His Mafia Princess's Revenge

phin

ld pregnancy, Mrs. Bianchi?" the doctor asks, his voice ge

of the private clinic, the co

under

e he'd burn the world down for me. I remember the raw, unguarded joy on his face when I told him I was pregnant, how he'd dropp

one who let his mistress taunt me, who locked me

voice flat and

pe of steel within me. It's a physical manifestation of the hollow

eyes leans over me. "Would you l

art splinter into a million unswept shards. A silent scream tears throug

. My bab

world where its own father had become a monster. I feel the loss like a p

very room. The first thing I do is chec

even notic

re's a new post. A photo of her hand, her nails painted a blood-red, resting on Lorenzo's chest. In

ered the room. "The... remains," I say, the word catching in my throat.

yes full of a p

entity, my passport. Ten days I have to survive in this

small, personal mini-fridge Lorenzo had installed for my late-night pregnancy cravings. I open

, staring at the polished black surface of the fr

over my bare feet, before the heavy tread of his footste

weeping over me with a flicker of annoyance. "A

fridge. His eyes narrow, snagging on the s