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Chapter One: Jade

I was trapped.

The chill of the interrogation room seeped into my bones, its sterile atmosphere wrapping around me like an unwanted ghost. The chair beneath me was unforgivingly rigid, yet the discomfort it brought paled in comparison to the pulsating dread nestled deep within my chest. Detective Rodriguez leaned in, his gaze as piercing as shards of glass, and I understood that this wasn’t just a casual chat.

“Dr. Bentley,” he began, his voice gruff and unyielding. My last name rolling off his tongue felt more like an indictment than a simple address. “Here’s the deal: you cooperate or Dante’s future will be filled with more bars than those at his usual watering holes.”

The ultimatum was crystal clear: either I complied or Dante would lose his freedom. A spark of indignation ignited within me at being coerced so blatantly but it was quickly extinguished by the chilling acceptance of its validity.

“Why are we stuck in this godforsaken interrogation room?” I protested, attempting to mask my fear-induced quiver with annoyance. The walls seemed to inch closer with every passing second, each one echoing Dante’s name ominously.

“Because you agreed to assist us,” Rodriguez retorted flatly, though there was a distinct edge to his tone. “We can’t afford any risk of you getting cold feet and running off. We need you, Dr. Bentley, and if you want your lover boy to avoid donning prison garb, you need us too.”

I gritted my teeth under the weighty scrutiny of the detective’s stare. His distrust for me was palpable and honestly, I couldn’t fault him for it. But did I even have an alternative? With each heartbeat that echoed in my chest, I could feel Dante’s existence intertwined with mine - a connection far deeper than what I had ever anticipated when our paths first crossed. His world was shrouded in darkness, teeming with secrets and perils - and now, so was mine.

“I never agreed to supervised confinement,” I snapped, the injustice of the situation rankling. “I thought you were taking me to my house to change out of these blood-soaked clothes...not straight to lock-up.” My stained black shirt was a grim reminder of the chaotic scene I’d left behind, a stark contrast to the pristine walls of this room.

Rodriguez’s dark eyes softened for a split second before reverting back to their default frostiness. “Dr. Bentley,” he began in a voice that tried and failed to be soothing, “Dante Moretti is in a medically-induced coma because of a gunshot wound. You can’t help him right now.”

My fists clenched reflexively at his words, each syllable hitting me harder than the last. The image of Dante, lying unconscious amidst tangled sheets and blaring monitors, was etched into the back of my eyelids. The desire to protect him - even from himself - was visceral.

He continued without waiting for my response, “But you know who can help? You can - by assisting us in taking down his family’s criminal empire.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I should be there when he wakes up.”

“Well, it does matter, because I need to make certain that we do have your help.”

“Fine. But I need proof he’s still alive,” I demanded, my voice hitching with a mix of dread and defiance. What I really wanted to do was cry…but I wasn’t going to give this bastard the pleasure of seeing that. “C’mon. You have to give me that, at least.”

Detective Rodriguez regarded me for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Alright,” he said, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times before showing me a photo of Dante lying in a hospital bed, an IV snaking into his arm, his face pale but peaceful in slumber. “Satisfied?”

I shook my head, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “That could be from hours ago. I need proof that he’s…you know, not okay. But alive. Right now. Breathing.”

Rodriguez hesitated, then sighed. “Hold on.” He dialed a number and spoke briefly into the phone. Moments later, the screen came to life with a video call from a nurse at the hospital. She panned the phone around the room, showing Dante surrounded by his family—Enzo, Dante’s mother clutching a rosary, and Marco, his brother, stone-faced and stoic.

“Okay. Edward? Do you want to talk to him?” The nurse’s voice was gentle. “Do you want to talk to the family?”

“No,” I cut in curtly, my heart twisting at the sight of Dante’s motionless form. I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with his family. They had never even met me. I wasn’t going to go in there and announce myself, not even through a phone call.

I was pregnant, not crazy.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my gaze lingering on the screen until Rodriguez ended the call. With a deep breath, I fortified the walls around my heart, bracing myself for what was to come. Dante was under watchful eyes; now it was time to focus on my own survival.

“Okay. You got what you wanted,” Rodriguez said, stashing his phone back in his pocket. “Now you have to give me what I want.”

“I already told you I would cooperate,” I said. “You want me to become a mole? Fine. Whatever. I’ll do whatever it takes as long as Dante is…as long as he’s okay.”

“I need you to sign something for me.”

I looked at him for a few long seconds. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to sign anything.

“Sure. But, uh, can I use the restroom?” The words escaped my lips in a rush, my mind racing with the sudden clarity that had settled over me. Dante was alive and on his way to recovery; the leverage they held over me wasn’t as solid as they had led me to believe.

“Jade…”

“I’m pregnant! I have to pee all the time,” I said. “Do you want me to do it here?”

Rodriguez looked me up and down, his eyes cold and assessing. “Sure,” he finally grunted. “But you’re not going alone.” He motioned to a uniformed officer standing by the door. “Carter, take her.”

The officer nodded, his face an expressionless mask. He gestured for me to lead the way. We walked down the bleak, narrow hallway, my footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor, until we reached the ladies’ room. Carter held the door open, his presence at my back a silent pressure urging me forward.

Once inside the cramped space, I entered the nearest stall and locked it behind me. My hands trembled as I sat on the closed toilet seat, the sound of the flushing mechanism filling the silence as I used the noise to cover the sound of my heavy breathing.

This was it—a brief moment of privacy, a chance to think. I berated myself for being so gullible, for letting fear cloud my judgment. They wouldn’t have let Dante die; not when he was their best bargaining chip.

And…he was a person. The doctors weren’t just going to let him die from a gunshot wound.

Fucking Rodriguez. I had been so worried about Dante I hadn’t been thinking clearly.

But it was becoming clear now. I had been a fucking idiot.

“Everything alright in there?” Carter’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and intrusive.

“Fine,” I snapped, harsher than intended. “Just a minute.”

I stood up, pacing the tiny space like a caged animal. I needed a plan, something foolproof. Rodriguez and the police were no amateurs. A scientist by trade, logic was my weapon, and I would wield it with precision. It was time to outsmart them, to find my way back to Dante and to safety.

If…if Dante was safety. For me. For my child. I couldn’t think about that right now.

“Ma’am?” Carter called again, impatience seeping into his tone.

“Coming out now,” I lied, buying myself a few more precious seconds. My mind raced through possibilities, discarding one after another, until a desperate, wild idea formed. It was risky, possibly foolish, but it was all I had.

“Let’s do this,” I murmured to myself, steeling my nerves. I unlocked the stall door, stepping out with feigned calmness as I breathed heavily. Carter studied me with hawk-like intensity as I washed my hands, avoiding his probing gaze in the mirror.

“Ready?” he asked, his hand hovering near his gun belt.

“Uh, sure,” I confirmed, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. Fuck. I really hoped this would work.

He waited for me to keep talking.

“Could we maybe... sit down for a second? There’s a bench in the hallway, right?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. The fake concern in his eyes didn’t escape me.

“You can sit in the interrogation room.”

“Please,” I said. “You’ll be right there.”

“Sure,” Carter said as we walked out into the hallway. “But make it quick.”

I nodded and made my way to the bench slowly, deliberately. Each step was a calculated effort, each breath a silent plea for believability. Just as I reached the seat, I let the panic I’d been holding back surface, my hand flying to my stomach with practiced alarm.

“O-Oh God...” My words came out strangled, choked by an imaginary fear.

“Ma’am?” He was on his feet now, the fa?ade of concern peeling away to reveal genuine surprise.

“Something’s wrong,” I gasped out, doubling over as if in agony. My hands clutched at my belly, the black maternity top stretching tightly across my supposed bulge. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I was, uh…in the bathroom…you don’t want to know.”

“Ma’am?” he asked again, this time sounding more alarmed.

“The baby...I think—“

“Shit.” The officer was moving now, radio in hand. “Dispatch, we need medical assistance in the hallway, near the interrogation rooms. Now!”

“Please,” I whimpered, my face contorted into a mask of pain. “It hurts so much.”

Carter was cursing under his breath, his eyes darting around the room, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. His tough exterior faltered as he knelt beside me, his voice taking on a softer edge. “Hang in there, okay? Help is on the way,” he said. “Look, my wife was pregnant last year and…she had a couple of scares. But she was fine. Everything was fine. You’ll be okay.”

I felt so bad for lying to this man, but I had no other choice. As he reached out to comfort me with a gentle pat on my arm, I grimaced as if the pain was worsening.

“What did you have?” I said between gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Your wife,” I panted, gripping the arm of the chair until my knuckles turned white. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy.” His voice wavered, caught between uncertainty and the instinctive need to reassure. “We had a boy.”

“I always wanted a boy,” I murmured, clutching my stomach tighter. “He wants a daughter, but...”

If I could keep him talking, if I could fool him here, in this cold, impersonal room, I might be able to fool anyone.

If I could keep him talking, if I could fool him here, in this cold, impersonal room, I might be able to fool anyone.

I nodded, wincing dramatically as I held onto my stomach. “Boy would be nice,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “What’s he like?”

“Ma’am, I think you should—“

“Just keep talking. It helps.”

“His name is Charlie,” Carter said.

“Charlie,” I gasped out, giving him a weak smile. “That’s a strong name. What’s he like?”

“He’s a handful, but he’s great,” Carter admitted, his eyes softening as he spoke about his son. “He’s got this laugh—sounds exactly like a duck quacking. First time I heard it, I thought we had a bird in the house.”

A genuine chuckle escaped me despite the situation, and I covered it up with another grimace of pain. “I’m sure he’s wonderful. You seem like...like you’d be a good father.”

“Oh, I’m okay. My wife is the real hero. She makes it look easy.”

“Tell me about her,” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at my insides. Why was the medical team taking so damn long?

And then, as the clamor of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway, I knew it was game time. I couldn’t afford a single misstep—not now, not when freedom was within reach.

A swarm of medical personnel rushed into the room, their faces masks of solemn concentration under the harsh fluorescent lighting. One of them, a young nurse with a freckle-splattered face, took my pulse while another, significantly older and gruffer-looking, grabbed a blood pressure monitor from his bag.

The tightness of the cuff around my arm was uncomfortable, but I welcomed the physical sensation. It was grounding amidst the whirlwind of uncertainty. The gruff man watched the device intently before writing something on his clipboard.

“Blood pressure’s slightly elevated, but that could be due to stress,” he commented dryly, his voice carrying a hint of an Irish accent. “We need to get you to the clinic though—to check you over properly.”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to leave…”

“You’re not being detained,” Carter said quickly. “You can leave now if you want to.”

Fuck, this poor, kind man. I really did feel bad for exploiting him.

“Don’t you have to go report this to the Detective?”

“Sure,” he said. “It can wait until you’re okay.”

“That’s not necessary,” I managed to say, my voice strained and faux-weak. “I can’t keep you from your work.”

“But it can wait—“

“No,” I insisted, putting as much urgency into the word as I could. “Go. I’ll be okay.”

After a moment of hesitation, Carter finally nodded, shooting me one last worried glance before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

The medical team packed up their equipment, prepared to transport me to the hospital. As they moved around me in a flurry of professional efficiency, my mind was racing on overdrive. The plan was working, but I couldn’t afford to get complacent.

The ambulance ride was uneventful but nerve-wracking. I kept up my act, gasping and grimacing when somebody looked my way. It wasn’t until we were safely inside the hospital that I allowed myself to relax slightly.

It was going to take me some time to figure out an escape plan…but at least I hadn’t signed any damn documents from Rodriguez.

And that, at least, was something.

Now if only I found a way to get away from the police…