her stepson… her dead husband's son. Secondly, he was a monster who had put a gun to her head less than twenty-four hours ago.
And Carla was his perfect, monstrous match.
Mara was just the disposable pawn.
The guards stopped at her door, unlocking it and gesturing for her to go inside.
The heavy door clicked shut behind Mara as she entered the room. She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, finally letting the panic from the sniper attack wash over her.
"Please, have a seat, Mrs. Ferrante."
Mara's eyes snapped open.
Sitting in the velvet chair near the window was the same man from the chapel… Uncle Brumo's doctor. His silver medical case was open on the small table beside him.
Mara stumbled backward, her hand scrambling for the doorknob. But it was locked from the outside.
"The sniper attack was a terrible tragedy," the doctor said smoothly, standing up and uncapping a fresh syringe. "But Don Bruno insists that the affairs of the family must continue. The safety of the heir is paramount."
"No," Mara whispered, pressing her back against the heavy wood of the door. "Nico said…"
"Nico is currently being treated for a gunshot wound by his fiancée," the doctor interrupted in a polite tone. "He is not here. Sleeve up, please."
Mara's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "I won't let you."
The doctor sighed, setting the syringe down carefully on the table. "I was told you might be difficult."
He snapped his fingers.
The bathroom door opened, and a massive man with a broken nose stepped out.
Before Mara could scream, the man crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shoved her brutally into the wooden chair. He pinned her arms down, his heavy grip bruising her skin.
"This will only take a moment," the doctor said, picking the needle back up and walking toward her. He wrapped the tight rubber tourniquet around her bicep, pulling it so hard she gasped.
Mara thrashed against the guard's grip, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Don't do this! If you draw my blood, he'll kill me!"
"If I don't draw your blood," the doctor replied coldly, wiping her inner elbow with an alcohol swab, "Don Bruno will kill me."
The sharp, chemical smell hit her over the lingering scent of gunpowder still clinging to her dress.
He raised the needle.
Tap. Tap. He flicked her vein to bring it to the surface.
Mara squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sharp pinch that would end everything.
BANG.
The heavy bedroom door exploded inward, lock and hinges ripped clean off. Shards of wood scattered across the floor.
The guard pinning Mara whipped his head around, reaching for his weapon, but he never even cleared his holster.
Nico was in the room before the debris settled, moving with a terrifying speed.
He was still in his bloodstained white shirt, fresh blood already seeping through the hasty bandage on his shoulder. But his face showed pure, murderous rage. In his right hand was a heavy, black handgun.
He slammed the butt of the gun into the guard's jaw with a sickening crack.
The man dropped like a stone, blood pooling under his head.
The doctor scrambled backward, dropping the syringe. His hands flew up in the air, his face going white with sheer terror as Nico pulled back the top of the gun and pushed the warm barrel right between his eyes.
"Give me one reason," Nico whispered, his voice vibrating with controlled violence. "One reason why I shouldn't paint this wall with your brains."
"Nico… Don Nico, please!" the doctor stammered, his knees buckling. "Bruno gave the order! He said the test had to be done immediately! I was just following…"
"And I am giving you a new order," Nico said softly, pressing the barrel harder against the man's forehead. "You are going to walk out of this room. You are going to hand Bruno a lab report that says Mara Ferrante is exactly three weeks pregnant. And if you ever look at her again, I will cut your eyes out and mail them to your children. Do we have an understanding?"
A warm puddle began to form near the doctor's shoes.
"Y-yes," the doctor choked out, trembling violently. "Yes, Don Nico. Three weeks. I understand."
"Get out."
The doctor scrambled over the unconscious guard and bolted through the shattered doorway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape.
Nico didn't lower the gun. He kicked the unconscious guard hard in the ribs. "Drag him out," he ordered the two guards who had suddenly appeared in the hallway. "And fix my door."
The men hurried in, grabbing their bleeding comrade under the arms and hauling him out. They pulled the splintered door as closed as it would go, leaving Nico and Mara alone.
The room fell dead silent.
Mara sat frozen in the chair, the rubber tourniquet still biting into her arm. She was shaking so violently her teeth were chattering.
Nico slowly lowered the gun, slid it into the waistband of his slacks and walked over to her.
He reached down and gently snapped the rubber tourniquet off her arm, his fingers brushing the angry red mark it had left behind. His jaw tightened at the sight, but he said nothing.
"He will forge the paperwork today," Nico said quietly, his voice still carrying the edge of violence. "But in exactly four weeks, Bruno will demand a physical ultrasound with a doctor he trusts. A doctor I cannot threaten."
He leaned down, placing a hand on each arm of her chair, trapping her. He was close enough that she could smell the gunpowder and blood still clinging to his skin.
"The grace period is over, Mara," he murmured, his dark eyes dropping to her lips. "The contract starts tonight."
He straightened up, his hand trailing down her arm as he stepped back.
"Midnight. My room."
Then he turned and walked out, leaving her alone with the shattered door, the blood on the floor, and the weight of what was coming.