Page 79 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“I’m not sure I know where that is,” I say.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I’ve done a substantial amount of research on you. I had Intel gathered when I found out that you are carrying my baby. You are of above-average intelligence.”

“Great. That doesn’t mean I’ve memorized the world map.”

He shrugs. But doesn’t seem overly interested in clarifying anything.

“I… Listen, I don’t want to spend all my time stuck in here.”

“You have to earn going-out privileges,” he says, his tone hard and uncompromising.

“Do you hear yourself? Treating me like I’m an animal.”

“You’ve done a fair job of acting like an animal ever since I first came into contact with you.”

“Isn’t that just like a man, to cause a whole situation by being unnecessarily scary, menacing and generally a brute, and then blame the woman.”

“Another thing that I feel skepticism toward. You don’t seem to be frightened of me at all. People who are frightened of me usually behave…differently.”

“Would you prefer that I cower?” I take a deep breath, and I do something I never do. I open a vein. “I’m pregnant, I don’t know what this revelation of you being the father of the baby means for me, other than that my life is in danger. I might not be able to finish school because you’ve taken me captive. I don’t know what that’s going to mean for my future. I don’t know anything. And I have no power in the situation. If I could just have your assurance that I will not be kept in here like a caged animal.”

I can’t handle it; that’s the real problem. I can endure an awful lot, but not being locked in somewhere, not without promise of reprieve.

He looks at me, his dark gaze dispassionate. “You may join me for dinner. That is not a request.”

Then he turns, and walks out of the room, leaving me there, regretful that I tried honesty with him, even as a manipulation tactic. Regretful that I didn’t try to use a weapon on him. Sure, it would’ve been signing my death warrant. But at least I would’ve gone down with a fight. As it is, all I have is an invitation to dinner. And a bleak, dark future stretching before me.

That’s when I realize I don’t even know my captor’s name.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ciro

IT’S A TEST, this dinner. The meal has been laid out, and I am sitting at the head of the table, dressed in a dark suit, waiting to see what she’s going to do in response to the invitation. I do not go and fetch her for the meal. Rather, I send Lucchino to get her when the time is right. So when she walks in with little delay, I know she’s putting on some sort of performance.

Even if I’m not entirely certain of what it is.

That is my first thought.

My second thought is not a thought so much as a visceral reaction that I have no control over. She’s dressed in a white flowing gown that skims over her curves, her plump breasts, and the rounded bump that is evidence of the fact she’s carrying my child. The outfit she had on before didn’t showcase it. And I was so involved in getting here that I had not taken in the full reality of her.

She doesn’t have makeup on, and her hair isn’t fixed. Her blond curls are riotous, framing her face beautifully. Her mouth is pouty, her large eyes blue and clear, the sort of eyes that make it look as if the person can see directly into your soul.

But it’s that stark, undeniable evidence of pregnancy that grips me around the throat like a feral beast. My child. She’s pregnant with my child. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t put it there, but the truth remains.

That is my baby growing in her womb. Our baby.

I’m shocked by how much that matters to me. And filled with hatred that it’s possible my father knew exactly how I would respond to this.

My blood. My own. I had to turn my back on my family in order to break free of the demonic cycle my father has all of his children caught up in. This is a reminder that family does matter to me. That family once meant absolutely everything.

That I had to break part of myself into pieces to make it so that it didn’t, and now this child… This child. I am undone by this. What I began as a test for her has become a test for me that I am not certain how I might pass.

“I’m starving,” she says, and she moves to my end of the table, but does not sit in the chair directly to the right or left of me. Rather she chooses one with a healthy amount of space between the two of us.