My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the pregnancy test onto the bathroom floor, because those two pink lines didn’t just mean I was pregnant. They meant I was carrying the child of Alessandro Vitali, one of the richest and most powerful billionaires in Chicago, and if he discovered the truth, I had no idea whether he would protect me or destroy me.

I stood frozen in the bathroom, my hand hovering an inch above the door handle, unable to draw air into my lungs.

How had he found me? I had given him a fake surname. I had paid for my bus fare in cash. I had left his hotel room at five in the morning while he was still asleep, slipping out into the rainy Chicago twilight without leaving a note, a phone number, or a trace.

Outside the bathroom, the atmosphere in the tiny apartment turned razor-sharp.

"Who the hell are you?" Liam’s voice barked out, defensive and instantly aggressive. I could hear the shift in his posture—Liam was stepping into the doorway, using his broad frame to block the entrance. "This is private property. Get out before I call the cops."

"I assure you, officer, there is no need for police," a second, lower voice replied. That was Marco, Alessandro’s chief of security, whose dark suit and intimidating presence I remembered distinctly from the gala. "My employer simply wishes to speak with the young lady."

"I'm not an officer, I'm a paramedic, and I don't give a damn who your employer is," Liam snapped, his tone dripping with hostility. "Emma doesn't know any suit-and-tie rich guys. Leave, or I'm dragging you down the stairs myself."

A heavy silence fell over the room. I knew Liam—he was fiercely loyal and wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch to protect me, but he had no idea who he was dealing with. Alessandro Vitali’s security detail wasn't comprised of bouncers; they were former special forces operatives.

Before a physical fight could break out, I threw open the bathroom door and rushed down the hallway.

"Liam, stop!" I cried out.

The scene in our tiny living room was terrifyingly surreal.

Alessandro Vitali stood inside our cramped, peeling-paint entryway, his towering six-foot-three frame instantly shrinking the room. He wore a midnight-blue charcoal wool coat over a bespoke navy suit. His dark hair was combed back, perfectly styled, but his amber eyes were locked onto me the second I stepped into view. Beside him stood Marco, his hand tucked discreetly inside his jacket, watching Liam with cold efficiency.

The contrast was brutal. Alessandro looked like royalty stepping into a slum.

"Emma," Alessandro said softly.

Hearing my name—the lie—on his lips made my stomach clench. His voice possessed that same deep, commanding gravitas that had whispered in my ear six weeks ago.

"You..." I stammered, gripping the back of our worn fabric sofa for support. "What are you doing here? How did you get this address?"

Alessandro took a slow, measured step forward. His eyes swept over my unbrushed hair, my oversized diner sweatshirt, and my pale, trembling hands. He didn't look angry; he looked intensely, dangerously calculating.

"It took my intelligence team three weeks to track down a catering fill-in who used a fake social security number on her employment tax form," Alessandro said calmly, his tone conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "You are a very difficult woman to find, Emma."

Liam stepped between us, his fists clenched at his sides. "Hey! Suit! She asked you a question. How did you get into this building?"

Alessandro didn't even look at Liam. He kept his amber gaze fixed entirely on me, completely ignoring Liam as if he were a minor inconvenience.

"We have unfinished business, Emma," Alessandro said smoothly. "You left my room six weeks ago without a word. You left behind a pair of silver earrings, a fake name, and a considerable number of unanswered questions."

"There is no unfinished business," I lied desperately, my voice high and strained. "It was a mistake. One night. That's all it was. Please... you need to leave. My roommate and I were just leaving."

Alessandro’s eyes flicked briefly to Liam, analyzing the way Liam stood protectively in front of me, the way Liam’s hand reached out to subtly shield my arm. A dark, barely perceptible shift occurred in Alessandro’s expression. The polite mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of possessive, cold territorialism.

"Your roommate," Alessandro repeated slowly. He finally turned his head to look at Liam. "Liam Carter. Twenty-six years old. Paramedic for the Chicago Fire Department, Engine 14. Lives here. Has known you since you were twelve."

Liam stiffened, his jaw dropping slightly. "You ran my name?"

"I run the names of everyone who stands near things that belong to me," Alessandro replied coldly.

"Belong to you?!" Liam yelled, taking a step toward Alessandro. "She doesn't belong to you, you arrogant bastard!"

"Liam, please! Don't!" I screamed, grabbing Liam’s arm and pulling him back with all my strength. I looked at Alessandro, horror filling my chest. "Alessandro, please. Don't do this. He has nothing to do with this."

Alessandro watched me pull Liam back. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the way I held onto Liam’s arm—not out of romantic affection, but out of desperate protection. He raised a hand, stopping Marco, who had taken a step forward to intervene.

"I am not here to cause a scene in your apartment, Emma," Alessandro said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerous, intimate register. "But you are coming with me. Now."

"She isn't going anywhere with you," Liam growled.

"If she stays here," Alessandro said, his voice laced with absolute certainty, "the city inspectors will condemn this building by noon due to electrical safety violations. The hospital where you work, Mr. Carter, will receive an anonymous tip regarding missing narcotics from your ambulance unit. And Emma’s nursing school tuition grant will be revoked by three o'clock."

I gasped, staring at him in horror. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Alessandro replied simply. He didn't sound boastful; he sounded like a man stating a simple mathematical fact. "Or, you can step outside, get into my car, and have a ten-minute conversation with me in private. The choice is yours."

Liam looked at me, fury and confusion warring in his eyes. "Em, who is this guy? What did you do?"

I looked at Liam, my heart breaking. I couldn't let Alessandro destroy Liam’s life. Liam had worked five years to become a paramedic; it was his entire identity. I couldn't let my past, my pregnancy, or my terrible choices ruin the only good person left in my life.

"It's okay, Liam," I whispered, squeezing his arm. "I'll go with him. It's just a conversation."

"Emma, no—"

"I'll be back in an hour," I lied, forcing a reassuring smile that felt like glass cracking on my face. "I promise."

I grabbed my canvas tote bag—the bag holding the two pink lines—and stepped past Liam. Alessandro turned and walked down the dimly lit hallway, his leather shoes echoing against the wooden floorboards.

I followed him down the stairs and out the front entrance of the building. Parked at the curb was a sleek, bulletproof black Maybach with dark tinted windows. Marco held the rear door open.

I stepped inside the plush leather interior. Alessandro slid in beside me, the heavy door shutting with a dense, airtight thud that cut off all sounds of the city outside.

The car pulled away from the curb.

Alessandro leaned back against the leather seat, unbuttoning his coat. He turned his head to look at me, his amber eyes scanning my pale face, my frantic breathing, and the way I gripped my tote bag against my stomach like a shield.

"Now, Emma," Alessandro said softly, leaning closer until I could smell his scent of expensive cedar and rain. "Suppose you tell me why you were violently ill in your bathroom five minutes ago, and why my private physician informed me this morning that a local pharmacy swept a prescription order for prenatal vitamins under your secondary alias."