Page 70 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

One of Harold’s men retrieves Valeria from the back, his grip clumsy and indifferent. My daughter is red-faced and gasping for air between sobs, her tiny fists flailing.

“Careful!” I bark, panic sharpening my tone as the man jostles her.

He shoves her into my bound arms, and the moment her trembling body presses against mine, Valeria burrows into my chest, her fingers clutching at my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go. Her cries taper to pitiful hiccups, her breath shuddering against my skin.

I press my lips to her damp forehead, breathing in her familiar scent. My arms ache from the awkward angle, but I don’t care. All I can feel is her warmth, her heartbeat thumping fast against mine.

“Shh, love,” I whisper against her temple. “Mum's here. Mummy’s got you.”

Slowly, her breathing evens out, her exhausted body going limp against mine.

I close my eyes, pressing my cheek to the top of her head.

In this moment, with her safe against me, nothing else matters.

Chapter 34

Fantasia

When we land in Germany, we’re immediately escorted off the plane and into the biting cold. The wind cuts through my thin sweater, and I instinctively hunch my shoulders, my bound hands clutched awkwardly to my chest. Harold’s men herd us across the tarmac toward a sleek black SUV, its tinted windows making my stomach twist. I expect the worst- until the back door opens and I spot a car seat.

Relief flickers through me, brief but undeniable. I sure as hell didn’t expect them to do that. One of Harold’s men gestures impatiently. I climb in first, fumbling to keep my balance. The man follows, placing Valeria in the car seat beside me.

Her head lolls to one side, her breath soft and steady, tiny fists resting limply in her lap. She looks so peaceful- finally calm after hours of terrified cries. My chest tightens, a wave of gratitude washing over me. Thank God she’s asleep. At least for now, she’s warm, quiet, and unaware of the nightmare we’ve stepped into.

The SUV jolts over a pothole, and I instinctively reach out with my elbow, steadying Valeria's car seat with my arm. She doesn’t stir. Too worn out. Too drained.

I shift in my seat, awkwardly curling my fingers to nudge a stray curl from her forehead. My fingertips barely graze her skin, but it’s enough to ease some of the tension throughout my whole body. As long as she’s calm, I can hold myself together.

Harold’s men say nothing as they drive through unfamiliar streets, past steel and glass instead of the rolling green hills I grew up among.

The small modern estate we arrive at is beautiful in a cold, minimalist way. High windows, clean lines- everything precise and calculated. It’s lavish by my current standards, but nothing like the old money splendor of the Ashwood family. There’s no warmth here, no sense of history or belonging. Just cold, empty wealth.

The gates open smoothly, and my stomach tightens as the car rolls into the long driveway.

Every instinct screams at me to plan an escape, to run, to fight, to do something. But I can’t. Not with my hands still bound, not with Valeria sleeping, not when Harold watches me through the rearview mirror, his eyes gleam with something quiet and cruel, like he’s savoring the power he holds- and how little I have.

As soon as the SUV stops, the door swings open. I barely have time to turn before two women, maids, dressed in crisp black uniforms, appear beside the car. One of them reaches straight for Valeria.

“No,” I blurt out, twisting toward her. “Please- please don't take her from me!” My voice cracks with desperation.

A rough hand clamps down on my arm- Harold’s. His fingers dig painfully into my skin as he hauls me out of the car.

“We’ll keep her safe,” he says smoothly. “But that, of course, depends on how cooperative you are.”

I stumble, craning my neck to see Valeria. The older maid cradles her carefully, supporting her head as she carries her away.

Harold marches me inside, down a long hallway and deeper into the house. Each step feels heavier than the last, like my heart is sinking lower and lower in my chest.

By the time we reach the narrow staircase, a wave of anxiety washes over me, making it hard to breathe.

They throw me into a dimly lit cell, barely big enough to stretch my legs. Cold concrete walls, a cot in one corner, a single overhead light buzzing faintly. I barely hear the lock click behind me before I slam myself against the door.

“Don’t do this!” I shout, my voice raw. “Please- I won’t fight you, but don’t keep me from my daughter!”

Harold looms in the doorway, the light casting his sharp features in harsh shadows. He watches me with vague amusement before stepping inside. There’s a camera in his hands, sleek and professional, the kind used for high-profile broadcasts.

My stomach drops.

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