20. Roman
ROMAN
I stood in the sterile hospital hallway, my back pressed against the cold wall, hands fisted at my sides as I stared at the door separating me from Cassie.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps, and the smell of disinfectant couldn’t mask the underlying scent of fear and death that clung to places like this.
Pregnant.
The word still echoed in my skull like a gunshot, reverberating through every carefully constructed wall I’d built around my heart. My child was growing inside her. The heir to everything I’d fought to build, everything I’d killed to protect.
And she’d hidden it from me.
I should walk in there. Should sit beside her bed, take her hand, and tell her everything would be alright. That’s what a normal man would do. What a good man would do.
But I wasn’t either of those things.
I was Roman Creed, and in my world, secrets were weapons. Lies were betrayal. And betrayal?—
My phone buzzed. Connor’s name flashed on the screen.
"Boss, how is she?"
"She’s..." I stopped, my throat tight. "She’s going to be fine."
"And the baby?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Connor knew. Of course, he knew—the man had been reading people since before I was born, and could probably smell secrets from three floors away.
"How did you?—"
"Doctor told me when I offered to fill out the insurance papers. They asked about family medical history and emergency contact." His voice was carefully neutral. "Congratulations, Roman."
I ended the call without responding, my hands shaking as I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Congratulations. Right. Bringing a child into my world—into this endless cycle of violence and betrayal—was something to celebrate.
A memory surfaced unbidden: Cassie’s hand on my chest two nights ago, her whisper cutting through the darkness like a prayer. "I trust you."
Trust. The one thing I’d never been able to give freely, the one thing that had been used to destroy me time and again. And now the woman carrying my child had proven that even she couldn’t be trusted with the truth.
But as I stood there in that antiseptic hallway, I remembered the way she’d looked at me in those quiet moments—not with fear or calculation, but with something I’d never seen directed at me before. Something that looked almost like love.
Fuck.
I pushed off the wall and walked toward her room.
Cassie was awake when I entered, propped up against white pillows that made her skin look pale as porcelain. Her dark hair spilled across the hospital gown, and her eyes—those intelligent brown eyes that saw too much—tracked my movement as I approached the bed.
"Roman." Her voice was small, uncertain.
I pulled the chair closer to her bed, but didn’t sit. Couldn’t sit. The space between us felt charged with everything unsaid, everything hidden.
"When were you going to tell me?" The words came out colder than I’d intended, but I couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop the rage building in my chest like pressure behind a dam.
She flinched as if I’d struck her. "I was going to?—"
"When? After the child was born? After you’d figured out how to use it against me?"
"Use it—" Her eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, I saw the steel that had drawn me to her in the first place. "How dare you?—"
"How dare I what? Expect honesty from the woman who’s supposed to be my partner?
The woman carrying my heir?" I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"You sat in strategy meetings. You listened to me talk about loyalty, about trust, about the importance of family.
And the entire time, you were keeping this from me. "
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. "I was scared."
"Of what? Of me?"
"Of this." She gestured between us, her voice breaking. "Of everything happening too fast. Of not being ready to bring a child into your world. Of not understanding what it would mean for us."
"Us." I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "There is no us, Cassie. There’s me, and there’s the business, and there are people who try to use one to destroy the other. Which category do you fall into?"
She stared at me like I’d slapped her. "You really believe that? That I would?—"
"I don’t know what to believe anymore." The admission tasted like ash in my mouth. "Everyone I’ve ever trusted has lied to me eventually. My mother. Anton. And now you."
"I’m not them."
"Aren’t you?" I straightened, putting distance between us. "You’ve been living in my house, sharing my bed, pretending to be my partner, all while hiding the most important secret of all. How is that different?"
The monitor beside her bed beeped faster, her heart rate spiking with distress. A part of me—the part that had held her through nightmares, that had watched her stand up to my most dangerous men without flinching—wanted to take it back. Wanted to hold her until the fear left her eyes.
But the larger part, the part that had survived betrayal after betrayal, couldn’t let it go.
"Get some rest," I said, my voice carefully controlled. "We’ll discuss this when you’re feeling better."
I was almost at the door when her voice stopped me.
"I love you."
The words hit me like bullets, each one finding its target with devastating precision. I stood frozen in the doorway, my hand on the handle, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Because if I looked at her—if I saw the truth in her eyes, the vulnerability she was offering me—I might break completely.
"Love is a luxury neither of us can afford," I mumbled, and walked out.
The hallway felt colder than before, the fluorescent lights harsher. I made it to the elevator before the shaking started, my hands trembling as I jabbed the button for the ground floor.
Everyone I love lies.
The thought circled in my head like a predator as I stepped outside into the cool night air. I pulled out my phone and dialed without thinking.
"Roman?" Declan’s voice was sleep-rough but immediately alert. "How is she?"
"She’s pregnant." The words felt foreign on my tongue.
Silence stretched between us, long enough that I wondered if the call had dropped. Then: "Congratulations. That’s... unexpected."
"She kept it from me." I leaned against the brick wall of the hospital, suddenly exhausted. "The entire time, Declan. She knew, and she said nothing."
"That’s rough, brother." His voice carried just the right note of sympathy, but something about it felt off. Too practiced. Too smooth. Did he know? "But maybe she was trying to protect you. Or herself."
"Protect me how?"
"Think about it—a pregnant woman in our world is a target. Maybe she was scared of what that would mean. For her, for the child." A pause, then: "For you."
The reasonable explanation should’ve made me feel better. Should’ve cut through the betrayal festering in my chest. Instead, it made something cold settle in my stomach.
"You think I can’t protect my own family?"
"I think you’re under more pressure than you’ve ever been. The warehouse attacks, the security breaches, the questions about your leadership. Adding a pregnant woman to that equation..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang.
"You sound like you think she’s a liability."
"I think she’s a complication you don’t need right now. But Roman, she’s also carrying your heir. That changes everything."
Your heir. The words should have filled me with pride, with determination. Instead, they felt like chains wrapping around my chest.
"I need to think," I said.
"Where are you going?"
"St. Brigid’s."
"Roman—"
I hung up before he could finish whatever warning he was about to give me.
The church was empty when I arrived, just rows of wooden pews facing the altar where candles flickered like dying stars. I’d come here as a child with my father, back when the weight of the Creed name felt like armor instead of a noose.
I slid into the back pew, the worn wood cool beneath my hands. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional hiss of wax hitting stone as the candles burned down.
Pregnant.
The word echoed differently here, surrounded by stained glass and shadows. Here, it didn’t sound like betrayal. It sounded like a possibility. Like hope.
My child would grow up in this world—my world—where trust was currency and betrayal was death. Where love was weakness and family was leverage. Where even the people closest to you could sell you out for the right price.
What kind of father would I be? What kind of man did I want my child to see when they looked at me?
The questions circled in my mind like prayers I didn’t know how to say.
I’d built my entire life around control—controlling the business, controlling my men, controlling every variable that could be used against me.
But I couldn’t control this. Couldn’t control the way Cassie had wormed her way under my skin, couldn’t control the fact that she was carrying something precious and vulnerable and mine.
And I sure as hell couldn’t control the way she made me want to be better than what I was.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the church, leather soles clicking against stone. I didn’t turn around—didn’t need to. I knew that walk, knew the weight and rhythm of it.
Declan slid into the pew beside me, his pale eyes reflecting the candlelight as he studied my profile.
"I’m sorry to bother you."
I didn’t respond, just kept staring at the cross above the altar.
My father had brought me here after my first kill, told me that even men like us needed forgiveness sometimes.
I’d been seventeen and covered in another man’s blood, and I’d sat in this same spot wondering if there was enough forgiveness in the world for what I’d become.
"You know what your father would say about this situation," Declan said quietly.
"Do I?"
"Children make you vulnerable. Give your enemies something to use against you." He leaned back against the pew, his voice taking on that dangerous calm I’d learned to recognize. "Patrick would’ve solved this situation quietly. Before it became a problem."
The implication hit me like ice water. I turned to look at him for the first time since he’d arrived, noting the careful way he held himself, the calculating look in his eyes.
"You’re suggesting I kill my own child?"
"I’m suggesting you think about what’s best for the family. For the business." His smile was sharp as a blade. "But then again, maybe love has made you soft enough that you can’t see the bigger picture anymore."
The words were too similar to the challenges I’d been hearing from my other men, too perfectly aimed at my deepest insecurities.
For the first time since I’d known him, I found myself looking at Declan, noting the way his loyalty always came with conditions, the way he seemed almost pleased when I showed weakness.
"The family comes first," I said carefully, testing.
"Always." His smile widened. "I’m glad you understand that."
But as I sat there in the candlelit church, watching my most trusted advisor nod approvingly at the suggestion that I eliminate my own child, something cold and certain settled in my chest.
I was surrounded by enemies. But maybe the most dangerous one wasn’t hiding in shadows or rival families.
Maybe he was sitting right beside me.
Declan’s phone buzzed, cutting through the tension like a knife. He glanced at the screen, and something shifted in his expression—satisfaction mixed with anticipation.
"We found the mole," he said, meeting my eyes. "And Roman? You’re not going to like who it is."