Page 53 of Sinful Obsession
“My grandfather’s deal with their patriarch tied my inheritance to a Moretti marriage. But if I win the competition, I can strip my father of his title as Don and take revenge for what he did to me and grandfather.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “An underground mafia competition? That sounds insane.”
“It is,” I said. “It’s a secret even among the clans. Male heirs fight for a chance at unimaginable wealth, gold, and a badge that commands respect across every mafia family in the world. But it’s brutal—death is the only way out if you don’t win.”
“Vincent’s too much of a coward to try, but I risked everything. Cassian found me there, pulled me out, and brought me here against my will. If I could get back in...”
“I’ll look into it,” Ethan promised, his voice resolute. “But you know Cassian will come for you again.”
“Not if I make sure he can’t,” I said, my voice hard with determination.
Ethan nodded, but before he could reply, a faint creak echoed from the hallway, like a door settling in its frame.
My heart leapt into my throat. “I have to go,” I whispered, ending the call with trembling fingers. I shoved the burner phone and two of the pregnancy tests into a hollowed-out book on the library shelf, grabbing the third test as I slipped out of the room.
I moved quickly, my pulse pounding as I headed for the guest bathroom on the second floor, far from the bedroom I shared with Cassian.
The hallway was dim.
At the bathroom door, I paused, peeking around the frame to ensure I was alone.
The room was small, tiled in cold white, with a single frosted window casting muted light.
I locked the door behind me, my hands shaking as I tore open the test kit.
The instructions blurred before my eyes, but I knew the drill. I crouched over the toilet, the plastic stick awkward in my grip, and waited, my breath shallow.
The seconds stretched into eternity.
When I finally glanced at the test, my world tilted.
Two bold red lines stared back at me, undeniable and merciless.
Pregnant.
My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, the test slipping from my hand to clatter against the tiles.
My heart thundered, a deafening roar in my ears as the truth sank in: I was carrying a child, and it wasn’t Cassian’s.
It could only be the result of something done to me during those lost months, by someone whose face I couldn’t recall.
Nausea surged, not from the pregnancy but from the violation, the powerlessness, the horror of it all.
“What are you doing in there?” Cassian’s voice sliced through the door, suspicious.
I scrambled to my feet, shoving the test into the toilet and flushing it with a desperate jab.
The water swirled, carrying the evidence away as I adjusted my clothes and unlocked the door.
Stepping out, I met his gaze, his dark eyes narrowing as they studied me.
“Why are you looking for me?” I asked, forcing defiance into my voice to mask the panic clawing at my chest.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm about to break.
“You’ve been acting strange.” His hand reached out, tilting my chin up as his thumb brushed beneath my eye, checking for signs of distress like a doctor assessing a patient. “I’m having the doctor run a full panel on you.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, jerking away and brushing past him, my heart racing. “I’m fine.”
