She Was Forced to Marry a Mafia Boss Who Could Never Have Children, Then Her Morning Sickness Put a Target on Her Back

Six weeks later.

The Grand Ballroom at the Drake Hotel on the Gold Coast of Chicago was a glittering sea of dark suits, diamond necklaces, and dangerous power.

It was the annual Rosetti Family Charity Gala—a formal gathering of every major capo, underboss, political figure, and business tycoon associated with Chicago’s criminal underworld.

Clara stood beside Dante near the central marble staircase, looking exquisite in a custom floor-length emerald green silk gown. The dress hugged her lush curves perfectly, draping over her full hips and accentuated bust with absolute elegance. A breathtaking necklace of dark emeralds and diamonds—a wedding gift Dante had surprised her with that morning—gleamed against her collarbone.

Dante stood tall beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, his gray eyes scanning the crowd with cold authority. He looked like an emperor surrounded by his court.

"Look at her," whispered a woman near the champagne fountain. "She was just an accountant for a failing freight company. Now she’s wearing three hundred thousand dollars around her neck."

"And look at his eyes," another capo murmured to his associate. "He hasn't taken his eyes off her all night. He killed Vincenzo two weeks ago just for looking at her books the wrong way."

Clara smiled quietly into her crystal glass of sparkling water. Over the last month, she and Dante had become inseparable. The cold, formal contract they had signed in church was dead; in its place was a fierce, passionate union built on mutual respect, deep love, and undeniable physical passion.

Suddenly, the crowd near the entrance parted.

Arthur Higgins and Savannah walked into the ballroom.

Arthur looked prosperous, wearing a new tuxedo paid for by Higgins Freight's restored profits. Savannah was dressed in a revealing silver sequin dress, her blonde hair styled into elaborate curls.

When Arthur saw Clara, his eyes widened in shock. He took in her stunning dress, her magnificent jewels, and the absolute deference the most dangerous men in Chicago were showing her.

"Clara!" Arthur said, bustling over with a wide, fake smile. "My dear girl! Look at you!"

Clara turned calmly, her expression polite but distant. "Hello, Father. Savannah."

Savannah stared at Clara’s necklace, her face pale with jealousy. "Clara... you look... different."

"She looks like Mrs. Rosetti," Dante said smoothly, stepping up beside his wife, his massive frame instantly casting a shadow over Arthur. "Are you enjoying the evening, Arthur?"

"Yes, Mr. Rosetti! Absolutely!" Arthur stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I just wanted to thank you again for... everything. The freight company is doing wonderfully."

"My wife fixed your books, Arthur," Dante said coldly. "Thank her."

Arthur swallowed hard, looking at Clara. "Thank you, Clara. Really."

Before Clara could answer, a server walked past carrying a tray of seared ahi tuna topped with heavy truffle cream sauce.

The rich, pungent smell hit Clara’s nose instantly.

Her stomach lurked violently.

Clara’s face lost all color in less than two seconds. A wave of intense, crippling nausea crashed over her, making her knees tremble.

"Clara?" Dante’s hand instantly tightened on her waist, his tone shifting from polite coldness to sharp concern. "What is it?"