Chapter 1

My sister and I—the Russo girls—were once the envy of every woman in the Chicago Outfit. We had married the twin brothers of the Grimaldi family.

But everything changed on our way to an art gallery.

When I was five months pregnant, my motorcade was ambushed by a rival gang.

Our husbands cut off all contact. They told us not to bother them because they had to save their stepsister, Cassandra—the woman they were both obsessed with.

I lost my child, and my sister suffered permanent nerve damage to her leg, ending her career as a top enforcer.

The moment I woke up in the family's secret clinic and knew Petra was conscious, I sent my husband, Lucian, a single text: "I want a divorce."

For two whole days, there was only silence.

All my calls were rejected. My messages went unanswered.

"Our child is gone," I finally texted.

That, unlike anything else, got an instant response. Lucian’s voice, seething with fury, erupted from the phone.

"Genevieve, is this how you get attention? You don't get a response, so you go and get an abortion to kill our heir?" His voice was ice-cold with rage.

"I told you to stay put at the estate while you were carrying the Grimaldi heir, but you insisted on running around. Then you call me nine times in a row when I don't answer? Are you out of your mind?"

"Cassandra was in danger! She was kidnapped and nearly lost her child. What could possibly be more important than saving two lives?"

"Let me be clear—don't use our child to manipulate me again. If you wanted to get rid of the baby that badly, then you should have just done it!"

"Lucian," I heard Cassandra's weak voice in the background. "Don't be angry with your wife. She's just worried about you. This is all my fault…"

"Cassandra, this has nothing to do with you…" His voice softened instantly before he abruptly ended the call.

I let my hand fall from my forehead, a bitter smile twisting my lips.

Of course. How could I ever compare to the precious Cassandra?

I placed a hand on my now-flat stomach, a wave of grief washing over me. My poor child. He had been five months along, with a steady, strong heartbeat.

The family doctor told me my injuries were severe. My uterus was irreparably damaged. I would likely never conceive again.

Lucian didn't know any of this. He didn't know that while he was off saving Cassandra, he had lost not only his unborn child but also any chance for future heirs.

That ambush was no accident.

When the Irish gang's car blocked us, their leader, Maddox Kane, smashed my window with the butt of his gun. Glass shards rained down on me.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard him roaring, "Your husband drove our entire outfit out of the South Side! We'll make sure he trades his territory for you."

Hearing that they only wanted territory and money, a small sliver of relief cut through my fear.

But after nine desperate, unanswered calls on my secure satellite phone, the tenth call went through.

Lucian's cold voice crackled over the line: "Are you done with your little drama? Cassandra has been kidnapped. Stop bothering me."

The attackers heard the call. His words stripped me of all value.

Any restraint they might have had vanished. Maddox Kane's men kicked my abdomen with brutal, sickening precision.

My baby was gone. Just like that.

Just as I was on the brink of death, Petra arrived with her men. A fierce firefight erupted with the thugs.

But there were too many of them. Petra was stabbed and bleeding out beside me.

She radioed her husband, Felix, for help, but the only reply she received was: "I'm looking for Cassandra. Don't bother me."

Petra had no choice but to fight her way through their lines and drag me into her car. She sped away, but a violent collision sent the car spiraling out of control, trapping us inside the wreckage until a family patrol discovered us.

Lying in this cold hospital bed, my mind was finally crystal clear.

Any more attempts to contact that man would only bring more humiliation.

The divorce was no longer a threat.

It was a promise.