My Mafia Husband Saved His Mistress While I Bled Pregnant Upstairs—Three Years Later, One Nursery Recording Exposed Why He Chose the Wrong Woman My husband heard gunfire inside our mansion, saw two paths in front of him—and chose to save his mistress while I was bleeding upstairs with his unborn son.

I lunged for my phone on the dresser, my fingers shaking so violently I dropped it twice.

10:48 PM.

Two minutes. I had two minutes.

I hit Adrien’s speed dial. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Come on, Adrien. Pick up, please pick up," I sobbed, clutching my stomach as a sharp, agonizing cramp seized my abdomen. The stress was triggering early contractions.

“You’ve reached Adrien Thorne. Leave a message.”

I threw the phone onto the bed and ran to the heavy oak door of my suite. I slid the deadbolt into place, dragging a heavy velvet armchair in front of the handle. My breath came in ragged, terrified gasps.

At exactly 10:50 PM, the floorboards beneath my feet violently shuddered.

A deafening explosion ripped through the eastern wing of Blackthorn House, shattering the massive bay windows in my bedroom. Glass rained down like diamond dust, slicing across my arms as I threw myself to the floor to protect my stomach.

The charity gala below instantly devolved into a warzone. The muffled thump of automatic gunfire echoed up the grand staircase. Men were screaming. Alarms were blaring, a high-pitched wail that pierced the smoke-filled air.

"Pike!" I heard a voice shout from the hallway. "Door's locked! Blow the hinges!"

They were already here.

I crawled across the carpet, leaving a trail of blood from the deep glass cuts on my forearms. I dragged myself into the master bathroom, hauling my heavy, pregnant body into the walk-in closet. There was a hidden service panel behind the shoe racks—a relic from the prohibition era that the architect had shown me when we bought the estate.

Another explosion rattled the teeth in my skull. I pushed the shoe rack aside, praying the hinges hadn't rusted shut.