Chapter 4

Julian's POV:

The air outside the surgical wing of the underground syndicate infirmary reeked of bleach.

I paced the narrow corridor, the frantic, agitated clicking of my dress shoes against the concrete floor the only sound in the hallway.

My fists were clenched so tightly my knuckles were white.

The image of Sienna lying broken at the bottom of the stairs haunted my mind.

My custom shirt was ruined, stiff and soaked with my wife's dried blood. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Alessia was curled up in a chair in the corner.

"Julian, I'm so sorry," Alessia mumbled through her hands. "It was an accident. I swear, I tried to catch her. I tried to stop her from falling. It's all my fault."

I didn't answer her. I couldn't speak. A boulder of terror felt wedged under my ribs, making it impossible to take a deep breath.

The heavy metal doors of the operating room finally swung open.

The syndicate doctor stepped out, his green scrubs covered in blood. He pulled down his mask, his face set in a grim expression.

I crossed the hall in two strides and grabbed the doctor by the collar of his scrubs.

"Tell me she's alive," I demanded.

"The Donna is stable, Boss," the doctor said quickly, raising his hands. "She survived the fall. We managed to stop the internal bleeding."

I let out a long, shuddering breath. I released his collar and leaned back against the concrete wall.

She was alive. I could fix this.

I could buy her diamonds; I could give her the whole world as penance.

"But, Boss," the doctor continued, "I'm so sorry. The baby didn't make it."

The silence in the corridor was so deafening it hurt my ears.

I froze. My brain stopped processing sound; the words seemed suspended in the dead air.

"Baby?"

It was a foreign syllable to me.

I stared blankly at the doctor, completely at a loss.

I had no idea she was pregnant.

It was impossible. Years ago, her womb was destroyed to save my life.

The doctor gave me a look. He shoved a thick medical file right into my chest.

"She was eight weeks pregnant, Don," the doctor said, his tone thick with indignation, all professional respect gone. "It was a miracle conception. Did you not know?"

The words "eight weeks" drove into my temples like steel nails, shattering my fragile system of self-deception.

Memories rushed back, slamming into me violently.

I remembered her in the ballroom, tugging at my jacket, whispering that she wasn't feeling well.

I remembered shaking her off in a moment of irritation.

I remembered her in the driveway, trying to tell me something important, and me harshly cutting her off.

I remembered standing in the ballroom, pouring champagne, publicly humiliating the mother of my child by calling her a useless vessel.

A suffocating wave of self-loathing swallowed me whole.

I turned and punched the concrete wall. The force was so great that the bones in my hand cracked upon impact.

I pounded it again and again until my knuckles were a bloody, mangled mess, as if the physical pain in my hand could somehow cancel out the agony everywhere else.

Alessia, deathly pale, pressed herself tightly into her chair, terrified by the raw display of violence.

"Julian, please," Alessia trembled, her voice laced with fear. "You can't blame yourself. Sienna started it. She lost her balance trying to hit me. She brought this on herself."

I stopped punching the wall, my bleeding hand dropping limply to my side.

I turned around slowly.

I looked at Alessia, seeing her fake tears, the hidden apathy, and the hypocrisy in her eyes.

All I saw was red. A bloodshot, murderous glare locked onto her face, stripping away all her disguises.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly low.

I reached into my pocket with my good hand and pulled out my encrypted phone. I dialed my head of security, keeping my eyes fixed on her, daring her to move.

"Lock down the estate," I ordered into the phone, my eyes never leaving her pale face. "Bring me the security footage of the courtyard stairs. If anyone touches it, I'll kill them myself."