Page 41 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

I dismiss Horatio, and Cesc appears in the doorway again. He was recuperating at the time of the attack, so he didn’t have to face off against Andreo’s forces, and has been leading my scouts across the city ever since. I gesture for him to come inside, and he does so.

I’ve told him everything. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I have to tell him the truth. No point trying to hide it from him now, and he didn’t judge me, much to my relief. Not that it would have mattered if he did. All that matters now is getting Julia and the baby back in one piece, and I’m willing to do just about anything in my power to make it happen.

“Anything?” I ask, as Cesc takes a seat opposite me, and I tug down my shirt sleeve to cover the wound. It’s still aching, but as I flex my fingers, I know that I can handle it. I’ve been shot a few times over the course of this line of work, usually glancing blows, but even still—this will not stop me.

He shakes his head. “No sign of Andreo yet,” he replies with a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair. I can’t help but notice how exhausted he looks, and my heart sinks. No wonder he’s struggling. Like me, he’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that a person he watched grow from a boy to a man has turned against us, and in such brutal form. “But we have eyes on Salamanca. Looks like he took off out of the city for a few days before this all went down. Probably didn’t want to be caught up in the crossfire…”

I let out a mirthless laugh. Of course.

That fucking coward likely signed his men over to Andreo in exchange for the information he had already gotten from him, and then ducked out, hoping that he could keep his hands clean of whatever it was my son was intending to do.

Did Andreo tell him that he was going to pull an innocent woman into the middle of this? I fucking doubt it. And even if he did, I have a hard time believing that would be a hard line for Salamanca. He has already turned my son against me, so it’s clear he doesn’t have any line in the sand when it comes to what he will and won’t do. No doubt this is just his way of forcing my hand so I have to play by his rules.

“Well, at least he’s out of the picture for now,” I mutter, reaching for the vodka on my desk that I’ve been sipping to handle the pain. I don’t do pills, they make me slow—the only thing I need to handle a wound like this is a stiff drink, and I’ll get through it alright. The real pain is in my chest, knowing Julia is out there, knowing that she’s probably frightened for her life—for our baby’s life too.

Fuck. Our baby.

When I think of it in those terms, it’s like something has taken hold of me and won’t let go. Up until this moment, I’ve been unsure how I felt about her pregnancy—guilt still nagging at me, knowing that I wasn’t the one she initially intended to marry.

But now? Now, all bets are off, and I’m willing to do whatever it goddamn takes to get her out.

“I’m heading out again,” Cesc tells me. “I’ll report back as soon as I have anything.”

I grunt in acknowledgement and watch him leave. I would be out there myself, but I don’t want Andreo knowing that I made it out alive. No, when he faces me down again, I need it to be a shock. I want the element of surprise on my side in any way I can get it.

The door falls shut behind Cesc, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more, and I’m struck by just how crazy this entire situation is. I’m planning an attack on my son. My own fucking son. I can’t believe he has pushed me to this point, but I have no choice but to do what I have to now—no choice but to force myself through with a parent’s worst nightmare, taking out the very child you thought you would give everything to.

But he has turned his back on everything. That much is clear. Everything that I wanted for him, all I had to give him.

When I built this business, I did so much of it with him in mind, picturing what his future would look like at the helm of this empire. But he decided he was getting a better offer elsewhere, and chose to do what he could to make the most of that. It’s enough to make me feel sick, but I have to turn my attention to what lies ahead now. If I let emotion, some foolish blood connection, get the better of me, I might not be able to do what needs to be done when the time is right.

And when it comes down to it—I have more loyalty to my wife and child than to the bastard son who betrayed me.

I pour myself another glass of vodka. Partly to distract from the pain of my arm, but partly because I don’t want to be alone in my head any longer.

I pray that, soon enough, I will have Julia back at my side again, where she belongs.

No matter what I have to sacrifice to make it happen.

22

JULIA

I hear the door fly open, smashing off the wall behind it and nearly making me jump out of my skin. I whip my head up, wrapping the covers around myself, and preparing for whatever onslaught Andreo has decided I deserve today.

It has been…well, I don’t know how long, exactly, since he took me.

I have been distantly aware of the days and nights passing, but I’ve hardly been able to keep track of any of them. I’m so frightened, clutching on to survival mode as best I can—it’s like I’ve been thrown back in time to all those years I spent in my parents’ house, knowing that one wrong move could cost me everything. The very idea is enough to make me sick, and Andreo, lurking over me at every turn, has hardly made it easier.

He has kept his distance—for the most part. But I can tell that he’s growing frustrated with the lack of movement I have shown in his direction. For all his attempted sweet-talking about how we belong together, how he’s glad that we’ve finally found each other again, there is a thudding undercurrent of threat with every word. As if he’s only willing to wait so long before I catch the fuck up with him and realize that I need to be with him.

As if I would ever even look at him again, after the way he treated me, after how he humiliated me on our wedding day. I can see it now clearly, the kind of person he is, and I refuse to go back and let him pick up where he left off with his cruelty toward me.

But now, as he stands there at the end of the bed, there’s something else in his eyes. Something dark, dangerous—something that makes my stomach curl into a knot. I sit upright, staring at him, my lank hair hanging in my face. I haven’t showered since I’ve been here, and I feel disgusting, but there’s no way I’m going to risk getting undressed when he could have cameras anywhere.

“What is it⁠—”

“You’re fucking pregnant?”