THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE PINK COAT

I stood in the center of the yellow bedroom, the photograph trembling in my hand.

Tick tock, Catherine.

The cruelty of the black X drawn over my face wasn’t the work of a woman who merely wanted my husband. It was a threat. A promise of violence.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the sweeping mahogany stairs.

Marco.

I shoved the photograph deep into the pocket of my slacks just as he appeared in the doorway.

He was breathing hard, his dark hair disheveled, the elegant composure he usually wore completely gone.

“Catherine.” He took a step toward me, holding his hands out like he was approaching a wild animal. “We need to talk.”

“Don't come any closer,” I said, my voice shockingly steady.

He stopped. His dark eyes searched my face, looking for the tears he was so used to wiping away. But there were no tears left.

“I am going to tell you the truth,” Marco said quietly. “But first, you need to go to your room, pack a suitcase, and let my men drive you to your sister’s house in Wisconsin. Tonight.”

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You're still trying to throw me out? Even after I caught you?”

“I am trying to keep you alive!” Marco shouted, the sudden volume making me flinch.

He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Olivia is not my girlfriend,” he said, his chest heaving. “And she is not the love of my life.”

I crossed my arms, shielding my broken heart. “Then why is she moving into my house, Marco? Why is she parading your daughter around?”

Marco closed his eyes. The exhaustion on his face aged him ten years in a single second.

“Because her last name isn't just Olivia,” he whispered. “It’s Olivia Rossi.”

My blood ran completely cold.

Rossi.

The Rossi Syndicate was the most violent, ruthless crime family in New York. They had been trying to get a foothold in Chicago for decades, and Marco’s family had fought them in a bloody turf war that had cost the lives of dozens of men.

“Seven years ago,” Marco said, looking down at the ivory rug I had chosen, “we had a peace summit in Miami. I was alone. We were drinking. Olivia was there. I made a mistake, Catherine. The biggest, most shameful mistake of my entire life. It meant nothing to me. But a month later, her father called me.”

I stared at him, horrified. “She got pregnant.”

Marco nodded slowly. “They kept it a secret from you. From everyone. They used Lily as a hostage. Rossi told me if I didn't give them shipping routes through Chicago, he would send you a picture of the baby and a bullet with your name on it.”

My breath hitched.

“For six years, I paid them,” Marco said, his voice cracking. “I gave them territory. I gave them money. I visited Lily in secret because she is my blood, Catherine, and she is innocent. But two weeks ago, Rossi's father died. Olivia took control of the family.”

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, terrifying panic.

“Olivia doesn't want the shipping routes anymore, Catherine. She wants the Chicago empire. And she wants the title of my wife to legitimize her claim.”

I thought about the photograph in my pocket. The black X over my face.

“She told me that if I didn't move her into the main house, and if I didn't send you away, she would have her men kill you in your sleep,” Marco confessed, a single tear slipping down his hardened face. “I was moving her in to keep her where I could see her. To buy time to find a way to destroy her without getting Lily hurt. And I wanted you in Wisconsin because my men can guard you there.”

I stared at my husband. The man I had loved. The man who had betrayed me, but who was now standing in front of me, willing to sacrifice his own empire to keep me breathing.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I whispered. “Thirty-one years, Marco. We are a team.”

“Because I couldn't bear to see the look on your face when you found out I had a child with someone else,” he choked out. “I couldn't bear to break your heart.”

Suddenly, Marco swayed on his feet.

He reached out, catching the edge of the child’s white dresser to steady himself.

“Marco?” I stepped forward.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pain, and let his heavy dark overcoat slide off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

I gasped.

His white dress shirt was soaked in dark, thick crimson blood.

A bullet hole was torn through the lower left side of his abdomen.

“Oh my god!” I rushed to him, catching his arm before he could collapse to the floor. “Marco, you're shot!”

“When you drove away from the restaurant,” he gasped, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray, “Olivia’s men tried to stop me from following you. She knows you saw us. She knows the secret is out.”

I eased him down onto the ivory rug, pressing my hands hard against the bleeding wound.

“I need to call a doctor,” I panicked, my hands covered in his warm blood.

“No!” Marco grabbed my wrist with terrifying strength. “No doctors. No hospitals. Olivia’s men are watching everything.”

Before I could argue, the intercom system on the bedroom wall buzzed loudly.

I froze.

The security gates at the front of the estate were closed. No one could get in without the code.

I reached up and pressed the button.

“Hello?” I said, my voice shaking.

“Catherine,” a woman’s sweet, venomous voice purred through the speaker. It was Olivia. “Open the gates. Lily is very tired, and we are ready to come to our new home.”

My stomach dropped.

“You can’t come in here,” I said firmly.

Olivia let out a soft, chilling laugh.

“Oh, Catherine. I don't need your permission.”

A deafening crash echoed from outside, shaking the glass in the windows.

I ran to the window and looked down at the driveway.

A massive black SUV had just rammed completely through our wrought-iron security gates. Two more identical SUVs followed it, pulling up directly to the front steps of my house.