Chapter 2 - Breaking the ChainsTime fractured into a nightmare of pure adrenaline. The realization that my wife was in active labor inside a medieval dungeon built by my own flesh and blood stripped away every ounce of civilized restraint I possessed.
"Stay with me, Grace. Look at me," I commanded, my voice cracking as I scooped her weightless, trembling body up into my arms.
She cried out as I carried her out of the subterranean cell, bursting back into the hallway where our longtime butler, Thomas, stood frozen beneath the dim wall sconces. Thomas’s face was the color of ash, his hands shaking as he held a heavy woolen blanket. He had known. For months, he had carried the crushing weight of my mother’s betrayal, forced into silence by the iron-fisted tyranny of Elena Rossi.
"Get the master medical suite prepared in the east wing right now, Thomas," I roared, my voice echoing off the stone walls with enough authority to shatter glass. "And if anyone—anyone at all, including my mother—tries to cross that threshold, you put a bullet between their eyes. Do you understand me?"
Thomas swallowed hard, tears welling in his aged eyes, and nodded briskly. "Yes, Mr. Christian. Right away."
I carried Grace up the grand staircase, bypassing the ornate family portraits that suddenly looked less like a lineage and more like a gallery of monsters. Every step felt like walking through fire. Grace’s breathing was shallow and erratic, her fingers clutching my lapel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Christian... the baby... it's too early, or... or something is wrong," she gasped between contractions, her body arching in pain as we reached the safety of the east wing.
I gently laid her down on the king-sized bed, stripping away the damp, soiled prison rags she had been forced to wear. The sight of her bruised arms and swollen, exhausted frame sent a fresh spike of murderous fury through my chest. Without wasting a second, I dialed our private family physician’s direct emergency line on my encrypted phone. Dr. Aris Thorne answered on the first ring.
"Christian? Where have you been? Your mother said—"
"Aris, listen to me very carefully," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register that made even seasoned mercenaries freeze. "You are to drive to the Rossi estate immediately. Bring your complete surgical obstetrics kit. My wife is in active labor in the east wing. If you are delayed by so much as a single minute, I will personally hunt you down. Move!"
Before Aris could answer, I hung up.
I turned back to Grace, taking her burning hand in mine and kissing her knuckles over and over. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you. You and our son are going to make it through this. I swear it on my life."
"She watched me, Christian," Grace whispered deliriously, her eyes wide with lingering trauma as she stared at the bedroom ceiling. "Every single day... your mother would come down those stairs. She would stand outside the iron bars, drinking tea, and tell me how easily you would forget me once you returned to the bloodlines of the Chicago families. She wanted to break my mind before she broke my heart."
"She won't have the chance," I promised, my jaw set so hard I thought my teeth might fracture. "When this is over, Elena Rossi will wish she had died in the fire that built this empire."
As if summoned by the mention of her name, the heavy mahogany door of the bedroom suddenly clicked open.
May you like
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy, expensive scent of French lavender and old money filled the room, cold and utterly devoid of warmth.
