Two months after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband in a Manhattan hospital. He looked at me with that same cold expression and asked, “You’re sick? And you came alone?”

By 8:00 AM the next morning, my quiet life was completely shattered.

Two moving vans pulled up to the brownstone. Men in dark blue uniforms hauled in three trunk-sized leather suitcases, a state-of-the-art espresso machine, an ergonomic desk, and a three-thousand-dollar air purification system into my small guest room.

Marco Bellini stood in my hallway, holding a clip board, directing the movers while two armed guards stood at the front door.

I stood in my kitchen in my pajamas, holding a spatula like a weapon.

"Marco!" I yelled over the noise of a drill installing heavy-duty deadbolts on the exterior entrance. "Tell him to take this stuff back!"

Marco gave me a look of pure, unadulterated pity. "Mrs. Moretti—I mean, Ms. Bennett... the boss hasn't slept in thirty-six hours. He's currently on a conference call with our legal team in London. I strongly advise you not to throw that spatula at him."

"I will throw whatever I want in my own house!" I declared, storming down the hallway toward the guest bedroom.

I threw the door open.

Adrian was standing near the window, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dark, intricate ink of his old-world mafia tattoos. He had a Bluetooth earpiece in his ear and was looking over architectural blueprints spread across the bed.

"...No, sell the shipping yard in Queens," Adrian was saying into his earpiece. "I want cash liquidity by Friday. Transfer the deed for the Hamptons estate to Claire Bennett. Do it now."

He tapped his earpiece, disconnecting the call, and turned to face me.

"You are giving away shipping yards?" I asked, stunned into momentary silence. "Those make millions every quarter."

"I don't need millions in Queens," Adrian said calmly, walking over to a small mini-fridge his men had just installed. He pulled out a bottle of fresh, organic pomegranate juice and handed it to me. "I need resources here. Pomegranate juice is rich in antioxidants. Your doctor's notes said your iron levels were slightly low."

I stared at the bottle of juice, then at his face. "You bought my medical records?"

"I bought the entire clinic this morning," Adrian stated without a hint of remorse. "Dr. Aris is now on a private retainer. She answers exclusively to us. You will have home visits twice a week, a private nutritionist starting on Monday, and an armored Mercedes for your appointments."

"I am an adult woman, Adrian! I don't need you to manage my life like a subsidiary of Moretti Capital!"

Adrian stepped closer, his broad shadow completely covering me. He took the spatula from my hand and set it gently on the nightstand.

"You're right," he whispered, his long fingers gently resting against the side of my waist, his palm pressing against the soft curve of my stomach. "You don't need me to manage your life. But our child needs to survive. Three hours ago, Sal Russo found out you're pregnant."

A ice-cold wave of horror washed through my blood. My breath caught in my throat. "What?"

Adrian's eyes darkened, turning as cold as steel. "Sal realized why I walked away from the harbor deal yesterday. He put two and two together. He knows you're carrying the next heir to the Moretti family."

"Oh my God..." I backed away, my hands instinctively shielding my baby. "Is he going to..."

"He isn't going to do anything," Adrian promised, his voice filled with an absolute, terrifying authority. "Because if Sal Russo so much as looks toward Brooklyn, I will burn his entire family empire to the ground before nightfall. But to do that, Claire... I need you where I can see you. Where I can reach out and touch you."

He reached out, his fingers sliding into my hair, holding the back of my head gently. "Stay here. Let me protect you."

I looked into his eyes and saw no deceit. For the first time in my life, Adrian Moretti wasn't hiding behind his corporate mask. He was terrified for us.

"Okay," I whispered softly. "You can stay in the guest room. But..."

"Anything," he said instantly.