My Mafia Boss husband abandoned me while I was giving birth because his mistress was delivering his son one floor away.

by

Chapter 18

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Madison looked at me carefully, leaning across the table. "Why do you care, Claire? He abandoned you. He broke your heart. Let the wolves tear each other apart."

I looked toward the cracked bedroom door. Through the narrow opening, I could see Emily sleeping soundly, her tiny hands folded under her chin.

"I don't care about Vincent," I said softly, turning back to Madison. "But if Julian takes power, he will eliminate anyone with Moretti blood to protect Lucas's fake claim. He will hunt Emily down to the end of the earth. I have to destroy Julian before he touches my daughter."

"Then you need to give Vincent the proof," Madison said, pushing the file folder toward me. "He's the only one with the firepower to crush Julian before Friday."

"No," I replied, my eyes hardening. "If I give it to Vincent, he will handle it like a mob boss—with a bloodbath that puts everyone in the crossfire. I'm going to drop this bomb in front of the entire syndicate board myself."

Before Madison could argue, my personal cell phone—the burner line I used only for local emergency contacts—began to ring on the nightstand.

I walked over and picked it up. The caller ID was restricted.

I answered, placing the phone against my ear without speaking.

"Claire."

The deep, gravelly voice sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. It was Vincent.

"How did you get this number?" I asked coldly.

"I own the telecom infrastructure in this city, Claire," Vincent replied, his voice heavy with a profound, terrifying fatigue. "I'm sitting outside your hotel right now."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked quickly to the window and parted the heavy velvet curtains slightly. Down on the rain-soaked street fourteen floors below, a single sleek black sedan was parked under a dim streetlight, its hazards flashing slowly in the dark.

"If you come up here, I will have security throw you out," I warned.

"I'm not coming up," Vincent said softly over the line. His voice wasn't the voice of the ruthless Don who ruled Chicago—it was the voice of a broken man sitting in the dark, staring at the ruins of his life. **“I just needed to know you were safe. I needed to hear your voice.”**

I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. "You don't get to care about my safety now, Vincent. You forfeited that right seven years ago."

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