Chapter 5 5

Diego's POV

"There's something you need to know," I said, and the words tasted like rust in my mouth.

Davina stiffened, like the air around her just dropped ten degrees. "Is it my family?" she asked, voice tight. "Did something happen?"

I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. Because saying it out loud made it real-and I wasn't sure she was ready for real.

She stood up quickly from the bed and rushed toward me, panic written all over her face.

"Your mom has been shot."

That was when I saw her start to fall apart. Her breath caught, and she swayed like she was about to lose her balance.

I started to say something to calm her down, but stopped when I saw her fists clench. She held herself together by force.

"You need to take a breath," I said, my voice low and rough.

"A breath?" Her eyes met mine-dry, angry, refusing to cry. "Listen, I know I'm just a random, insignificant cog in your wheel-"

"Wrong," I cut in, harsher than I intended. "A cog has a purpose. You don't."

It was a cruel thing to say. But it wasn't a lie.

She didn't belong in this world-my world-and I hated that I pulled her into it.

What made it worse was knowing she could've mattered. Should've.

But I messed everything up. I missed the signs. Let my guard down. And now I was paying for it-up close and personal.

She stood straighter, her shoulders lifted even though I could tell she was still shaking. Then she stepped toward me.

One step. Direct and steady.

Like she was waiting for me to say something else she wouldn't forgive.

"Say that again," she said, stopping right in front of me. "Say it like you mean it, and I'll believe you."

But I didn't.

She ventured closer to me. Her dress was torn in half a dozen places, but she didn't even seem to register the state she was in. The fact that she was half-naked, blood dripping down her thighs, didn't seem to faze her at all.

"I'm going to tell you something, Diego," she said, her voice low but steady. "From today onward, my goal is to expose you. I'll bring down your entire operation and make sure you end up in prison for every crime you've committed."

She stepped closer without a trace of fear or hesitation.

"I'll go through everything. I'll find every piece of evidence you've left behind-unless you tell me where my family is."

I blinked once.

The nerve of her. No one talked to me like that. Not to my face. Not even my enemies.

But there she was-smaller than me, unarmed, completely alone-threatening me like she had nothing to lose.

"Your mother's alive," I said. There was no point in lying.

She gasped, a sound caught between a laugh and a sob. Her knees shook, and tears slid down her face.

"Thank God," she said. "You're sure? She's really alive? Where is she? I need to see her."

"She's unconscious."

"Just tell me where," she snapped. "No guards. No escort. Just tell me the place."

"I don't care what you want," I said sharply. "You're not going anywhere unless I say so."

She walked right up to me, bold and reckless, and the soft scent of vanilla and hazelnut clung to her-warm, familiar, and far more dangerous than it should have been.

"And who are you to decide where I can go?"

She was in my face now, completely serious and not bluffing.

"If you're telling the truth," I said, "then I'm the father of your child. Wherever you go, my child goes too, which means I have a say."

She froze and her breath caught, then she leaned in with fire in her eyes.

"Or what?" she said. "You'll send your men, pull a gun, lock me up?"

"Don't test me."

She laughed, sharp and cruel. "I'm pregnant with your baby. You can't touch me."

Oh ye of little faith, I thought to myself. There are a million ways to break you that don't involve a single touch.

Her smirk faltered.

"Keep testing me," I whispered. "You'll learn exactly how far I'm willing to go."