Ten days. That was all the doctor believed my six-year-old twins had left, and for the first time in my life, all the money, guns, fear, and power I had built as one of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses meant absolutely nothing. By three that afternoon, while death waited inside my mansion, a penniless woman stood outside my gates refusing to leave, and I had no idea she was about to change everything.

The deafening blast threw me violently through the air and into the grand staircase.

Thick black smoke and the smell of burning explosives instantly filled the ruined foyer.

I struggled to my feet, my ears ringing with a high-pitched, agonizing whine.

Prescott was lying a few feet away, covered in plaster dust but slowly pushing himself up.

I ignored my own bleeding injuries and sprinted desperately back down toward the underground medical wing.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and found the sterile hallway filled with a terrifying, dusty haze.

The heavy blast doors had protected the corridor, but the shockwave had still caused massive structural damage.

I ran toward the twins' isolation room, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

Dr. Yates was frantically pushing buttons on Blythe's cardiac monitor, which was flashing a bright, warning red.

A massive, jagged crack had formed directly across the thick glass wall of the sterile chamber.

I burst into the room and asked the doctor what was happening to my little girl.

Dr. Yates yelled that the extreme stress of the explosion was causing Blythe's weakened heart to fail rapidly.

He administered an emergency injection, and the red flashing light slowly faded back to a steady green rhythm.

The doctor turned to me with tears in his eyes and delivered the most devastating news of my life.

He said the ten-day timeline was completely gone due to the severe trauma their bodies just endured.

We now had a maximum of forty-eight hours before their organs shut down permanently.

I walked out of the room and found Elara leaning heavily against the corridor wall.

I looked her dead in the eyes and demanded to know exactly where Viktor Volkov was hiding.

Elara hesitated for a moment, her cold expression finally cracking under the intense pressure.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

She revealed that she knew his location because she was not just a runaway victim.

She had actually been Viktor Volkov's most lethal and trusted personal assassin for the last five years.

Chapter 4 - The Shattered Glass