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Family of Four Killed in House Fire.

Missing Child Suspected Dead.

Chicago Man Found Beaten and Tortured

Woman Killed in Acid Attack

Double Homicide at City Park

Man Skinned Alive

Each article mentioned the victim having ties to Dominic King and his criminal empire but, of course, there is never any proof. Or if there is, Dominic probably makes a phone call and gets it all erased just like the report from the night I was attacked, leaving him completely in the clear and free to torment more people. There were so many more stories that I didn’t even click on because I couldn’t stand to read any more about the ruthless killer coming after me. My mind had no trouble slotting me into the victims’ places when I finally did fall asleep each night and those images will haunt me forever. Somehow, during my research, I went down a rabbit hole and ended up on some kind of forum based in Chicago where people talked about Dominic like he’s Satan incarnate.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.

In fact, I’m terrified.

But after weeks of hiding out on the compound, I decided that Dominic King, no matter how closely he resembles the devil my very Catholic mother raised me to fear with every ounce of my soul, doesn’t get to control my life. He doesn’t get to have my fear or steal my happiness any more.

So, now we wait for him to respond to Tate and Maverick’s message. Maybe I should be discouraged that it’s taking him this long to get back to us but I’m more confident than ever that, somehow, we will find a way to deal with this. Then, Diego and I can truly look to the future.

Letting out a surprised laugh, I lean forward against the deck railing, supporting myself on my hands, and tip my head up, letting the rays of afternoon sunlight warm my skin as I close my eyes. How ridiculous is that? Just two months ago, I was running from this man and the things he made me feel with every ounce of strength I had and now… God, now I’m so excited about what is going to happen down the road. For the first time since I was a child, I’m dreaming about a wedding and babies and a happily ever after that used to make a cold sweat break out over my arms.

“Hey, Mama.” Diego steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my expanding waist as he leans in and presses a kiss to my neck. Tilting my head to the side to give him unfettered access as something between a sigh and moan slips past my lips.

“Hi.”

He smiles against my skin as his hands find my hips. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” I answer, opening my eyes. Beams of light filter through the trees surrounding the house, giving the forest an ethereal glow that reflects my new positive mood and I grin as I lean back against my man. He snorts out a laugh.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” I tease. “You should be worried.”

A little growl vibrates against my ear and my smile grows. “You come up with a name for our boy while you’re doing all this thinking?”

Last week, Diego realized how close we were getting to my due date, then it occurred to him that we hadn’t decided on a name for our child yet but I haven’t been as worried about it. None of the ones he’s suggested have felt right yet and I’m not going to rush and pick out a name that I don’t like.

“Nope.”

“Fine,” he sighs, just as our little guy kicks at my ribs hard. I wince, hissing out a breath as I dig my fingers into my belly to shove him away from the spot. Diego places a hand on my belly and gently rubs. “How are you feeling?”

“Diego,” I quip, arching a brow as I glance over my shoulder at him. “I am five weeks away from giving birth. My feet are swollen, my hips are fucking killing me, and your child likes to kick my bladder so I have to pee all the time. But, you know, I’m not dead yet so all things considered…”

“Isabelle,” he snarls, gripping my hip tighter. Diego doesn’t like it when I make dark jokes about how I’m going to die soon but how the hell else am I supposed to cope with all this?

“Just kidding, babe,” I reply, nudging him with my shoulder. “Relax.”

He shakes his head. “You dying is not something I am ever going to joke about, Mama. It’s not fucking funny.”

“Sure, it is… depending on how you look at it.”

“Was it funny,” he asks, a certain warning in his voice that makes my nipples pebble against the t-shirt I stole from him this morning, “when I was willing to sacrifice my life for you?”

Fuck.

“No. It wasn’t funny,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest and he nods, kissing my neck again as I glare out at the driveway.