The way his hand had pressed possessively over my lower belly as he thrust deep, like he could will it into existence. The dark hunger in his eyes when he told me he’d keep me filled until I swelled with his child.
I had convinced myself it was just dirty talk. The kind of primal, obsessive kink a man like Santino Moretti wielded like a weapon, meant to unravel me, to make me beg, to blur the lines between fear and desire until I couldn’t tell which was which.
Men like him said things like that in the heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.
But he hadn’t worn protection. He lied to me.
Which meant the rest of it hadn’t been fantasy.
He meant it.
A baby. With Santino Moretti.
A child born into this world of blood debts, power plays, and endless violence.
A little boy or girl who would grow up knowing their father as the Devil, who would inherit enemies before they could even walk.
Forever wasn’t a vague threat anymore. It was a plan. A future he had already decided on.
My stomach twisted violently. I pressed a hand to my abdomen, half expecting to feel something already taking root. Anger surged hot and sharp beneath the fear. I wasn’t ready for plans. I wasn’t ready for forever. I had barely processed being stolen from my own wedding, barely survived the way my body betrayed me every time he touched me. And now this?
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pleasant ache that reminded me exactly how thoroughly he had ruined me.
Yesterday’s clothes lay scattered on the floor. I dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with buttons, jaw clenched tight. No note. No message for him. Let him wake up to an empty bed and wonder.
The house was quiet as I moved through it like a shadow. Guards patrolled outside, but the interior felt eerily still. The motorcycle keys hung on a hook by the garage door. Arrogant, almost mocking. As if Santino believed I’d never dare take what was his.
I dared.
The garage door whispered open. I swung a leg over the sleek bike, heart pounding with defiance. The engine roared to life beneath me, a deep, rebellious thunder that vibrated through my bones. I didn’t look back as I tore out of the estate, tires spitting gravel.
Freedom tasted like salt air and adrenaline.
The coastal road unfurled before me, winding along cliffs where the sea crashed against rocks far below. Wind whipped my dark hair into a wild tangle, stinging my cheeks and tearingtears from the corners of my eyes. I leaned into the curves, the motorcycle responding like an extension of my body. Powerful, responsive, mine for this stolen moment.
No guards in my mirrors. No Santino’s possessive gaze tracking my every breath. Just speed, sky, and the illusion of choice.
Laughter bubbled out of me, wild and sharp, swallowed by the wind. For the first time since that blood-stained altar, I felt alive. Not a captive. Not a bride. Not a pawn in someone else’s war. Just Aurora, running toward nothing and everything all at once.
Memories of last night flickered unwanted through my mind: Santino’s body moving over mine, the way he had denied me until I was sobbing, the raw possession in his voice as he filled me again and again. The way I had begged anyway.
My thighs clenched around the bike at the thought, a traitorous pulse of heat mixing with the anger still simmering in my chest.
Stupid girl. I should have known better.
The SUV appeared in my mirrors after twenty minutes. Close enough to notice, far enough that I could almost convince myself it was coincidence.
Tinted windows. Sleek model. Common enough on these roads, probably.
I pushed the bike faster, wind howling louder in my ears.
The car stayed with me.
At a small gas station where I pulled over for water and a moment to breathe, it idled across the lot. A man leaned against a pump, with dark hair, broad shoulders, nondescript clothes, and a hood pulled over.
His eyes flicked to me over his phone, too deliberate. Too long. My skin prickled.
I gunned the throttle and sped off.
