Page 82 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

My pulse pounds against my ribs as I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over her arm. “Hey, little one,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft. “Time to wake up.”

She shifts slightly, her little nose scrunching, but doesn’t wake.

Shit.

From the doorway, Roger makes a sharp motion with his fingers-hurry it up.

I clench my jaw, ignoring the way my nerves tighten. This isn’t something I can rush. If she wakes up scared, if she panics- this whole thing could fall apart.

Turning back to her, I lean in a little closer. My voice is barely above a whisper, but it still feels deafening in the silence.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmur. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She shifts again, this time letting out a tiny sigh. My heart clenches, and I force myself to stay patient, to keep my voice even and warm.

Her eyelids flutter, a little crease forming between her brows.

“That’s it,” I coax softly. “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

She stirs, letting out a tiny sniffle, her face scrunching before she blinks up at me with bleary eyes. Big, dark eyes. Fantasia’s eyes.

A lump lodges in my throat.

She blinks again, confused, and for a second, I think she’s about to cry.

“Hey,” I whisper quickly, hands up, nonthreatening. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She stares at me, her little chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Then, in the quietest, wobbliest voice I’ve ever heard, she whispers, “Mum?”

The word punches through me, sharp and brutal.

I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah, love. I’m gonna take you to her.”

Her lip wobbles, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “Mummy.”

I nod again, my chest squeezing. “Soon, I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just keeps looking at me, blinking slow, like her little brain is still waking up.

And I can’t stop staring back.

She’s mine.

I don’t need a test, don’t need Fantasia to tell me what I already know deep in my bones. This little girl- this tiny, hiccuping, tear-streaked child- is mine.

And Fantasia never told me.

I force the thought aside, shoving it down, because I can’t afford to deal with that right now. Right now, all that matters is getting her out of here.

I reach for her slowly. “Come here, love. Let’s get you back to your mum.”

How could Fantasia do this? She cared so little for me– trusted me so little- that she was willing to do this alone. To raiseourchild without ever telling me she existed.

I grit my teeth, forcing the thought away. This isn’t the time.

Instead, I focus on the little girl in my arms, holding her close as I rise to my feet. She’s warm, her tiny hands wrapping around my neck, her breath soft against my chest. And despite everything—the danger, the heartbreak, the chaos—I feel something I haven’t in two years.

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