“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.

The war went from cold to nuclear overnight.

Clare arrived at her office the next morning to find her security badge deactivated.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Whitmore," the security guard said, avoiding her eyes. "Orders from HR. You've been placed on indefinite administrative leave pending an investigation."

"An investigation into what?" Clare demanded.

"Breach of confidentiality agreements regarding the pharmaceutical summit," a voice said behind her.

Clare turned to see her department director walking toward her, looking nervous. "An anonymous source tipped off the board that you leaked proprietary data to a competing firm. Your laptops have been seized."

Clare felt the floor drop beneath her. Douglas Ashcroft was making good on his threat. He was framing her to destroy her professional credibility.

She walked out of the building, her hands trembling as she dialed Nathaniel's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Clare, are you okay?"

"They fired me, Nathaniel," she choked out, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. "They framed me for corporate espionage. My career is over."

"Where are you?" his voice was pure ice.

"Outside my office."

"Stay there. I'm coming."

Within fifteen minutes, Nathaniel's black SUV pulled up to the curb. He got out and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried against his chest.

"He did this," Clare whispered. "Your father did this."

"I know," Nathaniel said, kissing the top of her head. "And he's going to pay for it. I'm taking you to the penthouse. It's fully secured. You're not going back to Brooklyn until this is over."