Page 45 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

Three weeks after Vegas, our morning routine has become sacred.

Coffee at sunrise in the kitchen, newspapers spread between us while Maria prepares breakfast. Alaric reviews security reports while I go through international shipping contracts.

“Klaus approved the Munich expansion,” I tell him, setting down the German correspondence. “Full partnership agreement, three new distribution centers.”

“Good. That gives us coverage through Bavaria.”

I spread strawberry preserves on toast, savoring the simple pleasure of breakfast with my husband. At just over four months pregnant, my appetite has finally returned with vengeance. Everything tastes better now.

“Dr. Patterson wants to see us next week,” I mention. “For another ultrasound.”

“I’ll clear my schedule.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I’m not missing any more appointments.”

The firmness in his voice makes me smile. Alaric has become fiercely protective of anything related to the pregnancy, rearranging business meetings to accommodate doctor visits and refusing any travel that would take him away for more than a day.

“What about the Chicago situation?” I ask.

“Tony’s handling it. The trafficking networks are more extensive than we thought, but we’re making progress.”

Since Vegas, Alaric has devoted himself to dismantling human trafficking operations with single-minded intensity. Three rings shut down in two weeks, fifteen men dead, dozens of girls rescued and returned to their families.

“You’re making a difference,” I tell him.

“We’re making a difference. Your intelligence on the financial networks made the Chicago raid possible.”

“I just translated some banking documents.”

“You identified the money trails that led us to their safe houses. Without that, those girls would still be trapped.”

The praise warms me more than the morning sun streaming through the kitchen windows.

For the first time in my life, I’m using my skills for something meaningful, something that actually helps people instead of just generating profit.

We finish breakfast discussing cribs and nursery colors, ordinary concerns of ordinary parents preparing for their first child. The normalcy feels precious, worth protecting at any cost.

After breakfast, we move to Alaric’s study to review the week’s business. I settle into the chair across from his desk, spreading contract files between us while he makes phone calls to various operations.

“The Portland situation is resolved,” he tells me after ending a call with Benedetto. “Three more trafficking operations obliterated.”

“Any word on Marco?”

“Nothing. It’s like he vanished completely.”

I frown. “That’s not like him.”

“No. It’s not.”

Marco’s disappearance weighs heavily on both of us. Three weeks without contact from someone who used to check in daily when he was out of the country. The silence feels ominous.

“Maybe he’s lying low until the Dante situation resolves,” I suggest.

“Maybe.”

But I can see the worry in Alaric’s expression. Family loyalty runs deep in this world, and Marco’s sudden absence raises questions neither of us wants to voice.

A knock on the study door interrupts our afternoon work session. Benedetto enters without waiting for permission, his expression grim and a tablet clutched in his hands.

“We have a problem,” he announces.

Alaric looks up from the shipping contracts we’ve been reviewing. “What kind of problem?”

“Security issue. I’ve been analyzing surveillance data from the past three weeks, and we have a pattern that’s…concerning.”

He sets his tablet on the desk between us, the screen showing a grid of camera feeds and incident logs.

“Camera malfunctions in sectors seven, twelve, and fifteen,” Benedetto begins, scrolling through the data. “All lasting exactly two hours, all during different shift changes.”

“Technical glitches?” I suggest, though something cold is already forming in my stomach.

“That’s what we thought initially. But look at the timing.” He points to time stamps on the screen. “Every incident occurs precisely when our patrol schedules rotate. Someone knows our security protocols intimately.”

Alaric leans forward, studying the information with sharp focus. “How long has this been happening?”

“Three weeks. Started right after we returned from Vegas.”

“And you’re just reporting this now?”

“I wanted to confirm the pattern before raising alarms. Could have been equipment failure, but…” Benedetto swipes to another screen. “There’s more.”

“What else?”

“Motion sensors triggered in areas where cameras went dark. Perimeter alarms disabled for exactly the same two-hour windows. And my security teams have reported seeing figures near the tree line—always just beyond clear identification range.”

The chill in my stomach spreads through my entire body. Someone has been watching us, learning our routines, testing our defenses while we believed we were safe.

“How many sightings?” Alaric asks.

“Four confirmed reports in the past week. Different shifts, different locations, but all describing the same thing. Someone monitoring the estate from just outside our detection capabilities.”

“Inside job?”

“Has to be. This level of coordination requires intimate knowledge of our systems, our schedules, our response protocols. Someone with administrative access has been providing information to hostiles.”

I watch Alaric’s expression darken as the implications sink in. Our sanctuary has been compromised, our security breached by someone we trust.

Alaric studies the security footage from cameras adjacent to the malfunctioning ones, looking for patterns or anomalies. The time stamps show normal activity—guards making rounds, maintenance staff working, delivery trucks coming and going.

“There,” I say, pointing to a shadow at the edge of one frame. “That movement doesn’t match anything else.”

Benedetto enhances the image, but the figure is too distant and unclear to identify. Just a human shape where no one should be.

“Run analysis on all external cameras for the past month,” Alaric orders. “Look for any unusual activity, no matter how minor.”

“Already started. Should have results by tomorrow.”

“And increase patrols around the perimeter. I want motion sensors in the tree line, infrared cameras at all access points.”

“Done.”

After Benedetto leaves to implement the new security measures, Alaric and I sit in tense silence. The comfortable routine of our morning feels like something from another lifetime.

“Could be anyone,” I say eventually. “Business rivals, government surveillance, random criminals looking for opportunities.”

“Could be. But the timing bothers me. This started right after our Vegas meeting, right after the Russians showed us those photographs of Dante.”

“You think it’s connected?”

“I think someone wants us to feel watched, wants us to know our sanctuary isn’t as secure as we believed.”

The implication sends ice through my veins. Someone is playing games with us, testing our defenses, learning our routines. Whether it’s connected to the Dante sightings, Marco’s disappearance, or something else entirely, we’re being hunted by shadows.

“What do we do?”

“We prepare for whatever’s coming,” he says firmly. “And we don’t let fear change how we live.”

“Even with the baby?”

“Especially with the baby. This child is going to grow up safe and protected, no matter what threats emerge from the darkness.”