Page 43 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

“Let me get this straight. You’re sayin’ you want to be with me and raise our baby together.”

“More than anything,” I say, grinning and kissing her like I’ll never stop.

Because that’s my plan.

24

KATE

I’ve seen pictures of the northern lights, how they light the sky with an indescribable wave of shimmering blue and green that take your breath away. That’s the feeling that cascades over me when Mickey reacts to my pregnancy with acceptance and love. Relief doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s a sense of rightness, being made whole and cherished that is the closest thing to real holiness I’ve experienced so far.

Nothing has prepared me for this. Because it’s pure joy and hope for the future and everything that has been missing in my life. I’ve been lonely and fearful, zipping wearily from one panic to the next.

He brings me to his house, consoling me when I’m so nervous I shake all over. He listens to me and instead of judging and being angry or trying to control everything, Mickey says he wants to be the one I can count on. He thinks about his actions and how he can be better for me, for us. I’m awestruck. At once I want to announce to everyone in the world that this is how a man should be, strong and considerate and loving—but part of me wants to keep it a secret for just us two. To keep the sacred privacy of our togetherness so no one can try to ruin it.

From the outside it would look like I went after my rich boss or that he seduced a much younger employee. His best friend’s fifteen-years-younger sister, in fact. None of that even touches the reality of what we share. I’m old enough to know exactly what I want and so is Mickey. He’s led his family business to greater prosperity and security while bearing that burden all alone with no one close to him.

I spent years out in California in a city that never felt like home, trying to find myself or prove myself when I had no one to prove it to. And Rory, my distant older brother who in many ways is a lot closer to Mickey than he ever has been to me, lives his life on the edge, a top lieutenant in an illegal crime syndicate who bounces from one hot, temporary girlfriend to the next without much of a plan for the future.

I was sure I’d be happy once I achieved success in LA. I’d have money, a professional network who respected me, and I’d meet the right people and have real friends. Mickey was sure he’d never be happy, that his duty was to expand and sustain the business and the charitable fund and let that be his only legacy. None of us knew what was coming for us.

Now I know. And if I had any reason to expect such wonderful good luck, such a man who would truly see me and love me, I would never have spent so many years spinning my wheels over the next degree or the next internship. I could’ve come home to Boston and done things right. Although who’s to say this wasn’t the right way, the only way all this happiness would come to pass?

Pregnancy makes me a philosopher, that’s what Mickey says. I say it’s just the carb cravings talking. His acceptance, the way he welcomed me and our baby into his life so fully swept away my sadness and confusion. When I wake up in the morning, beside the man I love, I can’t believe my good luck. I rest myhand on the curve of my belly and smile inwardly, radiating love and joy all the way down to my toes.

The first and most crucial thing Mickey assures me of is that he’s increased security measures drastically. He has personal protective officers now, a combination of his own men and elite private contractors who are expert bodyguards of the type hired by oil executives and foreign diplomats. Their job is both to vigilantly keep him out of volatile or vulnerable situations and to be discreet.

No one should notice them unless they’re needed. When I meet the team of protection pros that he hires to look out for me, I’m stunned at how many there are. I get to know them and value their watchfulness and skills. It only takes me a week or so to get used to having them around. To be honest, it’s reassuring because, natural process or not, pregnancy really makes you feel vulnerable.

Once Mick knows about the baby, there’s no stopping him. He has me moved into his house inside of twenty-four hours. We don’t waste any time. If I’m not working on my prep course or in my office, I’m in his arms. I’m not sure if he even lets me out of his sight more than a few minutes for the first couple weeks. He’s the one holding my hand when I have my first ultrasound, and the softness in his eyes when we hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time is something I’ll never forget.

Benny comes back to work part time the next week. When Mick offers me the head forensics accountant position and says Ragucci would stay on and train me and help me out, I tell him thanks but no thanks. I loved the job, and loved being with Mickey, but I want to concentrate on my CPA and work in the legitimate sector.

When the baby’s older, I want to open my own firm. That doesn’t mean I don’t hang out in the crow’s nest a couple nights a week, with my feet propped up on the comfy couch where wefirst came together. Only now I’m looking through vision boards the decorator sent me so I can pick fabrics for the nursery. My plan for a yellow and white nursery eventually beat out Mickey’s preference for a Red Sox theme.

Once Ragucci’s back to working full time, I spend all my time studying for my CPA and getting things ready for the baby. That means a lot of pregnancy yoga classes and afternoon naps. It also means that Mickey hired a personal chef to meal prep and stock our fridge for me so I have a choice of fresh, healthy meals and snacks at the ready anytime.

“What are you doing?” I ask him mischievously when I walk into the kitchen and find him standing with the refrigerator door open and a fork in his hand.

“Who knew that grain bowls were good?” he says. “Don’t worry, you got another one in here. I was curious.”

“Grab it for me, we’ll snack together,” I say, fighting back a giggle. “I mean, we can both enjoy my pregnancy food.”

“We could always turn on Karate Kid, start the baby early,” he offers.

“You know, I read that by this time in the pregnancy, the baby can hear our voices and classical music can make them smarter. Maybe they can get Jackie Chan flicks in the womb,” I tease.

“Might as well start them off right. Let this baby get a taste for the classics.”

We’re about to sit down to a movie when the doorbell rings. Our eyes meet. With the dialed-up security no one who isn’t a trusted friend would have made it this close to the house so I bring up the front door camera on my phone. My brother stands there, jaw set and looking every bit as aggravated as he’s been the last few weeks since I moved in with Mickey.

“Are you up for this?” Mick asks me.

“Let’s get it over with,” I say with resignation.

“If he upsets you at all, I’m throwing his ass out, old friends or not.”

“I’m good,” I tell him.

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