Page 21 of Mafia Pregnancy

“What if she understands too much?”

The question forces me to confront possibilities I’ve been avoiding. If Danielle has pieced together enough information to pose a genuine threat to our operations, if she’s planning to use what she’s learned for her own purposes or to hurt us... “Then I’ll handle it appropriately.” I sound cold and emotionless, but my insides twist at the notion.

Andrei nods slowly, though I see the reservations in his expression. “Just remember personal feelings have ended more careers in our business than federal investigations.”

After he leaves, I sit alone in my office, staring out at the ocean while processing what just happened. Danielle overheard sensitive information about our operations, and I deliberately allowed her to hear more so I could evaluate her trustworthiness. In any rational assessment, she now represents a security risk that requires immediate attention.

The thought of eliminating that risk makes my chest tighten with panic. Not because I have feelings for her—I can’t afford feelings for anyone in this business—but because she’s innocent in ways that matter, civilian in ways that make her fundamentally different from the people I usually have to worry about.

She’s not a competitor trying to muscle in on our territory. She’s not a federal agent building a case against our operations. She’s not even a disgruntled employee looking for revenge or profit. She’s someone who cleans houses to pay her bills and had the misfortune to overhear a conversation about customs documentation and shell companies.

I made it worse. Was it some unconscious desire to have leverage over her, or to necessitate a need to keep her close?

I remember her desperation on her second day, and the way she accepted overtime work without hesitation because she needed money urgently. That kind of financial pressure makes people do things they wouldn’t normally consider, including accepting risks they don’t fully understand.

Working for me was supposed to be a simple cleaning job. Regular hours, steady pay, and household maintenance thatdoesn’t pose a hazard to her health beyond exposure to cleaning supplies. She never should have been in a position to overhear sensitive business conversations.

That failure is mine. The smart thing would be to terminate her employment immediately. I could make it simple, with a generous severance package and a non-disclosure agreement that makes it clear what happens to people who violate their employment confidentiality. She might even think it’s because of the lingering awkwardness of four years ago compounded by sex ten weeks ago.

It’s the smart thing to do, but I can’t purge the memory of how she looked that afternoon ten weeks ago when I lifted her onto my desk. Not just aroused or overwhelmed, but also…grateful, like I was giving her something she’d been missing for four years instead of just taking what I wanted.

The woman I remember doesn’t strike me as someone who would use overheard information for blackmail or revenge, but four years is a long time, and people change. I need to determine if Danielle Arden represents a security risk that requires permanent solutions, or if she’s simply a civilian who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It will be easier to sort that out if I try not to think about how she tasted when I buried my face between her thighs and made her cry out my name, or how her hands felt when she gripped my shoulders like I was the only solid thing in her world. I already know that’s unlikely to happen. I haven’t been able to get those thoughts entirely out of my mind since that afternoon.

Maybe I should try to prepare myself for the possibility that the woman who made me remember what it felt like to want something more than power might be the person who destroyseverything I’ve built, because if it comes down to it… I could never hurt her for any reason. It’s a weakness for a man in my position, but it’s better to face that truth than pretend I could ruthlessly eliminate her if the need arises.

No one will lay a hand on her as long as I have the power to stop it, blood in my veins, or breath in my body. She belongs to me and has for four years. I just have to be strong enough not to claim her and try to keep her safe from my world.

7

Danielle

It’s my day off, and the nausea hits me while I’m folding Leo’s laundry, a sudden wave that sends me rushing to the bathroom with my hand pressed over my mouth. I barely make it to the toilet before my morning coffee comes back up, leaving me shaky and confused as I grip the porcelain bowl.

This is the third time this week. I’ve had three mornings of waking up queasy, three afternoons of sudden exhaustion that makes it hard to focus on my cleaning tasks, and three evenings of falling asleep on the couch while Leo watches cartoons.

I tell myself it’s stress. The past ten weeks have been a careful dance of avoidance and professionalism that’s worn me down to nothing. Working in Radmir’s house while pretending we’re strangers, cleaning around him like he’s just another piece of expensive furniture, and maintaining the fiction that ten weeks ago didn’t happen is enough to make anyone sick.

I rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face, studying my reflection in the small bathroom mirror. I look pale and a littletired, like I’m starting to get sick. Leo’s been asking if I’m feeling okay, clearly picking up on changes I’m trying to pretend don’t exist.

My phone vibrates. It’s a message from Carmen:Park? Leo can play while we catch up.

I stare at the message, considering it. I’ve been avoiding Carmen’s concerned questions for weeks, deflecting her attempts to talk about what’s been bothering me. She knows something’s wrong and can probably see it in the way I’ve been moving through the days like I’m underwater.

Maybe it’s time to admit I need help figuring out what’s happening to me.

Sounds good. Meet you at Sunset Cliffs at 4?

The park isbusy when we arrive, filled with families enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Leo immediately spots the playground and runs toward the swings, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders. I watch him go, envious of his endless energy even when mine is flagging.

Carmen and I settle on a bench with a clear view of the playground. She’s brought coffee for both of us, though the smell makes my stomach lurch in an unwelcome way.

“You look terrible,” she says without preamble, studying my face with the directness I’ve come to expect from her. “When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

I wrap my hands around the coffee cup for warmth, though I can’t bring myself to drink it. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“Since when?”

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