“If She Loses That Baby, None of You Walk Away,” the Mafia Boss Warned—Then He Turned on His Own Dynasty Clare Whitmore did not fall.

Nathaniel ignored his father and took the marble stairs two at a time.

He threw open the door to the west wing guest room.

Clare was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale and streaked with tears. When she saw him, she stood up, trembling.

"Nathaniel," she sobbed, rushing into his arms.

He held her fiercely, burying his face in her hair. "I've got you. I'm here. I'm so sorry, Clare."

"They told me they’d put me in jail," she whispered, gripping his jacket. "They said they’d take the baby as soon as it was born and I’d never see it. Nathaniel, I'm scared."

"They're lying. I won't let them touch you," he promised, kissing her forehead.

"What do we do?"

Nathaniel looked around the opulent, suffocating room. He realized in that moment that he couldn't win by playing their game. His father controlled the board, the media, and the law.

If he wanted to save Clare and his child, he had to destroy the board completely.

"Clare, listen to me very carefully," Nathaniel said, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "I need you to trust me. What I'm about to do is going to look bad. It's going to look like I gave in. But I need you to play along until tomorrow night."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, terrified.

"I'm going to agree to marry Victoria."

Clare flinched as if he had struck her. "No..."

"It’s a lie, Clare," he pleaded, holding her face. "I need time to access the Cayman accounts. If I can get the offshore files, I have enough evidence of my father’s tax fraud to put him in federal prison for the rest of his life. But I need twenty-four hours."