Blood was running down my legs when my billionaire husband looked straight at me and chose another woman. Eight months pregnant, trapped inside our smoke-filled Miami mansion, I watched Roman Rinaldi carry his rumored mistress to safety while I stood among shattered glass with his son inside me. Six weeks earlier, I had learned the terrifying reason he needed the entire world to believe he was betraying me.

Roman’s body went completely rigid. His arm moved instinctively, sliding backward to shield my pregnant belly from the barrel of the gunman’s rifle.

“You want the hard drives?” Roman asked, his voice chillingly calm as he held up the leather briefcase containing Kane’s financial ruin. “Here they are. Take them and walk away. If you pull that trigger, the police downstairs will turn this entire perimeter into a graveyard before you reach the gates.”

The lead gunman laughed behind his mask, taking a slow step forward through the drifting ash. “Victor doesn't care about the hard drives anymore, Rinaldi. He realized twenty minutes ago that you were playing him. The ledger is digital; copies are already backed up in Zurich. What Victor wants now is absolute closure.”

My heart hammered against my ribs so violently I thought it would burst. I looked down at my swollen stomach, whispering a silent prayer to our unborn son. Hold on, baby. Just hold on.

“Closure,” Roman repeated, his eyes narrowing. He began stepping slowly forward, shifting his body at an angle to place himself squarely between the gunman’s line of fire and me. “Tell Victor that destroying Rinaldi Global won't bring back what he lost. He’s chasing ghosts.”

“He’s chasing vengeance,” the second gunman snapped, raising his rifle higher, his finger tightening on the trigger. “End him.”

Before the shooter could fire, Roman moved with terrifying, explosive speed.

He hurled the heavy leather briefcase directly into the face of the lead gunman, knocking him backward against the stone railing. Simultaneously, Roman lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the second gunman’s rifle and shoving it upward just as a deafening crack split the air.

A bullet tore through the night sky, missing my head by inches and shattering the glass light fixture above the terrace door.

I screamed, dropping to my knees as the two men wrestled violently on the slick stone floor. The smoke was growing thicker, stinging our eyes and making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Roman fought with the raw, primal fury of a man protecting his entire world. He slammed the gunman’s head against the concrete deck once, twice, until the man went limp. The first gunman recovered, swinging the butt of his rifle toward Roman’s temple, but before the blow could land, a volley of sharp cracks echoed from the ground below.

Pop-pop-pop.

Miami SWAT snipers, stationed behind the perimeter wall, had finally spotted the movement on the terrace. The first gunman dropped his weapon, clutching his shoulder as a sniper round grazed his arm, while the second scrambled backward, dragging his unconscious partner toward the fire escape stairs.

“Federal agents! Don't move!” a bullhorn roared from the lawn below.

The two mercenaries realized they were trapped. Dropping their weapons, they threw their hands in the air and surrendered as tactical officers swarmed the fire escape.

Roman didn't wait to watch them get cuffed. He scrambled across the ash-covered floor, dropping to his knees beside me.

“Elena! Are you hit?” he demanded frantically, his hands flying over my arms, checking every inch of my body.

“I’m okay! I’m okay, Roman!” I gasped, tears finally breaking free and cutting clean tracks through the soot on my cheeks. “The baby... he’s kicking. He’s okay.”

Roman pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my hair, holding me so tightly I could feel the violent trembling in his powerful frame. For the first time all night, the ruthless billionaire broke down, whispering broken promises against my skin.

“I’ve got you,” he choked out. “I’ve got you both. It’s over.”

Or so we thought.

As paramedics rushed up the stairs with an emergency stretcher to evacuate us through the smoke, my body gave a sudden, terrifying lurch. A sharp, searing pain ripped across my lower abdomen, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.