69 "The Divorce Papers on the Table, a Positive Test in the Dark, and the Husband Who Walked Away for Six Months Just to Keep Me Alive: How a Fake Separation Turned Into a War for Our Unborn Child"

“Whoa, whoa, hold your fire, Mrs. Cross!” Marcus hissed, his eyes fixed wide on the shivering barrel of the Glock in my hand. He had a bloody bandage wrapped tightly around his left shoulder, his suit jacket torn and stained with dried blood.

Lowering the gun slightly, my knees nearly buckled with sheer relief. “Marcus? I thought... I thought they killed you in the garage.”

“The bullet grazed my collarbone and knocked me out cold,” Marcus whispered quickly, stepping inside and quietly pulling the heavy fire door shut behind him. He looked at the pistol in my hand, a faint, grim ghost of a smile touching his weathered lips. “Looks like Mr. Cross taught you well. I’m glad to see you’re still breathing.”

“How did you find me?” I asked, my voice trembling as I grabbed his uninjured arm to steady myself.

“Dorian's car has an encrypted satellite ping that bypasses all local jamming,” Marcus explained, pulling a tactical tablet from under his jacket to display a glowing blue map of the docks. “When they ambushed us at the hospital, Mr. Cross didn't run. He tracked my signal straight to this riverfront compound. He’s already inside the main cargo bay dismantling Moretti’s operation piece by piece.”

“We have to help him,” I said immediately, stepping toward the exit. “Julian Moretti is out there with a gun, and he knows Dorian walked into a trap.”

“Mrs. Cross, listen to me,” Marcus caught my good arm gently, his expression deadly serious. “If we walk out into that main bay right now, we’re walking into a crossfire. Moretti has twenty heavily armed men stationed between us and the water. Mr. Cross went in alone specifically to draw their fire away from you.”

“I am not hiding while my husband risks his life to save me and our baby!” I snapped, pulling my arm free with a sudden surge of fierce, protective rage.

Marcus blinked, stunned by my tone. Then, slowly, a look of profound respect settled into his eyes. He looked down at my stomach, then back up to my face.

“Alright,” Marcus sighed, pulling a spare extra magazine from his belt and handing it to me. “If we do this, we do it my way. We flank them from the upper gantry walkway. It gives us high ground over the main cargo floor.”

Without waiting for another argument, Marcus turned and led the way toward a narrow, rusted iron spiral staircase tucked behind a stack of wooden crates.

We climbed upward in silence, the ambient roar of shouting voices, smashing crates, and distant gunfire growing louder with every step we took.

When we reached the metal catwalk on the second level, I pressed myself flat against the railing and looked down into the massive, cavernous belly of the Moretti shipping warehouse.

It was a war zone.

Below us, stacked shipping containers formed a maze of steel canyons. Syndicate enforcers in tactical gear were scrambling between the rows, firing blindly into the shadows. And in the center of the open staging floor stood Dorian.

He had discarded his suit jacket and tie; his white dress shirt was smeared with grease and blood, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded muscles and raw knuckles. He held a tactical rifle in his hands, moving with the cold, calculated precision of a shadow.

As I watched, a gunman stepped out from behind a concrete pillar behind Dorian, raising his weapon to fire.

“Dorian, look out!” I screamed, forgetting all about stealth.

Dorian didn't even hesitate. He spun on his heel with fluid grace, raised his rifle, and fired before the enforcer could pull his trigger. The man dropped instantly.

Dorian’s head snapped upward toward the catwalk at the sound of my voice.

Our eyes locked across the smoky expanse of the warehouse.

For one terrifying second, the fierce, lethal predator staring down an army vanished, replaced by a man whose entire world had just centered on a single metal balcony.

Then, out of the shadows beneath the gantry, a dark figure stepped forward, raising a heavy pistol directly at Dorian’s unprotected back.