Chapter 6 - The Bloodline
Morning brought no sunlight, only a blinding white blizzard that blanketed Lake Geneva in three feet of fresh snow. The estate was completely cut off from the outside world, the iron gates locked tight, and Grant Mercer’s security detail doubled around the perimeter.
Inside the master suite, Maya woke to the smell of black coffee and toasted brioche.
Adrian was already standing by the window, wearing a charcoal turtleneck and dark trousers, staring out at the white expanse of the lawn through a pair of high-powered tactical binoculars.
“Grant has a lead on the sniper,” Adrian said without turning around. “One of Moretti’s lieutenants was spotted crossing the county line into Wisconsin three hours ago. We have a team intercepting him now.”
Maya pushed herself up, wincing slightly as a dull ache radiated through her lower back. “You’re going to war over this, aren't you?”
Adrian lowered the binoculars and turned around. His face had hardened back into the mask of the Chicago kingpin—cold, calculating, and immovable.
“It’s not a war, Maya. It’s housecleaning.”
“And what about us?” she asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “What happens when you finish your housecleaning? Do we sign the papers?”
Adrian walked slowly across the room, stopping two feet away from her. He looked down at her with an intensity that made the air in the room feel thin.
“There are no papers,” he said quietly. “I tore them up last night while you were sleeping.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “You what?”
“I tore them up. You are my wife. You carry my child. You think a signature on a piece of paper from some attorney in the Loop can dissolve what we are?”
“You can’t just trap me here, Adrian!” she stood up, her anger flaring hot and bright. “Just because you decided—”
Before she could finish the sentence, a sharp, white-hot spasm ripped through her abdomen, doubling her over with a gasp of pure agony.
Adrian caught her before she hit the floor, his face draining of all color.
“Maya? Maya!”
“Adrian,” she cried out, her fingers digging into his forearms as a warm rush of fluid soaked through the hem of her nightgown. “Adrian... the baby. She’s coming. Now.”
May you like
Dr. Thomas burst through the door thirty seconds later, his medical case flying open across the mahogany desk.
“Get her on the bed!” the doctor ordered, his face grim. “The stress of yesterday triggered early labor. We’re delivering this baby right here, right now.”
