She Came to Tell the Mafia Boss He Was Going to Be a Father, but the Woman in His Arms Was Only the Beginning of the Betrayal

The rain outside the St. Regis was coming down like thrown gravel.

Claire rushed down the private service stairs, bypassing the main lobby where reporters were still gathered, and burst through the heavy alley exit door into the cold night air.

A sleek black sedan was waiting at the curb, its engine idling silently.

Daniel Pierce stepped out from the driver's side, holding a large black umbrella over her head as she sprinted across the wet pavement.

"Did it go smoothly, Mrs. Moretti?" Daniel asked, opening the rear door for her.

"Smoothly enough to give us a twenty-minute head start," Claire said, breathing heavily as she climbed into the leather interior. "Take us to Pier Forty."

The sedan pulled away from the curb, its tires splashing through deep puddles as it accelerated toward the dark industrial shipping zone of South Boston.

Inside the car, Claire pulled off her diamond wedding ring and set it neatly on the armrest. She stripped off her crimson silk dress, replacing it with a simple grey wool sweater, black trousers, and heavy leather boots she had stashed in the trunk earlier that afternoon.

She picked up a small leather pouch from the seat beside her. Inside were her new identification documents: a clean British passport under the name Claire Margaret Vance, a international driver's license, and her physical bearer bonds worth three million dollars.

Her phone buzzed violently on the seat.

VINCENT.

The screen flashed red with his caller ID. Then a text message popped up:

Where are you? The guards said you left the building. Claire, answer me!

She watched the screen flash three more times before she opened the window two inches, shoved the phone through the slot, and watched it bounce into a sewer grate on Commercial Street.

"Ten minutes to Pier Forty, ma'am," Daniel called back from the driver's seat. "The private charter boat is docked at berth nine. The captain has already cleared customs for Nova Scotia."

"Good," Claire said, leaning her head back against the seat and resting her hand once more over her stomach. "Once we reach Halifax, we take the morning flight to London."

Suddenly, the sedan luridly swerved to the left.

SCREECH!

The sharp sound of burning rubber echoed through the alley as two heavy black SUVs roared out from a side street, cutting directly across the roadway to block the entrance to Pier Forty.

Daniel slammed on the brakes, the sedan sliding six feet across the wet asphalt before coming to a violent stop just three feet from the lead SUV's bumper.

The driver's side door of the lead SUV burst open.

Vincent Moretti stepped out into the rain.

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His white shirt was soaked through with rainwater, clinging to his broad frame, his face illuminated by the bright red taillights of the idling vehicles. He held a heavy black pistol in his right hand, kept low at his side.

Behind him, six Moretti enforcers stepped out, their weapons drawn, surrounding Claire's sedan in an impenetrable circle of steel.

Daniel reached for the glove box.

"No, Daniel! Don't!" Claire commanded sharply from the back seat. "They will kill you before you clear the holster!"

Vincent walked slowly toward the sedan, his heavy boots crushing wet debris on the pavement. He reached out, pulled open the rear passenger door, and looked down at her.

His eyes were bloodshot, wild with a terrifying mixture of rage, desperation, and raw adrenaline.

"Get out of the car, Claire," Vincent said, his voice raspy and shaking.

Claire looked up at him through the open door, refusing to shrink back into the leather seat.

"No," she said flatly.

Vincent reached in, his large hand wrapping around her forearm. "I said get out of the car! Do you have any idea what you just did in that room?! You started a war with three families!"

"You started the war when you brought a traitor into your bed and put your family pin on her dress!" Claire shouted back, her voice ringing out over the sound of the rain.

"I didn't sleep with her!" Vincent roared, his grip tightening on her arm, though he was careful not to crush her skin. "The pin was a play! It was a setup to catch Julian Vance's courier!"

Claire stared at him in complete disbelief. "A setup?"

"Yes! A setup!" Vincent yelled, rainwater dripping down his nose and jaw. "We knew Elena was talking to Vance six weeks ago! I needed her to think I trusted her completely so she would bring the master encryption key to the signing tonight!"

Claire felt a cold shock hit her chest. "Then why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because the less you knew, the safer you were!" Vincent barked. "If Vance suspected for one second that you knew the truth, he would have put a sniper on you before you left Chestnut Hill!"

Claire looked at him—at the fierce, desperate truth burning in his eyes—and felt a sudden, terrible tragedy wash over her heart.

"You really don't get it, do you, Vincent?" she whispered softly.

Vincent frowned, his hold on her arm loosening slightly. "Get what?"

"You kept me in the dark to protect me," she said, tears finally welling up in her eyes for the first time all night. "And in doing so, you proved that you will always treat me like a piece of asset to be managed, rather than a wife to be trusted."

She reached down into her handbag, pulled out the small white envelope from the morning's appointment, and pressed it hard into his soaked palm.