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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ava

A black SUV stops next to my car. Tinted windows, a slight suspension lift that marks it as armored—It’s Matteo’s preferred vehicle for ‘special’ situations.

He steps out like a shadow coming to life, all efficient movement and contained purpose. His eyes scan the area before landing on me, and while the usual warmth is gone, there's still respect in his gaze. He offers me professional courtesy, even now.

"Ms. D'Amato." He gestures toward the SUV. "If you would, please."

I appreciate that he's maintaining civility, even though we both know it's not really a request. My training catches more details as I move: his stance, his sight lines, the way his jacket sits. Armed, obviously. Ready for trouble.

Ready for me.

"Matteo…" I start, but he shakes his head slightly.

"Please." Just one word, but it carries weight. "Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Fair enough. I let him guide me toward the SUV, his hand on my elbow firm but not rough. Meanwhile, my mind notes which of his men are positioned where.

Three vehicles, I count automatically. Eight men minimum, by the shadows I can make out. Heavy response for one pregnant woman.

Unless they know about the Fioris. Unless they're expecting company.

"My brother…" I try again as he opens the passenger door.

"Will be taken care of," he assures me, and there's genuine sympathy in his voice now. "But first, we need to move."

The door closes with quiet finality, and I catch my reflection in the tinted window—pale face, dark eyes huge with fear I can't quite hide. I look exactly like what I am: a con artist whose game just went terribly wrong.

Matteo slides into the driver's seat, and I notice his knuckles are scraped. Fresh marks. Someone's already paid for what happened today.

I pray it wasn't Tony.

The engine purrs to life, and we pull onto the empty highway. Away from the Fioris. Away from Tony. Away from any chance of controlling what happens next.

"Where are we going?" I ask, though I know he won't answer.

He glances at me, expression carefully neutral. "You'll understand soon enough."

So, I watch the road signs instead, memorizing our route out of habit. West, then south. Back toward Chicago. Back toward Stefano.

Back toward whatever punishment he's planned for my betrayal.

My hand drifts to my stomach. It’s still flat.

But this child is the reason I can't run anymore.

* * *

Hours blur passed in silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the engine and occasional murmurs from Matteo’s earpiece. Each time it crackles to life, my heart jumps, waiting for news about Tony, about the Fioris, about whatever fate Stefano has planned for us.

The highway gives way to city streets, though not Chicago's. Different skyline. Different rhythm. My mind automatically identifies cross streets and landmarks, building a mental map I hope I won't need.

"You should try to rest," Matteo says, the first words he's spoken in over an hour. "It's been a long day."

A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up. Rest? When my brother's being held by the Fioris? When I'm being driven to God knows where by Stefano's right-hand man?

When my whole world is collapsing around me?

Instead, I say, "I'm fine," and keep watching the city scroll past us. More black SUVs have joined our convoy—three ahead, two behind. Whatever's waiting for us, it's big enough to warrant serious security.

My stomach rolls, and this time it's not morning sickness. It's pure, primal fear.

We pull up to a hotel. It’s one of those old-money places where the doormen wear suits. Black vehicles line the circular drive, their drivers standing at perfect parade rest beside their doors. Waiting.

"Matteo." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "What is this?"

He puts the SUV in park but doesn't turn off the engine. For a moment, he just sits there, hands still on the wheel, like he's choosing his words carefully.

"You made your choices," he says finally. "Now Stefano's making his."

"That's not an answer."

"No." He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "It's a warning."

The simple statement sends chills down my spine. Because Matteo has always been kind to me, even after everything. For him to be this serious, this formal...

"Is he going to kill me?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe even hurt. "You really think he could?"

Before I can answer, my door opens. Another of Stefano's men stands at perfect attention, hand extended to help me out, like I'm a guest rather than a prisoner.

But the gun at his hip tells a different story.

Matteo appears on my other side, his presence both reassuring and terrifying. "Time to face the music, Ms. D'Amato."

The hotel lobby gleams with old-world luxury, but I barely notice. My attention is fixed on the men positioned at every exit, the cameras tracking our movement, the way the regular guests seem to instinctively shy away from our group.

They know predators when they see them.

And right now, I'm being led straight to the alpha.

The hotel's grandeur feels like a slap in the face—all gilt and crystal, old money and power. Black-suited men are everywhere, their presence turning the elegant lobby into something more ominous. Every exit is covered. Every angle is watched.

"What is this place?" I ask again, but Matteo just steers me toward a side hallway, his hand firm on my elbow.

More security appears as we move deeper into the hotel. These people I recognize. They are Stefano's inner circle, the ones who handle his most sensitive business. The ones who clean up messes.

Like me.

We pass what looks like a bridal party, their laughter jarring against the tension in the air. The sight of white lace and flowers makes something twist in my chest. Such a normal celebration in the middle of whatever this is that’s happening to me.

Matteo guides me around another corner, and my heart nearly stops. A conference room door stands open, flanked by more security. Inside, I catch a glimpse of dark suits, serious faces, and at the center of it all...

Stefano.

He stands with his back to the door, but I'd know him anywhere. The set of his shoulders. The controlled power in his stance. The way everyone else in the room orbits around him like planets around the sun.

Or moths around a flame.

"Please," I start, digging my heels in slightly. "Just tell me what's happening."

"Not my place to say." Matteo's voice is gentle but implacable as he urges me forward. "You need to hear it from him."

The conference room feels like a trap closing as we enter. It boasts clean lines and expensive furniture. It’s the kind of room where billion-dollar deals are made. Or maybe where death sentences are handed down.

Stefano turns, and the sight of his face steals my breath. Not because he looks angry, though there's plenty of that simmering beneath the surface. But because he looks...resolute. Like a man who's made an impossible decision and won't be swayed from it.

I open my mouth to speak, to explain, to beg for Tony's life, if nothing else.

But he holds up one hand, the gesture silencing me more effectively than a shout.

"When were you going to tell me about the baby?"

The question hits like a physical blow. Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn't it. The room suddenly feels too small, too warm, too full of prying eyes.

And Stefano's gaze never wavers from mine, waiting for an answer I'm not sure how to give.

The words feel like ice water. My hand moves instinctively to my stomach before I can stop it, a tell I can't afford right now.

"I—" But what can I say? That I was planning to disappear with his child? That I thought I could outrun both him and the Fioris? That I was trying to protect everyone and managed to destroy everything instead?

Stefano's eyes track my movement, something dark and possessive flashing across his face. He steps closer, and despite all my training, I have to fight not to back away.

"The pregnancy tests in the bathroom," he continues, voice deceptively soft. "When did you find out?"

Around us, men in dark suits shift uncomfortably. This isn't the kind of conversation that should have an audience. Yet no one moves to leave.

Because this isn't just about the baby. This is about power. Control. Consequences.

"Yesterday," I manage finally. "I found out yesterday."

"And you ran." Not a question. An accusation.

"The Fioris?—"

"Were always going to be a problem." He moves closer still, until I can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. "One I could have handled if you'd trusted me. If you'd been honest."

Guilt threatens to choke me. Because he's right. If I'd just told him the truth from the beginning...

But I didn't. And now Tony's paying the price.

"My brother," I start, but again he cuts me off.

"Will be handled." His voice carries absolute certainty. "But first, we're going to handle this."

Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. I look around the room again, really look this time. The formal suits. The air of ceremony. The way everyone seems to be waiting for something.

Oh God.

"Stefano," I whisper, realization dawning. "What are you planning?"

His smile is predatory. "I’m protecting what's mine."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and threat. Because this—the hotel, the security, the formality—this isn't just about keeping me safe.

This is about making sure I can never run again.

* * *

"Marriage." The word comes out barely above a whisper. "You're talking about marriage."

"A simple solution, really." Stefano's voice sounds reasonable now. Like he's discussing a business transaction rather than the rest of our lives.

"You need protection. The child needs legitimacy. I need..." He pauses, something raw flickering across his face. "Insurance that you won't disappear again."

"There are other ways…"

"Are there?" His calm facade cracks slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, you've left me very few options, Ava. You infiltrated my organization. Betrayed my trust. Carried my child while working for my enemies." Each accusation lands hard. "And then you ran, taking everything that matters to me in one neat little package."

The guilt is crushing, but I force myself to meet his eyes. "I was trying to protect everyone."

"By lying? By running?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "By making deals with people who would kill you and our child without hesitation?"

"I never made any deals!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "I never told them anything! The club is clean, you know it's clean. I was just trying to get enough money to leave Chicago, to get Tony somewhere safe?—"

"And how did that work out?"

The question hits like a slap. Because he's right. My brilliant plan has left my brother in the Fioris' hands and me at Stefano's mercy.

My eyes dart to the door, calculating distances, angles, odds. It's stupid. I know it's stupid. But panic makes you do crazy things.

I make it three steps before hands catch me, gentle but implacable. Not Stefano's men. This time, it’s Matteo himself. Like he knew I'd try.

"Don't," he says softly. "You'll only make it worse."

"Worse than a forced marriage?" I struggle anyway, more out of principle than hope. "Worse than being trapped in this life forever?"

"Worse than being dead?" Stefano's voice cuts through my panic. "Because that's the alternative, Ava. The Fioris won't stop. Won't show mercy. Not to you, not to Tony, and certainly not to my child."

The simple truth of it steals my breath. Because he's right again. There is no running from this. No clever con or quick escape that ends with everyone safe.

"I just wanted something different," I whisper, tears finally spilling over. "For Tony. For the baby. A normal life, away from all this darkness."

Stefano's expression softens. He moves closer, reaching up to brush away a tear with his thumb. The gesture is achingly gentle, at odds with the steel in his voice.

"I know," he says quietly. "But this is the life we were born into. The only way to survive it is to face it. Together."

"As your prisoner?"

"As my wife." His hand slides to my neck, thumb resting over my pulse. "Protected. Provided for. Free to build whatever life you want—within reason." His grip tightens slightly. "But you’ll never run from me again. Never take my child away. Those are my terms."

I close my eyes, feeling the trap close around me. Around us. "And Tony?"

"He’ll be retrieved. Protected. Given the same chances you're being offered."

"If I marry you."

"You're marrying me regardless." The steel returns to his voice. "I'm just being polite by pretending you have a choice."

More tears fall, but I barely notice them now. Because underneath the fear and guilt and resignation, there's something else. Something that feels dangerously like relief.

Relief that I don't have to run anymore. Relief that I don't have to lie or scheme or play both sides against the middle.

Relief that, for better or worse, someone else is taking control.

Even if that someone is Stefano Rega.

"Okay," I whisper, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. "I'll marry you. Just...please. Save my brother."

His kiss tastes like victory and possession, like promises I can't take back. Around us, men move with renewed purpose, the machinery of power spinning into action.

But all I can focus on is Stefano's hand, still curved around my neck. Claiming. Protecting. Trapping.

"It could be worse," Matteo murmurs as he leads me toward whatever comes next. "He does love you, you know. Even after everything."

I think of the way Stefano looked at me this morning, soft with sleep and trust I hadn't earned. The gentle way he'd touched me, whispered "I love you".

The way he's turning the world upside down now, just to keep me.

"I know," I whisper back. "That's what terrifies me."

Because love like that, possessive, obsessive, absolute, is its own kind of prison.

And I just agreed to a life sentence.