Chapter 1

My Mafia husband begs me to save his mistress and the son he's already calling his heir.

For seven years, he's let his family blame me for our childless marriage.

His test results showed no sperm in his semen.

Now he needs me.

Two hours earlier, Dr. Helen Ward calls while I'm finishing rounds.

"Vivian, I need you to review a case. Thirty-four weeks. Placenta percreta with bladder involvement. She's had two bleeds."

"Stable?"

"For now. Our lead surgeon had a family emergency. We're trying to get someone else here, but I don't want to wait."

"Send the scans."

I know the hospital. I've operated there before.

By the time I arrive, I've reviewed the images and spoken to anesthesia. The placenta has grown through the patient's uterine wall and into her bladder. Delivery could cause catastrophic bleeding.

We plan surgery for the following morning, with blood ready and urology assisting.

If she bleeds again, we move sooner.

Her name is Bianca Rossi.

She's twenty-seven, sitting against white pillows with a diamond bracelet around one wrist.

"Dr. Hale?" she asks.

"Yes."

"They said you're the best."

"They've assembled a good team."

I explain the operation, the bleeding risk, and the possibility of removing her uterus.

Her hand goes to her stomach.

"But my son?"

"The neonatal team will be there for him."

She nods. I answer her questions until she stops gripping the blanket.

Before signing the consent forms, she asks me to explain everything to her partner, too.

"Of course."

"He's just arrived."

Outside her room, two men in dark suits stand near the elevators.

I know both of them.

One straightens when he sees me.

"Mrs. Moretti."

At work, I'm Dr. Hale.

He knows that, too.

"Why are you here?"

His eyes shift toward the consultation room.

I walk past him before he can answer.

Matteo stands inside, speaking into his phone.

"Tell Enzo I want everything ready before they're discharged."

He turns.

The call ends.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

My husband is supposed to be away on business. He kissed my forehead yesterday morning and told me not to work too late.

Now he's standing outside another woman's maternity room.

"Vivian."

"Who is she?"

He puts his phone in his pocket.

"Close the door."

I leave it open.

"Who is she, Matteo?"

His gaze moves past me to his men.

"Wait downstairs."

They leave.

Don Matteo Moretti rarely has to repeat himself.

I've watched men go silent when he enters a room. I've seen his mother smile through dinners where nobody dares disagree with him.

He's looking at me the same way now.

Expecting me to understand what he wants without making him say it.

"She's carrying my son."

"How long?"

"Vivian—"

"How long have you been sleeping with her?"

"Almost a year."

Seven years of marriage.

Almost a year of this.

"Does she know you're married?"

"Yes."

"Does your mother know?"

He says nothing.

That answers it.

"Who else?"

"This isn't the place."

"You chose the place when you brought her here."

"She needs a surgeon. I told them to get the best."

"And they called your wife."

"I didn't know it would be you."

"But now that it is?"

His voice drops.

"I'm asking you to save them."

I look at the man who told me he didn't want children if he couldn't have them with me.

He said that in our bedroom, with his arms around me.

I believed him.

"Seven years," I say.

"I know."

"No. You don't."

He steps toward me.

"We'll talk about us afterward. Right now, my son needs you."

"You're sure he's yours?"

"She gave this family what you never could."