"Who are these people? Why would anyone want him dead? Why does everything feel like a trap I can't see?"
I nearly screamed.
The sound was so sharp, so violent, I ducked immediately, hands over my head.
Another shot. And another.
The bullets hit the sides of the car, sparking off harmlessly—no dents, no holes, just noise—but the sound was enough to rip my lungs apart.
"Kieran—Kieran—oh my God—"
"You're safe," he said, one hand pushing my head lower, keeping me down.
"The car is bulletproof. Stay low."
More gunfire.
Outside the window, I caught a blur—
Three motorcycles weaving between cars, shooting straight at us.
The driver cursed loudly.
"They're aiming for the tires!"
"Keep moving," Kieran ordered. Calm
"Don't stop."
The SUV in front swerved, cutting one of the bikes off.
Another guard yelled through the intercom,
"Two more bikes incoming! Left and right!"
My breathing was a mess. My knees were shaking so badly I couldn't even control them.
"Kieran—what is happening?!"
My mind spun through every stupid possibility—kidnappers, rivals, someone Kieran pissed off (which was probably half the city).
"We're under attack," he said simply. Like he was saying we're stuck in traffic.
I wasn't breathing anymore—I was gasping, lungs refusing to work.
Another loud burst of gunshots.
The car jerked to the side as the driver took a hard turn.
The convoy split.
The guards' SUVs moved aggressively, trying to block the bikes, pushing them back, hitting them off balance.
Kieran's hand slipped into his pocket, and just like that, he pulled out a gun.
What the hell was he doing with a gun? Well he's a mafia boss. Of course he had a gun.
He rolled down the window.
A bike rider leaned in, shooting straight at us.
Kieran aimed, fired — and the rider jerked, flailing, slipping off the bike.
Crash. The man hit the asphalt hard.
I screamed. "K–Kieran! What are you doing?!"
He didn't answer.
Another bike was coming, closer this time.
He fired again. Rider down.
Another shot — another bike fallen.
I was shaking, hands over my face, heart hammering. "Oh my God! You're killing them
"They wanted you dead," he said simply. "I'm just returning the favor."
Shots continued.
Kieran fired, one after another — precise, lethal. The attackers weren't amateurs, but he treated them like they were nothing. Just targets. Just obstacles.
Then everything went quiet.
The last bike fled.
Kieran rolled the window back up with the same calm he used to open it. Gun tucked into his pocket. Cufflinks straightened. Tie adjusted. Like he had just rearranged paperwork — not bodies.
Finally, he looked at me.
Cold. Controlled. Terrifyingly composed.
"You're my wife now," he said. "The future mother of my heir. You want to survive beside me? Then blooshed shouldn't scare you."
"You're married to a D'Angelo," he continued. "A mafia boss. You're going to be crowned Donna soon. And I won't have a Donna who shakes at a little blood."
Did he just call killing a whole gang a little blood? Bodies were on the road because of him.
"You're safe with me," he added, voice lower now. "But safety doesn't mean softness. I'll train you. You need to know how my world works… or it'll eat you alive."
His hand slid from my neck to my jaw, tilting my face toward him.
"Look at me," he said quietly. "Nothing will ever touch you while I'm breathing. But you need to learn. Faster than you think."
I shifted in the seat, uncomfortably.
Kieran noticed immediately, his expression softened. "Dress too tight?"
I nodded.
"Words," I heard him say, low and deliberate. "Sweet girl… I need words."
I swallowed. My voice barely came out. "Yes."
Before I realized it, his hand was behind my back, my dress was loosened, the tight fabric adjusted with expert hands.
He smirked—that signature smirk that made. "Courtesy of being a pro when it comes to taking clothes off," he murmured. "I've taken many, many clothes off… so I know how to adjust outfits."
I blinked at him. More handsome this way, casual, not his usual poker-face.
You thirsty?" His voice was calm, but there was that edge that made me want to obey instantly.
"Yes."
My hand reached for the water bottle in the car compartment, but his hand beat me to it. His fingers closed around it before mine could. He brought it to his lips, drinking slowly, deliberately. Eyes locked on me.
Then, before I could think, he pulled me close. His lips pressed to mine. A stolen, possessive kiss.
Water from his mouth mingled with mine. My eyes widened. Shock, confusion, heat—I didn't expect this. He wasn't just kissing me.
He was making me drink water from his mouth.
I shouldn't have liked it. But God—I did.
As Kieran pulled away, both of us were gasping like we'd been drowning in each other. My lips were swollen. My breath shaky. His forehead dropped onto mine, and for a second he just stared into my eyes like he wanted to dissect every thought I had.
"Your eyes…" his voice was too low, too dangerous, "they look like emeralds."
My heart stuttered. I hated how easily he unraveled me.
I didn't even know why I leaned in again. My body just moved like it wasn't mine. My lips brushed his—soft, stupid, reckless.
His eyes widened.
Shock.
Real shock.
Kieran D'Angelo, the man who never looks surprised by anything, actually froze.
But it lasted one second.
Then the normal him—the cold, controlled, terrifying him—snapped back, and he kissed me like he'd been waiting for me to mess up like that. His hand slid around my waist, dragging me onto his lap, and his mouth claimed mine. His tongue pushed past my lips, guiding me slow at first, like he was studying how inexperienced I was.
Then he stopped being gentle.
The kiss turned rough, messy, addictive.
He reached above us without breaking the kiss and pulled the small curtain shut—the one that separated the driver from the backseat. A clean swipe. Like he was locking the world out.
His mouth crashed back onto mine.
His hand slid up my thigh, bunching my dress fast, urgent, until cool air hit my skin. His fingers grazed the edge of my panties and I couldn't hold the sound that escaped me. My whole body felt too hot. Too aware. Too wet.
His breath hit my neck—slow, sharp, claiming. "Keep making that sound," he whispered, lips brushing my jaw. "I like it."
My thighs trembled. His fingers slipped under the band of my panties—
Then he pulled away abruptly— trying to control himself. And I wish he didn't.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "we'll go visit your son."
I froze.
For one wild second, everything inside me lit up.
Hope.
Relief.
Happiness so sharp it almost hurt.
I hadn't seen him.
I hadn't held him.
I hadn't even heard his voice in days.
The idea of seeing him tomorrow—
my baby, my whole heart—
But then it hit me.
What he said.
Exactly what he said.
My eyes snapped up to his.
"W–we?" I whispered. "What do you mean… we?"
Kieran didn't blink.
"Yes," he said simply. "We."
He slid his hand to the back of my neck, gentle but firm, pulling me a breath closer.
"He's your son," he said, "which means he's also mine."
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
"I'll adopt him," he continued like he was talking about something already signed. "Once the documents are finalized, he becomes a D'Angelo."
My heart was beating so loud I could hear it in my ears.
"Kieran… why—why would you—"
"Because you're my wife," he said, dead serious.
"And anything that belongs to you…"
His thumb traced my jaw, slow… possessive…
"…belongs to me as well."
"So tomorrow," he murmured, "we will go see him."
I didn't know what terrified me more—
the fact that he said we…
or the fact that when he sees my son…
He might recognize himself.