Chapter 2
The deafening silence that followed Bianca’s declaration felt like a vacuum, sucking the oxygen straight out of the brightly lit ballroom. For a fraction of a second, the elite guests were frozen in a state of sheer, uncomprehending shock. Serena lay gasping on the carpet, her fair skin pale with sudden terror as a sharp, agonizing cramp shot through her abdomen.
Alaric Montesi had been seated perfectly still at the head of the table the entire time. He did not flinch when the chair crashed. He did not shout in surprise. Instead, the veteran mafia boss slowly, deliberately pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. His polished leather shoes made no sound on the thick carpet, but the sheer, suffocating gravity of his presence seemed to crack the marble beneath him.
"Serena," Alaric said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of any panic. He stepped around the head of the table and knelt beside his daughter. His large, powerful hands gently grasped her shoulders, helping her up from the floor.
"My baby... my baby," Serena choked out, tears of pain and shock spilling hot over her rosy cheeks. She leaned heavily against her father’s tailored suit, her knees trembling violently.
"Breathe, Serena. You are safe," Alaric murmured, his eyes locking onto hers to ground her. "Stand up straight. You are a Montesi."
Serena took a ragged breath, forcing her legs to support her weight. As Alaric pulled her upright, her tear-filled eyes darted across the crowded, brightly colored room. The guests had parted like the Red Sea. Standing at the far end of the hall, illuminated by the bright, vivid lighting, was her husband, Bastian.
Bastian Coletti, thirty-seven years old, stood tall in his tailored designer suit, his luxury watch catching the chandelier light. But it wasn't his perfectly styled hair or his polished leather shoes that made Serena’s heart stop. It was the woman standing directly beside him.
Faye Mercer. She was twenty-six, beautiful, with fair, rosy skin and an elegant satin dress that clung tightly to her figure. She was pregnant. A small, undeniable baby bump protruded against the shimmering satin. Faye stood proudly, one hand resting possessively over her own belly, a smug, victorious smile playing on her lips.
"What is the meaning of this, Bastian?" Alaric demanded, his voice echoing with absolute authority, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.
Serena’s entire body began to shake. The betrayal crashed over her in devastating, suffocating waves. She looked from her husband to the younger woman, and then up at her father. The puzzle pieces of Bastian's late nights, his mother's sudden hostility, and his cold distance all slammed into place.
"Dad…" Serena whispered, her voice shaking so violently she could barely form the words. She clutched Alaric’s lapel, her knuckles turning white. "Dad… Bastian says she’s carrying his son."
Alaric’s jaw tightened. The muscles in his neck strained against his crisp dress shirt. He did not look at his daughter; his predatory gaze was locked entirely on his son-in-law.
"Is that so?" Alaric asked, the dangerous softness of his tone making the heavily armed men in the room instinctively reach for their concealed weapons.
Bastian smirked, stepping away from the crowd. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, exuding a foolish, arrogant confidence. "It is the truth, Alaric. The doctors confirmed it yesterday. Faye is giving me a strong, healthy boy. A true Coletti heir. Your daughter is giving me a girl. A useless, weak girl who can never run this syndicate. The bloodline requires a king, Alaric. Not a princess."
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"You brought your mistress into my home?" Alaric asked softly.
"I brought the mother of my heir," Bastian corrected, his American accent laced with entitlement. "And she deserves to sit where she belongs."
