"He Called Me Fat in a Crowded Café. Then Chicago’s Most Feared Mob Boss Walked Into My Doctor's Office and Saw the Ultrasound."

The venue chosen was the Grand Hotel—the exact same ballroom where the Starlight Charity Gala had taken place, and where our lives had first collided during the blackout.

I stood in front of a massive gilded mirror in the penthouse suite, staring at my reflection. The burgundy silk gown draped elegantly over my changing silhouette, hugging my waist and accentuating the undeniable curve of my four-and-a-half-month pregnancy.

The door opened, and Dominic walked in, dressed in a custom-tailored black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders to perfection. He stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching as he looked at me through the mirror.

“Breathtaking,” he murmured, stepping up behind me and resting his hands gently on my shoulders. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. “Are you sure you’re up for this tonight? We don't have to go. I can clear the ballroom.”

“No,” I said, turning around to face him and resting my hands against his chest. “If I hide in the estate, everyone wins. I want them to see me. I want them to know who stands beside you.”

A proud, feral smile touched Dominic’s mouth. “That’s my girl.”

When our black town car pulled up to the grand entrance of the Chicago Grand Hotel, flashing camerabulbs exploded like lightning storms against the tinted windows. Paparazzi and society reporters pressed against the velvet ropes, desperate to catch a glimpse of Dominic Russo’s elusive new partner.

As Dominic stepped out first, extending his hand to help me down from the car, a collective gasp swept through the crowd.

Flashbulbs blinded us momentarily. Microphones were thrust forward.

“Mr. Russo! Who is the lady?”

“Is it true you’re acquiring the Vanguard financial portfolio?”

Dominic didn’t answer a single question. Instead, he wrapped his arm securely around my waist, shielding me from the crush of reporters, and guided me up the marbled steps with the grace and authority of royalty.

Inside, the ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers, glittering gowns, and hushed whispers. As we entered through the towering double doors, the ambient chatter of five hundred of Chicago’s most powerful elite instantly died down.

Every eye in the room locked onto us.

I recognized familiar faces—society wives who had snubbed me, corporate executives who had ignored my emails, and rival mob capos watching with narrowed, calculating eyes. Among them, standing near the edge of the buffet table looking pale and hollowed out, was Derek. He was wearing a cheap rental tux, his career in ruins, staring at us with a mixture of sheer terror and disbelief.

Dominic didn't even glance at Derek. He led me straight to the dais at the head of the room, turning to face the assembled crowd with his arm resting possessively around my waist.

“Good evening,” Dominic’s voice rang across the silent ballroom, clear and commanding without the aid of a microphone. “I wanted to introduce you all to the woman who holds my heart—and my future. My partner, Chloe Hayes.”