Chapter 1 - THE SLAP AT THE GRAVE
The first slap split Mara Whitfield’s lip.
The second almost sent her face-first into her mother’s grave.
And the man who had secretly fathered her unborn child saw both of them.
“Get your hands off her.”
The voice came from behind Bianca Thorne.
Quiet.
Cold.
Deadly enough to freeze the entire cemetery.
Bianca’s raised hand stopped in midair.
Mara stayed on her knees in the mud, one arm wrapped around her stomach, the other reaching for the silver bracelet that had fallen beside her mother’s headstone.
ELEANOR WHITFIELD
BELOVED MOTHER
Rainwater dripped from Mara’s hair. Blood warmed the corner of her mouth.
Bianca turned.
Her face went white.
“No,” she whispered.
A tall man in a black overcoat walked through the gray morning fog. Two men followed several yards behind him, but he didn’t look back at them.
He didn’t have to.
People followed men like him without being told.
Mara slowly lifted her head.
Her heart stopped.
She knew that face.
The stranger from the hotel bar.
The man from the one night she had spent pretending she wasn’t anyone’s discarded wife, anyone’s maid, anyone’s problem.
Dante Vale.
She hadn’t known his name that night.
She knew it now.
Everybody did.
Bianca stepped backward.
“Mr. Vale, this is a private family matter.”
Dante’s gaze dropped to Mara’s bleeding mouth.
Then to Bianca’s hand.
Then to Mara’s arms wrapped tightly around her belly.
“Does she look like family to you?”
Bianca swallowed.
“She works for me.”
“No.” His voice hardened. “She works in your house. That doesn’t mean you own her.”
Mara tried to stand.
Pain shot through her side.
She gasped.
Dante moved instantly.
He caught her before she hit the ground.
The second his hands touched her, Mara panicked.
“Don’t.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“Mara?”
She hated the way he said her name.
Like he remembered it.
Like that night hadn’t disappeared for him.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s my lip.”
His eyes moved lower.
To her stomach.
Mara pulled her coat closed.
Too late.
Dante’s expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
“How far along are you?”
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“Oh, now you care? Ask her who the father is.”
Mara’s face drained.
Dante looked at Bianca.
“What did you say?”
Bianca pointed at Mara.
“She’s pregnant. She’s been hiding it. I thought it was my husband’s, but apparently she has a whole collection of secrets.”
Dante looked back at Mara.
Mara couldn’t breathe.
He had always been frighteningly observant.
That night at the bar, he had noticed she took off her wedding ring before ordering her second drink.
He had noticed she cried in the bathroom.
He had noticed she flinched when someone called her “Mrs. Thorne.”
Now his eyes moved over her face, her posture, her stomach.
Then he did the math.
Mara saw the exact second he reached the answer.
His jaw tightened.
“No,” she whispered.
Dante’s voice dropped.
“Mara.”
“Don’t.”
“How far along?”
She shook her head.
“Mara.”
“Six months.”
The cemetery went silent.
Dante stared at her.
Their night together had been six months ago.
Bianca’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my God.”
Mara stepped away from him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Dante looked almost offended.
“It doesn’t matter?”
“I was never going to ask you for anything.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You didn’t ask anything.”
“Fine.”
He stepped closer.
“Is the baby mine?”
Mara closed her eyes.
She could lie.
She had lied for months.
But her mother had raised her better than that.
And she was tired.
Tired of hiding.
Tired of being scared.
Tired of everybody else deciding what she deserved.
She opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
Bianca made a choking sound.
Dante didn’t move.
For the first time since Mara had met him, the powerful, controlled Dante Vale looked completely stunned.
Then a black sedan came racing up the cemetery road.
Too fast.
One of Dante’s men shouted.
“Boss!”
The rear window rolled down.
Mara saw the gun first.
Dante saw it a second later.
He grabbed her.
“DOWN!”
May you like
Gunfire exploded across the cemetery.
And the first bullet shattered her mother’s headstone.
