Chapter 6

SCARLETT

“Kill me then. It’s better than staying locked in your mansion,” I said flatly.

The barrel of the gun met my forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

But I didn’t expect what came next—Adrian dropped the gun onto the table with a dull thud, grabbed me by the waist, and crashed his mouth against mine.

I shoved at his chest, but his grip was iron. Controlling. Desperate.

And it wasn’t a kiss.

It was a threat wrapped in silk.

He kissed like he was claiming something—something he thought already belonged to him.

I broke free with a gasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re insane.”

“Wow,” a cool voice rang behind us. Feminine. Bored. “The love story of a journalist and a mafia lord. Incredible. Someone should write a book.”

We both turned at the same time.

I froze.

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“Isabella,” he said, tone clipped.

The woman was stunning. Sculpted features, long dark hair, legs that could make a priest sin. And eyes—cold and calculating. I’d seen her in tabloids years ago, back when her name was always beside his in billion-dollar deals and bloodstained headlines.

“Thought I booked the whole restaurant,” Adrian added.

She stepped inside, black stilettos tapping softly against the marble. “And I thought you remembered who built this restaurant with you.”

Adrian’s hand twitched, but he didn’t respond.

He went back to his seat slowly, like a lion returning to his throne. He didn’t glance at me again. Didn’t offer me a chair. Just sat.

I remained standing, heart pounding in my chest. There were guards posted at every exit—Adrian’s men, not hers. But she didn’t seem threatened.

“So, it’s true?” Isabella asked as she walked toward us, lips curled in a venomous smile. “You’ve replaced me with… her?”

Adrian said nothing. Just poured himself a glass of red wine. Sipped.

“I mean, I knew you had bad taste,” she added, eyes skating over me like I was gum on the bottom of her shoe. “But this… This is tragic.”

“She’s none of your business,” Adrian said.

“Oh, but she is,” Isabella said, turning to me. “See, sweetheart, you walked into a war that’s been burning long before you ever wrote your first exposé. He ruins everything he touches. Including me.”

“Stop talking,” Adrian muttered.

She laughed. “Still trying to control everything, aren’t you? Still think you can cage women and call it love?”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. All I knew was that every word she spoke lodged itself in my ribs.

“I’m not scared of you,” I told her, because it was the only thing I could hold onto.

Isabella tilted her head. “You should be. He may kiss you today, but one day, he’ll put that gun to your head again and mean it.”

“That’s enough,” Adrian snapped, standing suddenly.

“Why?” she asked. “Because she doesn’t know who you really are? Or because she does and she’s still here?” Isabella leaned closer to me. “Tell me something, Scarlett—what exactly are you hoping to find with him?”

“That’s enough.” Adrian said firmly.

“I should get going and one more thing Adrian, give the company back to Lucas he is your only son.” She said and turned to leave.

“Isabella.” Adrian called.

She paused and glared at Adrian.

“Don't come near her or I will end you.” He said firmly but it was dangerous.

Isabella smiled, “I will see to that.” She said and then left.

“I think I need to use the toilet,” I said, my voice steady even though my hands were cold with adrenaline.

Adrian didn’t look at me. He hadn’t looked at me since Isabella left. Just sat there, drinking his wine like he wasn’t the one who put a gun to my head and kissed me like a threat.

No one followed me. That should’ve scared me.

Instead, it told me something else.

He trusted I wouldn’t run.

Big mistake.

I walked quickly, heels echoing down the polished hallway until I reached the bathroom. I shut the door and locked it, my pulse banging against my ribs.

Then a knock.

Not loud.

Just… firm.

Shit.

I closed my eyes.

If it was Adrian, I’d have to lie. Fake calm. Survive the next five minutes.

“Open the door. It’s me,” a voice said.

Male.

But not him.

I cracked the door open and whispered, “Marco?”

His eyes were sharp. Serious. He wasn’t playing around tonight.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, stepping back to let me out.

I hesitated. “How? We can’t even pass through the exit. We’d get caught. There are guards everywhere.”

“There’s a back door,” Marco said. “And a truck waiting. But we have to go now.”

I didn’t waste another second. I followed him down a service corridor, past empty storage rooms and kitchens that smelled like garlic and steel. No questions. No hesitation. Just movement.

Finally, we pushed through a metal door and burst into the cold night air.

Freedom.

I couldn’t believe it.

I was out.

Out of Adrian Moretti’s grip. Out of that mansion. Out of the war I never agreed to fight in.

For now.

Marco’s mansion was the opposite of Adrian’s.

No marble. No blood-red rugs or gleaming chandeliers. It was… normal. Quiet. Warm.

I sank into his leather couch, still in the dress Adrian picked out for me. The neckline suddenly felt like a noose.

“Drink this,” Marco said, handing me a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I whispered, hands trembling.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me.

I nodded.

Then I shook my head.

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “He kissed me. Held a gun to my head. Then let his ex walk in and tear me down like I was a toy she used to own.”

Marco’s jaw tightened. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”

“You did what you could,” I said quietly. “You got me out. That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

Because somewhere out there, Adrian was losing his mind.

And that scared me more than anything else.

But why should I be bothered? Am I starting to fall for him!

——

Two days later, I was still hiding. Marco’s guest house had become my cave. The curtains never moved. The lights stayed off most of the time. And every time I peeked at my phone, my name was trending.

MISSING: Scarlett Hayes, journalist behind the viral Romano exposé.

There was a bounty on my head.

Some claimed I’d been kidnapped.

Others thought I ran.

The truth?

No one knew. 

And Marco made it clear I couldn’t go anywhere near the public.

“The entire Moretti network is out looking for you,” he said over coffee that morning. “Adrian has helicopters, roadblocks, everything.”

“Let them search,” I muttered.

“You don’t understand, Scarlett,” Marco said, voice low. “He’s not just searching. He’s hunting. And when he finds you…”

I raised a brow. “What? He’ll kill me?”

Marco looked away. “He’ll do worse. He might as well punish you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

And said nothing.

—-

That night, I was curled up in bed, wrapped in a sweater that didn’t smell like him.

Finally.

I’d cut the cord.

But my stomach turned, a weird tightness that wasn’t going away.

Something was off.

I opened my calendar.

Then frowned.

“I should be on my period now,” I murmured. “Why is it late?”

A horrible thought crept into my mind.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

I tore open my suitcase and found the small pregnancy kit I always traveled with. Just in case.

I stared at it like it was a loaded weapon.

Then took a deep breath.

And did the test.

Minutes passed.

One line appeared.

Then another.

I dropped it.

I stared at the floor like it would rearrange reality.

Two lines.

Positive.

I wasn’t just missing.

I was carrying Adrian’s child now.