CHAPTER 72: A DELIVERY

Katherine arrived at the penthouse with her heart pounding in her chest. Her steps were brisk, her palms damp, and worry painted itself across her face in sharp strokes. Mason had been unreachable for days now. She had even gone to the gym where he worked as an instructor, a place he never missed, but he wasn’t there. Each unanswered call, each dead end, had only tightened the knot in her chest.

The moment she stepped inside, however, a voice pulled her back to the present.

"Mama!!"

Her son’s delighted cry rang out, breaking through her fear like sunlight piercing through storm clouds. Jacob rushed toward her, and instantly, Katherine’s features softened. Her worried expression melted into a radiant smile, one so genuine it lit her entire face.

"I missed you so much," Jacob said, his little arms outstretched.

Katherine bent and scooped him into her embrace, hugging him tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and his giggle bubbled out like music, easing her trembling heart if only for a moment.

"How’s my little boy doing?" she asked warmly, rocking him slightly in her arms. "I’ve missed you so much too."

She squeezed him again, holding him as though letting go wasn’t an option. If there was one decision in her life she never regretted, it was keeping Jacob.

Six years ago, when she first discovered she was pregnant, the circumstances had been anything but ideal. She and Nathan had just ended things—his family’s suffocating social standards pulling him away from her.

But then, life had shifted. Now, as Jacob smiled at her with those wide innocent eyes, Katherine knew without doubt that keeping him was the one right choice she had made in her turbulent life.

Her moment of peace was interrupted by the sharp edge of reality. She turned toward the nanny. "Did you receive any phone calls from Mason?"

The woman shook her head immediately. "I haven’t received a phone call yet, madam."

Katherine’s lips pressed together. She had instructed the nanny to inform her the very instant Mason reached out. That silence gnawed at her nerves. She hugged Jacob closer, almost possessively, as if holding onto him might steady her fraying composure.

"Mother," Jacob piped up, tilting his head curiously. "Is father coming to see us soon?"

The innocent question cut through her heart like a blade. Katherine opened her mouth to respond but before she could, the doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her body stiffened with alertness. She wasn’t expecting visitors. No one outside of Mason and the nanny even knew about this place. Anxiety crawled up her spine like a cold hand.

"Take Jacob inside," she ordered quickly, her tone sharper than she intended. She handed her son to the nanny, who hurried off, Jacob’s curious gaze lingering over her shoulder until the hallway swallowed him from sight.

Alone, Katherine inhaled deeply, steadying herself as she approached the door. The penthouse security was tight—only authorized personnel or building staff could access this level. Still, dread coiled inside her stomach.

She twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

What she saw made her gasp.

A man lay sprawled across the threshold, his body broken and battered. Bruises marred his face and arms, while his torso was wrapped in careless, half-done bandages that reeked of blood and antiseptic. Whoever had patched him up hadn’t cared whether he lived or died.

For one horrifying heartbeat, she almost screamed.

Then her eyes focused, and her breath caught. "Mason!"

It was him.

Her gaze darted down the hallway. It was empty. Whoever had left him here had already vanished. Panic gripped her chest as she crouched, slipping her arms under his and dragging him inside with a strength born of desperation. His weight was heavy, his breathing shallow, but he was alive.

Katherine pushed the door shut with her foot and locked it, her heart hammering wildly as she struggled to lay him on the couch.

**

Meanwhile, across town, Dante was enduring a very different kind of torment.

The charity event was in full swing, though there was nothing charitable about it. The hall glittered with gaudy displays of wealth. Outside, expensive cars lined the entrance like trophies.

The air stank of money and ego, not compassion. Guests weren’t here to make a difference. They were here to be seen.

"It’s been a while since I last saw your son, Dante," an older man drawled, swirling his drink lazily. Dante recognized him at once. The man had been at his father’s birthday months ago—the same man who had made crude comments about his sexuality, thinking himself clever.

"And now he’s married?" the man added, feigning polite curiosity.

Dante’s smile was sharp, cold, a mask stretched over his irritation. "You might not remember because you’re so old now, but I remember you perfectly well at that party," he said smoothly. "But it’s alright. A man like you must have so much on his mind, forgetting comes easy."

The older man’s expression soured instantly, lips twisting into a frown.

Mr. De Rossi, who stood beside Dante, chuckled as if his son had made a harmless joke. "Ah, my boy," he said, brushing the tension aside with forced laughter.

But another guest seized the moment. "What about your wife, Dante? You’ve never introduced her to us."

The words were casual, but laced with curiosity—and perhaps malice.

Dante’s eyes snapped to the man, his glare sharp enough to silence a room. "And why would I do that?" he asked flatly.

The older man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking toward Mr. De Rossi as if begging for intervention.

Again, his father laughed, this time gripping Dante’s arm and tugging him aside. Once they were alone enough, his smile dropped. "What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to embarrass me?" he hissed.

"I told you I didn’t want to be here," Dante replied, his tone devoid of emotion. He would rather spend the night thinking of ways to permanently make Ryan disappear from Alisha’s life.

"Can’t you at least pretend you want to be here?" his father snapped.

Dante’s jaw tightened. "Actually, it’s a good thing we have a moment." His eyes sharpened, cutting straight through his father. "I want to know what you told Alisha the other day."

Mr. De Rossi’s anger slipped away, replaced by a smug grin curling at his lips. "Ah. So she didn’t tell you?" His voice was almost gleeful. "Then allow me. I told her to step out of my way or else, I’d make sure she disappeared far away from here."

Dante’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his entire body coiled with restrained fury.

His father sneered. "Why glare at me like that? I’ve seen it. You’re soft now. Ever since that woman entered your life. Don’t tell me you’re in love with her?"

Dante said nothing, but his silence was damning.

The grin on Mr. De Rossi’s face widened, stretching with wicked satisfaction. "So it’s true. You’re getting weak."

"That’s none of your business," Dante bit out.

"But it is," his father countered, slipping his hands casually into his pockets. "I can’t have my son distracted when he’s so close to achieving everything he’s worked for. Or are you ready to throw it all away? For her?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, Dante... would she cry when I strangle her with my bare hands?"

Something inside Dante snapped.

"Don’t you dare hurt her!!" he snarled. In one swift motion, he seized his father by the collar, yanking him close, his eyes blazing with a deadly promise.