Page 73 of Dark Mafia Heir

Surprised blue eyes snap to mine. Her jaw drops. “What?”

“The apple pie? You can take it. I wouldn’t eat it anyway, and Antonio’s not a big apple pie fan.”

“Wow! Thank you, ma’am. You’re so. . you’re so kind.” I think I see tears well up in her eyes, and her cheeks are an even brighter shade of red now, tilting more to the shade of pink. “You’ll surely be a great mother.”

Her sincere joy and child-like happiness force a smile on my face.

And after a fleeting second . . .

After her voice echoes somewhere at the back of my head, the smile falls, and I jump of the stool.

Shit!

My heart starts racing and Varya calls out after me as I make a beeline out of the kitchen, heading to the room. Slamming the door shut, I grab my phone and scroll straight to the calendar.

Diligently, I’d been tracking it, until I lost track of the goddamn thing.

The reality lands like a stone in the pit of my stomach, heavy and undeniable. My heart skips a beat, then races, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I replay the days in my mind, counting backward, trying to pinpoint when last I bled, and if somehow, perhaps, my calendar was wrong.

Shit!

Shit!

Double shit!

The numbers don’t add up in my favor. My period is officially late.

Panic swerves around the corner like a fucking crook, launching a surprise attack on me. I sit on the edge of the bed, and my hands tremble slightly as they press against my thigh. The world around me is suddenly too quiet, and the voices in my head only grow louder.

My stomach twists into knots so tight I can barely breathe. My mind races, each thought more chaotic than the last when it replays the signs I’ve been ignoring—the fatigue, the nausea . . .

Oh, my God!

My chest tightens even more, and I dig my nails into my thighs, trying to ground myself, but it doesn’t work. This is real. This is happening!

And then, like a freight train, the next thought crashes into me.

Antonio.

Everything slows down rather dangerously, and I feel myself teetering on the edge of uncertainty. In the end, it’s not only me in this, is it? He’s as much a party in this situation as I am. But I can’t tell if he’ll receive this news with joy. Joy as sincere as the one on Varya’s face earlier.

I can’t tell if my husband is ready to become a father. The topic has never been one for discussion before, and, now, it is hard to tell Antonio’s stance towards fatherhood and children.

Prickly tears sting the back of my eyes, but I catch myself before I cry.

Is Antonio ever going to be ready for this?

Am I?

I can picture his face now, but in my mind, his expression falters, and cracks. What if he doesn’t want this? What if the weight pushes him away?

My breath comes out in shallow gasps, and I grip the sheets for support.

There’s a soft knock at the door before the handle rattles, and Varya pokes her head through. “Ma’am?” She’s worried. “Is everything okay? You sort of left?—”

“Varya?”

I’m seeing her, watching her brows crinkle with greater anxiety, but my mind is still fixed on running through the possibilities of uncertainty. I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse.

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