The next chapter holds the answer—keep reading to find out.

-6-

The silver Mercedes-Benz idled quietly against the curb outside the heavy iron perimeter gates. Through the high-definition security feed, every detail was crystal clear: the expensive Italian wool of Julian’s charcoal-gray overcoat, the arrogant tilt of his chin, and the cold, impatient expression he wore as he reached out and pressed the intercom button.

BZZZZ.

The harsh buzzer echoed faintly through the living room.

I froze, my hand instinctively tightening around the edge of the cashmere blanket covering my baby. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at the back of my throat. How had he found us? We had been driven straight from the hospital in a heavily tinted SUV, taking back alleys and highway tunnels.

Luka stood motionless in front of the wall screen, his hands resting casually in his pockets, his face as unreadable as carved granite. ☁️

“Don’t panic,” Luka said, his voice smooth and steady. “He didn't track us. He’s here because his father’s legal team realized the hospital birth certificate was filed with a forged father’s signature—and my name triggered an immediate corporate alert on the county registrar’s automated system.”

“What does he want?” I whispered, my chest tightening as the intercom speaker crackled to life with Julian’s familiar, arrogant voice.

“Elena!” Julian’s voice boomed through the speaker, laced with condescension and forced patience. “I know you’re in there. Open the gate. Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it already is. The hospital registrar flagged the birth paperwork, and my father’s lawyers are already preparing an emergency custody injunction for abandonment and mental instability. If you walk out right now and sign the relinquishment forms, I’ll make sure you get a severance check to cover your moving expenses back to Cicero.”

Every drop of blood in my body boiled. Mental instability? Relinquishment forms? Severance check?

Three hours ago, this man had walked out of a hospital room while I was bleeding and exhausted, leaving me with forty-two dollars and nowhere to sleep. Now he was standing at the gate, treating my daughter like a stray piece of luggage he wanted to legally discard before his high-society wedding to Chloe Sterling next weekend.

I stood up from the sofa, my legs trembling slightly but my spine stiffening with a sudden, overwhelming surge of fury. I took a step toward the console, reaching out to hit the intercom button, but Luka’s hand gently closed over my wrist.

His grip was warm, solid, and grounding.

“Let him in,” Luka said quietly.

I stared up at him in disbelief. “Let him in? Luka, he wants to take my baby! He’s here with lawyers and custody injunctions!”

“Let him walk right into the lion’s den,” Luka replied, a dark, dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You wanted your revenge, Elena? You wanted to watch him fall from his pedestal? The first lesson of war is simple: never interrupt your enemy when he’s making a fatal mistake.”

Luka turned to the console and pressed a single master switch.

CLANG.

The heavy hydraulic locks on the iron perimeter gates disengaged with a loud, metallic echo. On the screen, Julian blinked in surprise as the gates slowly swung open, inviting him into the courtyard of the Evanston fortress.

“Stay here with the baby,” Luka instructed, pulling a sleek, matte-black tablet from the desk and slipping a small earpiece into his ear. “Watch the monitor. And remember... let him talk.”

Before I could answer, Luka turned and walked out toward the mudroom, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway just as Julian’s heavy footsteps echoed up the front porch steps.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three sharp, aggressive raps pounded against the reinforced front door.

I took a deep breath, walked over to the edge of the living room where I could see the entryway without being immediately in the line of sight, and watched as the heavy front door swung open on its own.

Julian stepped across the threshold, shaking the rain off his expensive umbrella, looking entirely out of place in a fortress built for war.

“Elena!” Julian sneered, stepping into the foyer, his eyes scanning the minimalist, high-security interior with open disdain. “What kind of pathetic squatting hole have you dragged yourself into now? Honestly, renting a place like this on my old credit card—wait, did you steal from the joint account before I froze it?”

I stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, my voice steady and ice-cold.

“I didn't steal a damn thing, Julian,” I said, my eyes locking onto his. “And you’re trespassing.”

Julian scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, a cruel, smug smile spreading across his handsome face. “Trespassing? Elena, sweetie, look around. You’re bankrupt, homeless, and holding a bastard child whose birth certificate lists a phantom father who doesn't even exist. My father’s lawyers are going to tear you to pieces. Now, where is the baby? Hand her over, sign the papers, and let’s end this quietly before I ruin whatever shred of dignity you have left.”

Suddenly, the heavy front door clicked shut behind him, locking automatically with a loud, mechanical thud.

Julian jumped slightly, spinning around to check the handle. When it didn't budge, he turned back, his face flushing with irritation. “What is this? Open the door!”

“I wouldn't touch that door, Mr. Vance,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the top of the stairwell.

Julian froze.

Luka Moretti descended the stairs step by step, moving with the terrifying, silent grace of a shadow. He wasn't wearing his trench coat anymore; he wore a dark black t-shirt that hugged his powerful shoulders and exposed the dense forest of black tattoos winding up his arms and neck.

Julian stared up at him, his arrogant expression faltering as his eyes took in the sheer physical size of the man, the hard angles of his face, and the cold, predatory gleam in his amber eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” Julian demanded, trying to puff out his chest and project false authority. “This is a private property dispute! Get out of my way before I call the cops!”

Luka stopped two steps above Julian, looking down at him as if he were an insect crawling across a polished floor.

“My name is Luka Moretti,” Luka said quietly, his voice vibrating with lethal amusement. “And I’m the man whose name is currently signed on the ‘Father’ line of your ex-wife’s birth certificate.”

Julian’s face went entirely pale. The smug smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter, uncomprehending shock. He looked from Luka to me, stuttering as his brain tried to process the impossible equation.

“What... what did you say?” Julian whispered, his voice cracking.