She traded one reckless night with Manhattan’s most lethal man to pay for her father’s burial, but the single capsule he handed her at dawn couldn't erase the secret she took away with her.

Bella was shoved into the back of a bulletproof Maybach before she could even process the threat. Lucas sat beside her, radiating a dangerous, suppressed energy. He made two phone calls. The first was to his head of security. The second was to a private, mob-affiliated doctor.

“I am not doing this,” Bella said, staring out the tinted windows as they sped toward his sprawling estate on the North Shore. “I’ll give you the forty-nine thousand back. I’ll pay it off in installments.”

“Keep the money. You’re going to need it for maternity clothes.”

“You can't just kidnap me!”

“I didn't kidnap you. I’m relocating an asset.”

When they arrived at the gated compound, the doctor was already waiting in a sterile, makeshift clinic in the east wing. Lucas demanded a paternity test immediately. He watched like a hawk as the doctor drew Bella’s blood.

“Expedite it,” Lucas ordered the doctor. “I want the results tonight.”

Bella sat on the edge of the leather sofa in Lucas’s massive study, refusing to eat the food his staff brought her. Hours ticked by. At midnight, the heavy mahogany doors opened. The doctor walked in, looking pale and deeply unsettled.

“Well?” Lucas demanded.

“The child is yours, Mr. Drake. 99.9% probability.” The doctor swallowed hard, looking at Bella. “But… there is something else. An anomaly in the mother’s bloodwork. I ran it against the Chicago syndicate registry, as is standard protocol for your security.”