Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Sunday, then Monday and Tuesday, flew by in a flash—she’d been up to her eyeballs in writing, illustrating, planning two charity events for children, and overthinking about pregnancy—and now it was Wednesday.
And, though the joy of being pregnant hadn’t diminished, the excitement had taken a nosedive.
She’d taken hours after her appointment on Monday morning to plan the pregnancy reveal, and she’d been bubbling with anticipation and nerves. What would Gideon think, say, do when he found out they were finally parents after so long?
Since their first date, she’d known Gideon wanted children; he’d been upfront with her about wanting an heir for the Maddox empire. She’d told him she’d always wanted children, and he’d told her that he was settling down, building a home, starting a family.
On their third date, he’d told her—over chilled champagne and $11,000 Russian caviar—that she was the one he’d wanted to start a life with.
His expression had been intense, his eyes burning hot like emeralds glittering in dragon fire, and the hand holding hers on top of the table between them had been warm, grasping hers tightly, as if her response was a matter of life and death.
Three weeks later, they were engaged, and she was over the moon—her fairytale Prince Charming was really a billionaire god, and he had chosen her—average in every possible way—as his wife.
That was over three years ago—three years of failure, defeat, hatred of her own body, and dwindling hopes and dreams—that desperate desire for a family she’d never had moving further and further from reach.
Until last week.
The midnight hour chimed on the hand-crafted German grandfather clock in the sitting room, and Kendra sat in her usual spot in the lounge, blanket over her lap, feet curled up under her, a mug of peppermint hot cocoa cooling on the table beside her, and barely-creased paperback book held loosely in her hand.
She wasn’t reading the bestseller by Maya Alden she’d picked up that morning; she was watching the hallway leading to the front door, waiting for the familiar sounds of her husband returning home.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d left their bed Sunday morning.
Since he’d told her, his voice cold, his manner even colder, that he would call her if he’d be gone longer.
She’d waited Sunday night, then all day Monday, then all day Tuesday, then all day today.
Not a single call. Not a single text. It was as though he’d swallowed up by the massive, gleaming edifice of the Maddox Tower building. Then again, she knew that wasn’t the case, because her husband—the all-powerful God of Manhattan—had been spotted by paparazzi.
In Brooklyn.
With another woman, one she’d seen in the society pages enough times to know everything there was to know about her.
Isabella Mancini, the daughter of a wealthy businessman who happened to be one of Gideon’s biggest clients.
Isabella often accompanied her father to Maddox business events, stealing the spotlight and Gideon’s attentions, and sending not-so-subtle digs at the “homely little wifey.”
She was beautiful, wealthy, connected…and whenever she was photographed out with Gideon, she always grasped his arm with a kind of possession that made everyone wonder if there was a scandal there, waiting to be uncovered.
The backs of Kendra’s eyes burned, unshed tears clamoring for freedom, but she’d viciously held them back.
Her husband wasn’t a cheater. He was a man of control, loyalty, and though he was a ravenous beast in bed, she felt like she fulfilled his carnal needs. Why would he stray, right?
Then again, he only ever reached for her in bed on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays…maybe Isabella Mancini was fulfilling his carnal needs on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, leaving Saturdays as a day of rest.
God, she hated how her thoughts went there; Gideon had never given her a reason to think he’d cheat. Then again, as cold and distant as he’d become over the last year, she did wonder if, perhaps, he was having second thoughts about their relationship.
She loved him. So madly, so deeply, she couldn’t imagine a life where they weren’t husband and wife.
She’d tumbled head over heels on their first date, when he’d shown up at the door of her apartment with a bouquet of daffodils, sunflowers, tulips, and bluebells, telling her the arrangement meant hope for a beautiful life together.
Over the course of their short dating period, she grew more and more in love with him, and she knew he loved her, too—though he’d never actually said the words, she knew he felt that connection between them.
Gideon wasn’t the kind of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve.
She knew no real details about his parents, only that his mother wasn’t in the picture, and his father had been a bad husband and father—at least that’s what she gathered listening to conversations between the four Maddox brothers when they all had the time to sit down for a meal together, and from gossiping with Cora whenever Kendra spent time with her and her girls.
Usually over the holidays, or when she and Cora could convince them all to get together so Pearl and Winne could see all their uncles in one place.
Those hard, gorgeous, powerful Maddox brothers were soft and squishy when it came to those two little girls—even the eldest Maddox, Gideon, who rarely cracked a smile, would soften his gaze when Pearl, who was four years old, wanted his attention.
But it was when he was holding Winnie, Cora and Adrian’s five-month-old, that Kendra felt her heart really melt. That man deserved to be a father.
And now he was.
She just needed to wait a few more weeks until Christmas to tell him—because it was the perfect Christmas present for the man she loved fathomlessly.
Her plan for the baby reveal always made her smile.
She couldn’t wait for Gideon to open the box holding the tiny green onesie that read: “Merry Christmas, Daddy” in scrolling white lettering.
And she certainly couldn’t wait for him to open the box of Cuban cigars, each wrapped in deep red paper and gold labels that read: “Baby Maddox Coming – 2026.”
As restrained and controlled as Gideon was, she knew he’d want to crow about their baby, so the box of cigars was a great way for him to share the good news with all his business cronies.
Finally, she took the pregnancy report from Dr. Chaudry’s office, and framed it. Simple. Tasteful. A keepsake they would have forever.
She’d special ordered the gifts, which were scheduled to be delivered later that week, which was still two weeks before Christmas. Just enough time to finish decorating for the holiday, wrap the gifts, and put them under the tree.
Already, the penthouse looked like every girlhood dream of what Santa’s house would look like—garland, ornaments, wreaths, and the eight-foot tall Fraser fir she’d had imported from Canada, that was tastefully decorated in golds and silver and reds.
It was shaping up to be an amazing Christmas…so why was there a strange sort of uneasiness keeping her from completely wrapping herself in the Christmas Spirit?
Despite the ache in her heart at missing her husband, and the anxiety over those pictures of him and that woman, Kendra smiled, slowly rubbing her belly.
There was a baby resting in there, and she would do whatever it took to make sure their baby was healthy, grew up loved and happy, and never knew a moment of pain.
Something her own parents failed at.
And Gideon’s, too.
As thoughts of her husband, their baby, and the last several days swirled in her mind, Kendra couldn’t stop a deep, creeping apprehension from dragging its long, shadowy fingers through her body.
She shuddered, her heart aching, as the grandfather clock struck one in the morning.
Another night without Gideon, without her husband lying in bed beside her, his large body curling around her as he slept and she lay awake memorizing the feeling of him against her, so those nights when he was traveling, she’d still have him there with her…even if only in her mind.
That night, she fell asleep, the bed beside her empty, her hand pressed against a belly that no longer was.
“What a goddamn mess,” Gideon spat, thrusting his fingers through his already tousled hair. “How the fuck did that asshole Wilkens get those pictures, and how the fuck did he get them past me and onto the fucking rag?”
Logan huffed, glaring at the images on his laptop.
“AI. No doubt,” he replied. “Well made but still made up.” He pointed to the screen, indicating the misspelling on a sign in the background of the image.
“I’ve been to this deli, and that sign was repainted months ago, and even then, the owners know how to spell their own last name right. ”
Gideon planted his hand on Logan’s desk and leaned forward, peering where Logan indicated. Sure enough, Meyer’s Deli was misspelled as Meeyer’s Deli, a clear mistake—if one knew where to look.
Gideon slammed his fist against the desk, making Logan roll his eyes. “Easy there, Hulk,” he reprimanded mockingly. “I get that this is bad, but it’s easy enough to prove to Mancini.”
Adolfo Mancini was the underboss of the Tempesta Famiglia in New York and New Jersey—a proper Mafia family, with all the danger and “Omerta” to go with it.
Mancini, as the second in charge, had to be clean as a fucking whistle to keep the feds, the DEA, and the state’s attorney general off his ass.
And that’s where Maddox Publishing came along; they kept all the media in the entire fucking country from reporting anything that could, in any way, be tied to the Tempesta or Mancini families.
It was a deal they’d made twenty years ago when Gideon had been struggling under the weight of rebuilding the business his father had snorted, drank, and fucked away until it was barely able to hold water.
At barely twenty years old, he’d had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he knew it needed to be big, successful, and powerful so that he and his brothers never had to depend on anyone for their safety or happiness again.
It was then that Adolfo approached him. He’d front the business two million dollars and a few legit connections in the right places, and the Maddoxes would help keep the Tempesta Famiglia’s name out of people’s mouths.
And he’d done that very thing, for going on twenty years; keeping the Mafia squeaky clean—at least in the news.
His success earned him the respect of the most powerful men on the East Coast, and he’d used that respect to keep himself and his brothers out of anything too…
incriminating. It’d been working, for twenty fucking years.
And then that fucker Robbie Wilkens had sold a motherfucking AI image to a rag in Hoboken that supposedly showed two major political and underworld players committing potentially criminal acts—one of whom was Ignacio, the son of none other than Adolfo Mancini.
“That man is older than Moses, he has no fucking idea how to use a coffee maker, let alone understand what AI is and how someone can create an artificial image showing a shady deal in a mom-and-pop deli between Mancini’s son and heir, and the motherfucking mayor’s brother.
” A growl of frustration rumbled from his chest.
Logan sat back, his gaze watchful, analytical, and crossed his arms. “Mancini won’t understand but his son will; let him explain,” he offered, waving his hand carelessly, like it was that fucking easy. “Or have Isabella do it—she seems…capable.”
At the mention of that woman, Gideon furrowed his brows, the sensation of nails on a chalkboard zagging through his body. “I would rather pour acid on my balls than go out of my way to talk to that woman about anything.”
Logan grunted. “Tell that to the tabloids that have you married off with two kids, a Jackapoo, and a bi-yearly vacation to Monaco.”
Grinding his teeth, Gideon checked the time on his $89,000 IWC Performance Chronograph 41 watch—a birthday gift from Kendra.
Nearing midnight.
Shit.
For the third night in a row, he wasn’t home to see his wife before she went to bed.
As a successful children’s book author, Kendra could keep whatever hours she wanted, so she often stayed up to around midnight watching TV or reading, and then slept until about 9 AM most mornings.
That meant that on nights when midnight hit and he was still in the office, he wouldn’t see his wife at all, because she’d be in bed before he got home, and he’d be out of bed before she woke up.
It was bullshit, bordering on unsustainable, but there was nothing he could do about it if he didn’t want a mob bullet planted between his fucking eyes.