Page 20 of Mafia Darling

This was the doctor? I had expected someone older with a stethoscope and black medical bag. “You speak English?”

“I do. Nine years in Michigan, first for my degree, then for my residency. I’m Fausto’s second cousin.”

So much for hoping the doctor would help me escape. I set down the cake and brushed crumbs off my fingers. “Nice to meet you. Let’s get this over with.”

David slipped on a pair of latex gloves then opened his backpack to find his instruments. He listened to my heartbeat, took my blood pressure, and asked me questions about how I’d been feeling. “Other than being nauseous, fine,” I told him.

“That will pass in another few weeks. Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”

“Oddly enough, my kidnappers didn’t grab them when they were shoving me inside a trunk.”

He nodded once. “I’ll send a prescription to the pharmacy. One of the men will retrieve it for you. Any bleeding or spotting?”

“No.”

“You should be checked by an obstetrician, of course, but let’s listen to the baby’s heartbeat.”

An obstetrician?

I nearly snorted. As if I’d been given the opportunity to visit a doctor during my “vacation” at the beach house.

He took a small box with what looked like a tiny microphone attached. We heard the rapid whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat inside me and I relaxed into the pillows, relief rushing through me. With all the stress and uncertainty, I’d been worried about my little bambina in there.

Fausto appeared as the doctor was packing up. My baby daddy was naked except for the towel around his waist, his big body glistening from the heat of the shower. An ache pulsed in me and I shifted, willing it to go away. He and David exchanged words, then the doctor bid me goodbye and left.

I tried to ignore a mostly naked Fausto and concentrated on my cake. He went into his closet and I heard him getting dressed. When we were together I loved to watch him dress. His suits were cut to perfection, and seeing him go from the man who drove me wild in bed to the powerful don got me wet every time.

I could feel the dampness between my legs even now. What was wrong with me? A few hours ago I was in a gun battle. Shouldn’t I be in shock? Afraid? Reliving the nightmare of being kidnapped and having Enzo’s pistol shoved in my mouth?

For whatever reason, I wasn’t. I was thinking about Fausto’s big cock and the heat in his eyes when he stood by the bed and stared down at me. How he’d punched Enzo in the face and killed the guard who had been manhandling me.

You heard my woman.

Damn that possessive asshole—and damn me for liking it so much.

He kicked me out, broke my heart, and treated me like garbage. Again. The only reason he came after me was because someone else had dared to take what was his. That’s all I was to him, a possession. His whore, breeding the next generation of killers and kidnappers. I would never forgive him for kicking me out and ignoring me, for leaving me alone and allowing me to be taken by his rival.

Sadly, my body was not on the same page.

I was broken. Fucked in the head. It had to be these pregnancy hormones—they’d restarted my sex drive tonight like a pair of jumper cables on a dead car battery.

But I wouldn’t allow my feelings to show this time. I wouldn’t give Fausto an opening back into my life. He’d never know how much he affected me or how my body still craved the mind-numbing pleasure he gave it. As far as he was concerned, I was now a frigid bitch.

Whatever I fantasized about in private was my own business.

When he emerged from the closet, he wore a white t-shirt that stretched across his powerful chest and hugged those delicious shoulders. His lower half was covered in a pair of old jeans. Was he going to the dungeon to deal with Enzo?

Sadly, the shiver that worked its way over my skin was not revulsion. Not at all.

I kept my eyes averted and forked up another bite of cake. He came over and covered my lower half with a soft blanket. Had he mistaken that shiver for a chill? I didn’t correct him, too surprised at how careful he was being with me.

“Francesca,” he said, his voice a deep patient rumble.

When I didn’t respond, he put a finger under my chin and tilted my face. The fire in his eyes nearly scorched me. “How badly should I make him suffer, dolcezza?” he asked quietly. “Tell me. What retribution will make it easier for you to sleep at night?”

I swallowed. He was serious. Whatever I said would be carried out by this man without question, without mercy. Power surged through me, a feeling I’d been without for so long that it almost seemed strange. Enzo’s fate rested in my hands. I thought of the trunk, the pistol in my mouth. How Enzo called me puttanella at every turn.

You, on your knees, so obedient. Did he like this, as well? I bet he did.

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