Page 32 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

All the time, his friends were smirking, goading him to go further.

Antonio stepped in and shielded me from harm, but I shoved him out of the way and squared up to my father.

I’d had enough of the beatings. It was time to prove to him that he couldn’t treat me like this anymore.

My fist connected with his face. I hit him hard enough to bust his lip, and we went crazy.

He came at me with a knife, and that’s when I felt the sting of a blade for the first time—cut by my own father in front of everyone.

He yelled at me the whole time, and blamed me for what he did.

Every time I see the scar, I remember that day. A permanent reminder that just when you think everything is perfect, things are always about to get royally fucked up.

I’ve had three days of bliss with Keira, but I know it can’t last. We ate with Zoey and my brothers.

Watched Phoebe a couple of times, not for long, but long enough. Keira is gonna be a great mom.

But even as my wife and I enjoyed each other’s company, I knew it would end.

My father is long dead, but the past casts long shadows over the present, and his lesson was well learned.

I knew something bad was coming. I could feel it.

It happened overnight. Someone got into the grounds and managed to bypass the cameras.

He almost got into the house, but close enough to break in is close enough to catch.

The idiot is tied to a chair in the lakehouse, waiting to die.

Antonio’s leaning on him, but not too hard. My brother is more than capable of shaking someone down, so I suspect he’s just warming him up for me.

I walk into the lakehouse.

There he is.

A tall guy, narrow shoulders, built for sneaking in places like this. His face is swollen, but he’s still sneering at Antonio.

“Go fuck yourself,” he says, spitting out blood.

Rage bubbles up inside me. How dare he intrude on our happiness? On our peace?

Antonio turns to me, wiping his bloodied hands with a cloth. “Got a death wish, this one. Wait until you hear the bullshit he’s trying to sell.”

I raise my eyebrows at our prisoner, cracking my knuckles. He sees something in my expression, and the color drains from his face.

“Look,” he starts. “I know the drill, but you’re getting–”

I silence him with a smack to the chops, pulling the force just enough to avoid breaking his jaw.

Without a pause, I give him the old one-two to the stomach.

I grin at him as he gasps for air. “I’ve beaten men to death in this lakehouse. Some take days to die. Funny how we all try to cling to life even as the pain makes it suck motherfucking balls. Now, you? I think you’ll be the one that drags it out.”

I stoop, leaning my hands on my knees, and look at the man’s wheezing face. “I’m going to cut your stomach in a minute.

“I know how to avoid the main arteries. Leave you to bleed out slowly. Then I’ll burn your body so no one will ever know what happened to you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I slap him into silence. “Iam fucking talking. We’ll watch your blood drain away until you’ve nothing left to lose.

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