Chapter 2 - The Exit Strategy
The kitchen door swung shut behind Jerry, who had wisely retreated into the back of the house, his survival instincts finally kicking in.
"Damen, I swear to God, if you touch me, I'll scream," I warned, backing up another step until my spine pressed against the cigarette machine by the front exit.
Alessandra slid out of the booth, her designer heels clicking sharply against the floor as she stormed up beside Damen, her face flushed with humiliation and sudden, sharp jealousy.
"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed, looking from Damen to my swollen belly and back again. "You're making a scene over a pregnant waitress? Who is she to you? You told me your first wife was dead!"
"She is my wife," Damen said without taking his eyes off me.
The diner went from quiet to dead silence. Even the highway traffic outside seemed to fade into nothing.
"What?" Alessandra shrieked, her voice cracking. "What did you just say? We're hosting the engagement gala in two months! My father's syndicate backed your northern expansion on the absolute guarantee that you were unencumbered—"
"Your father knew what he was buying," Damen interrupted coldly, his gaze never leaving my face. "And he knew the terms."
"Damen, please," I whispered, the panic rising in my throat like bile. "Just go back to your life. Go back to your bride and your clean slate. Leave me alone."
"Leave you alone?" A bitter, dark laugh escaped his lips, harsh and humorless. "You let me mourn you for eight months, Serena. You let me bury an empty casket while you were hiding out in a grease-trap diner serving coffee to truck drivers while carrying my child."
"Your child?" Alessandra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes darting to my stomach with sudden, venomous realization. "No. No, this is a trap. This is a setup by the rival families to sabotage the merger!"
Marco stepped closer to Alessandra, his voice low and flat. "Shut up, Miss Giordano. Now."
Damen took another slow step toward me, his hands raised slightly, palms open, as if he were approaching a wounded, cornered animal. He knew my tells. He knew every breath I took.
"You're seven months along," Damen said, his voice softening just a fraction, though the intensity in his eyes burned hotter. "You're due in January. You shouldn't even be standing on your feet."
"I survived," I fired back, my chin lifting in defiance despite the tears prickling behind my eyelids. "I survived because I knew what would happen to my baby if your enemies found out I was still breathing. Your world is a war zone, Damen. I didn't want my child raised in the crossfire of your syndicates."
"My world is whatever I build for you," he growled.
He lunged forward with terrifying speed before I could dodge, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me away from the cigarette machine and pulling me hard against his chest.
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"Let me go!" I cried out, striking his shoulders with my fists, though the blows were useless against his solid frame. "Let me go, Damen!"
"Not a chance," he muttered against my hair, his breath warm and shaking slightly. "Not in this life, Serena."
