His Forbidden Heir

Chapter 3

ARIA

"My plan?" I laughed, the sound hollow in my throat. "My plan was to never see you again. To tell Marco the baby came early. To survive."

"That's not a plan. That's a prayer." Dante's jaw tightened. "And Marco isn't stupid. He'll do the math."

"Then I'll handle it when it happens." I turned to leave, but his hand caught my wrist—gentle, but unmovably firm.

"You're not going back to him."

"You don't get to make that choice." I yanked my arm, but he didn't release me. His thumb found my pulse point, and I hated how my body responded—how it remembered those hands on me, inside me, making me forget everything but his name.

"I'm making it anyway." His voice dropped. "You're carrying a Caruso heir. That changes everything."

"It changes nothing. I'm engaged. The wedding is in three months. Your family and his family are making peace, remember? Or do you want to start another war over a cocktail waitress and a one-night stand?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You were never just a one-night stand."

My breath caught. "Don't."

"That night—" He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. I should have pulled away. I didn't. "I've had a lot of women, Aria. I don't remember most of their names. But I remember everything about you. The way you tasted. The sounds you made. How you looked at me like I wasn't a monster."

"Stop." My voice broke.

"I searched for you. Six weeks, every contact I have, every database. Nothing. Like you were a ghost." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "Then I see you at Marco's engagement party, wearing his ring, and I wanted to burn the whole f*****g building down."

"Dante—"

"Come home with me. Right now. I'll pay your father's debt. Double it. I'll set him up with a legitimate job, no strings. You'll want for nothing."

The offer hung between us, tempting as sin.

"And what do you want in return?" I whispered.

"You. The baby. A real chance at whatever this is between us."

"There is no 'this.' There was one night of bad decisions."

"Bad decisions don't make your pulse race like it is right now." His thumb moved to my throat, feeling the frantic beat. "Bad decisions don't make you look at me like you're drowning and I'm air."

He was right. God help me, he was right.

But I couldn't. I couldn't.

"Marco will kill my father if I break the engagement. The deal is sealed. His family expects—"

"f**k what his family expects." Dante's voice turned hard. "You think I don't know how this works? I grew up in this life. Marco didn't offer you mercy, Aria. He bought you. Like property. And now you're telling me I'm supposed to let him keep what's mine?"

"I'm not yours. This baby isn't—"

"Yes, it is." His hand slid down to my stomach, splaying possessively over where his child grew. "This is mine. You're mine. You became mine the moment you let me inside you."

Heat flooded through me, unwanted and undeniable. "One night doesn't make me yours."

"Then let me have another." He leaned in, his lips a breath from mine. "Let me prove I can give you everything he can't. Safety. Protection. A real partnership instead of a transaction."

"And when your family finds out you're sleeping with Marco's fiancée? When the truce falls apart and bodies start dropping?"

"Let me worry about my family."

"I can't." I forced myself to step back, breaking contact. His hand fell away, and I immediately missed the warmth. "I won't be responsible for more bloodshed. My father's debt gets paid, he stays alive, and I give Marco what he wants. It's the only way."

"You're giving him my child."

"You don't even know me. You don't want this baby—you want to win. To take something from Marco because that's what you do. This is just another territory war to you."

His expression shuttered, cold and dangerous. "You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know what this is. But I know I can't risk my father's life on a stranger's promises."

"I'm not a stranger. I'm the man who knows how you sound when you come. I'm the father of your child. And I'm telling you, Aria—you walk away right now, back to Marco, and you're making the biggest mistake of your life."

"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."

I turned and walked away before I could change my mind. Each step felt like tearing flesh from bone, but I forced myself to keep moving.

"Aria." His voice stopped me at the bridge. I didn't turn around. "When this blows up—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you."

I kept walking.

My phone buzzed halfway home.

Marco: Dinner tonight. My place. 7 PM. Don't be late.

Then another message. Unknown number.

Dante: You have one week to change your mind. After that, I'll change it for you.

I deleted both messages and pressed my hand to my stomach, where a life I never planned was growing.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the baby. "I'm so sorry."

By evening, I was standing outside Marco's penthouse in a dress he had delivered—red silk, too tight, too short. A reminder that I was his to dress, his to control.

The door opened before I could knock. Marco stood there, freshly showered, expensive whiskey in hand. Behind him, the penthouse sprawled—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan, white furniture, cold modern art. Beautiful and soulless.

Like him.

"You're late," he said, pulling me inside.

"Traffic."

"Hm." He handed me a wine glass. I took it but didn't drink. Couldn't drink.

"I'm not feeling well," I said. "Maybe just water?"

His eyes narrowed. "You've been sick a lot lately."

"It's stress. The wedding planning—"

"My mother has a planner handling everything. You have nothing to be stressed about." He guided me to the couch, his hand heavy on my lower back. "Unless there's something you're not telling me."

My heart pounded. "Like what?"

"You tell me." He sat too close, his arm along the couch back, caging me in. "You disappeared for thirty minutes at the engagement party. Had a interesting conversation with Dante Caruso. Then today, you went to Millennium Park."

Ice flooded my veins. "How did you—"

"I have people watching you, amore. For your protection, of course." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Chicago is dangerous for a woman alone. So. Want to tell me why you were meeting with my family's greatest enemy?"

"I wasn't meeting him. I was taking a walk, and he approached me. Introduced himself. That's all."

"That's all?" His hand moved to my neck, fingers gentle but threatening. "You're a terrible liar, Aria. Your pulse gives you away every time."

"I'm not lying."

"Then why did his hand go to your stomach? Why did you let him touch you like that?"

Oh God. He saw. He saw.

"It was nothing. He was just—"

"Just what? Checking if you're pregnant?" Marco's voice turned to ice. "Are you f*****g him?"

"No! I've never—we just met yesterday!"

"But you wanted to. I saw how you looked at him." His fingers tightened on my throat. Not enough to hurt, but enough to terrify. "Are you having second thoughts about our arrangement, amore? Because your father's debt is still very much open. One word from me, and—"

"I'm not having second thoughts." The lie tasted like ash. "I'll marry you. I'll be whatever you want me to be."

"Whatever I want?" His thumb stroked my jaw, and my skin crawled. "What I want, Aria, is loyalty. Obedience. A wife who knows her place." His other hand slid to my thigh, pushing up the red silk. "Think you can give me that?"

I forced myself not to flinch. "Yes."

"Good." He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Because if I find out you're lying—if I find out you're carrying on with Dante Caruso or anyone else—I'll kill your father myself. Slowly. And I'll make you watch."

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. "I understand."

"I hope so." He pulled back, suddenly all smiles again, like he hadn't just threatened murder. "Now. Let's eat. I had my chef prepare something special."

Dinner was hell—course after course I could barely stomach, while Marco talked about the wedding, the honeymoon, our future. His hand stayed on my thigh throughout, possessive and claiming.

When he finally let me leave at midnight, I drove three blocks before pulling over and throwing up on the side of the road.

My phone buzzed.

Dante: I know you're with him. I know what he is. Six days, Aria. Then I'm done asking.

I stared at the message, then at my engagement ring—three carats of blood money.

Then I did something stupid.

Me: Meet me. Tomorrow. Same place, same time. We need to talk.

His response was immediate.

Dante: I'll be waiting.