CHAPTER THIRTY
Adrian
I stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment before approaching the bed.
Elizabeth’s blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, her hand gently rubbing the swell of her belly.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across her face, highlighting the small smile playing across her lips.
There was a genuine glow on her face, a gleam of true happiness. She was thriving in her pregnancy, thriving in the feeling of becoming a mother.
As if she had felt my presence, Elizabeth looked up from where she sat propped against the pillows, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. There was a softness to her features that had deepened with her pregnancy, a contentment I’d never seen in her eyes before.
“Is my son troubling you?” I asked, crossing the room to stand beside the bed.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s very active today.” A soft laugh escaped her lips as she shifted position. “He’s been kicking a lot. A very rowdy little thing he is.”
I sat beside her on the edge of the bed, my hand instinctively moving to her stomach. The roundness of it fascinated me, this tangible evidence of what I’d created.
The warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown felt intimate, connecting me to the life growing inside her. A moment later, I felt it—a powerful, hard kick against my palm.
“He’s strong,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice as a smile spread across my face. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in my chest.
“Just like his father,” Elizabeth responded, her eyes meeting mine with that look I’d grown accustomed to, a mixture of affection and something else, something that made my chest tighten with guilt.
“I can’t wait for you to finally hold him,” she told me, placing her hand over mine, her voice soft with anticipation.
The words hit me with unexpected force. Only six weeks now. Six weeks until I could hold my son in my arms.
My son.
The thought still felt foreign, yet it was the only thing that had ever truly belonged to me.
I’d been counting the days, marking them off on the calendar in my mind. Less than forty days until I would have something that was unequivocally mine.
Not a possession to be taken away or used against me, but a part of me, a piece of my soul, that would exist in this world regardless of what I had done or the sins that stained my hands.
I barely remembered my mother.
My father was never truly a father to me.
And Matteo… he looked at me less like a brother and more like a rival standing in his way.
Guilia and Gabriel shared a soul connection, a bond that no one could ever understand.
But this baby, my son, was different.
He was my blood. My legacy. My family.
“I have to handle some business,” I said, reluctantly withdrawing my hand from her belly. “I’ll be gone for two days, but I’ll be back soon.”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded to reassure her. “Yes, just typical family business I have to take care of. Nothing to worry about.”
I gestured around the apartment, a safe house I’d secured for her months ago, far from the prying eyes of my family and anyone who targeted me. “The apartment is secure. and I’ve made sure the kitchen is fully stocked. You have everything you need here.”
I leaned down, placing my lips near her pregnant bump. “Be good,” I whispered to my boy. “I’ll be back soon.”
As I stood to leave, Elizabeth’s hand caught mine. I turned to find her eyes soft with vulnerability, a hint of sadness in their depths.
“You will never love me, will you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The quiet question hung in the air between us.
My chest constricted.
I had been honest with her from the beginning about what I could offer…protection, security, a future for our child.
But not love. Never love.
That was something I simply didn’t have to give.
Elizabeth deserved more than I could give her. But she chose to stay by my side.
“Beth...” I started, but she shook her head, releasing my hand.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.” She smiled weakly and a single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. “You’ve told me already, I don’t know why...”
“You know I care about you,” I said, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears. “But I am incapable of loving you the way you need. I don’t think I am even capable of such feelings, of such love.”
She nodded, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand.
“But I will always protect you,” I added. “I promise you that.”
The promise felt like the only truth I could offer her.
Whatever I lacked in emotional capacity, I would make up for it in loyalty and protection. Elizabeth and my son would want for nothing.
I jerked awake, my heart hammering against my ribs, sweat beading across my forehead and chest. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only feel.
The darkness of my bedroom enveloped me, but my mind was still trapped in that apartment, with her soft voice asking if I would ever love her.
The dream felt so real I could still feel the weight of her hand in mine, the gentle curve of her pregnant belly beneath my palm.
No, not a dream.
A nightmare.
A haunting memory.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t stop the image flashing behind my close lids.
Elizabeth’s face, so full of hope, so trusting. My hand on her swollen belly, feeling my son kick beneath my palm. The promise I had made to protect them both.
A promise I had failed to keep.
I hadn’t been worthy.
To have them. To protect them.
I wasn’t worthy.
Fuck, I couldn’t breathe.
I sat up, running my hands through my sweat-soaked hair, gripping the strands until pain shot through my scalp. The darkness of my bedroom pressed in around me, suffocating.
“Goddamn it,” I growled, the sound tearing from my throat.
I slammed my fist into the mattress beside me, once, twice, the impact doing nothing to dull the pain that had become my constant companion.
The agony of their memory hit me like a physical blow, sharp and brutal, radiating from my chest outward.
It was the same pain I’d carried for years, a gaping wound that refused to heal no matter how much blood I spilled or how many bodies I buried.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the cold floor. The anger came next, a familiar companion that had kept me alive when grief threatened to consume me entirely. It burned through my veins, hot and corrosive, making my muscles tense.
I still… couldn’t fucking…breathe.
My jaw clenched so hard I could hear the grinding of my teeth.
Fury rose in me like a tide, dark and consuming. Violent and almost impossible to contain.
I had promised to protect them. I had sworn that Elizabeth and my son would want for nothing. And yet they were gone, their lives extinguished and their blood spilled while I wasn’t there to protect them.
The darkness that lived inside me stirred, hungry for vengeance that I still hadn’t claimed. I had hunted down those responsible, made them suffer in ways that would haunt even the most hardened men, but it hadn’t been enough.
The void remained, growing larger with each passing day.
I stood, pacing the length of my bedroom, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.
Sleep was impossible now.
It always was after I woke up from a nightmare.
A savage fury twisted inside my chest. It was a real, living thing inside me, feeding on my pain, growing stronger with each passing day.
I had learned to channel it into cruelty, into violence, into the destruction of anyone who crossed me.
But nothing I did was ever enough.
No amount of destruction could fix this pain.
Not until the one who caused it suffered.
And I would make him suffer.
I paced the length of my room relentlessly. Back and forth. Again and again.
I dragged in a breath, then forced it back out, but even breathing felt like a struggle.
Nothing worked.
Nothing eased the chaos clawing through my chest.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms against them until pain bloomed behind my sockets. A sharp hiss slipped through my clenched teeth as the pressure in my chest tightened painfully.
Then hazel eyes and dark hair crashed into my mind without warning, striking me hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
My eyes snapped open.
Serafina.
My wife was sleeping down the hall, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
Thud.
Something pulled me toward her room, a need I couldn’t explain or resist.
Thud. Thud.
I padded silently through the hallway, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Her door was unlocked, a small act of trust from a woman who had every reason to keep me out.
I pushed it open slowly and the first thing I saw was her, in the center of the bed. The moonlight filtered through her curtains, spilling into the room, making her pale skin glow luminously.
I walked in and closed the door behind me.
So peaceful. So vulnerable. So fragile.
Serafina didn’t know what truly lied in the depth of my soul, the darkness that truly resided there.
She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her dark hair fanned across the pillow.
In sleep, her face was soft, unguarded, the sharp edges of her defiance smoothed away.
She looked so innocent, so untouched by the darkness that surrounded us both.
I wanted to hate her for that. For her purity, her light, her ability to sleep peacefully while I was tormented by ghosts.
Instead, I found myself drawn to the armchair in the corner of her room, the same one I sat in diligently every night, the very same one where I’d watched her read that romance book while I recovered from her poisonous kiss.
I sank into it, my body heavy with exhaustion I hadn’t realized was weighing me down.
I hadn’t slept in almost three days.
The darkness in my mind kept me awake, forcing me to relive memories I could never change like a curse, while feeding the hunger for vengeance I had yet to claim.
I was fucking exhausted, but my thoughts had refused to quiet.
Yet now…
In her presence, something shifted.
For the first time in days, the tightness in my chest began to ease.
The anger that had been burning through me like acid receded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
My eyes grew heavy, my muscles relaxing despite my best efforts to remain vigilant.
I hadn’t slept properly in... I couldn’t remember how long.
Too many hours, too many nights spent staring at the ceiling or drinking myself into oblivion, trying to silence the voices in my head.
I watched my wife sleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I could breathe again.
She had asked for time. Time to process everything that had happened between us, time to find herself in this twisted marriage I had forced her into.
Time to come to terms with what we were to each other.
But I wasn’t a patient man.
Patience was not a luxury meant for men like me.
I took what I wanted, when I wanted it. But for her, I would…wait.
For now.
When her time was up, I would take what was rightfully mine.
I would make her mine in ways she could never deny, never escape.
The thought filled me with a dark, possessive certainty as my eyes drifted closed.
Serafina didn’t know…
I was an obsessive man for the things I wanted.
And I wanted her.
Mind, body and soul.
Every inch of her.