Page 139 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

The playboy billionaire. The Bratva princess. The pregnant girlfriend. The mafia ties. The spectacular fall.

The nausea hits fast and sharp, curling through my gut, but I shove it down.

I can’t break now. Not in front of them.

Not when the whole damn world is watching, waiting for me to crack.

I clench my jaw so tight my teeth ache, and I grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

Because if I let go now, if I let myself feel even one second of this, I might not come back from it.

I barely make it to my office before all hell breaks loose.

My email is a minefield, and my phone won’t stop buzzing like a goddamn wasp nest at my fingertips.

I shove it into a drawer and lock it without answering.

For one blessed second, silence.

I pace the room, heart thundering, brain racing.

This isn’t random.

This wasn’t leaked by some bored gossip blogger looking for clicks.

This was deliberate. Precise.

And as soon as the thought forms, the answer clicks into place, sharp and cold.

I grab my phone from the locked drawer and click on the article link. I scroll to find a name. The author of the article.

Eva Costa

E, my so-called friend from Clive and Associates.

The polished, smiling shark who always knew exactly where the cracks were and how to exploit them when the moment was right.

My pulse rockets.

My fingers tighten into fists at my sides. This is her style.

It’s her goddamn signature all over this betrayal.

I don’t think. I just hit call.

She picks up on the second ring, smooth as silk.

“Well, that was fast.”

My throat burns.

“Why would you run this story? Why now?”

There’s no hesitation. No apology.

“Because people need to know who the Marchettis really are. What they’ve buried. What they stole from my family.”

The venom laced through her words slices clean through me.

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