Page 36 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

I nod. “I’m as shocked as you sound. I never expected any of this. When you came back, you scared the shit out of me, but you were protecting me. Hell, you’ve never stopped since.”

I laugh as my eyes spill over. “You even married me to keep me safe.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just promise you’ll come back.”

“I’ll come back.”

He leans over and kisses me. “I fell for you at the wedding reception,” he adds, kissing me again.

“That’s what got me so angry. I knew what you’d do. I knew you’d make me feel again, and I didn’t want to.”

He leans back in his seat, eyes half closed. “ wouldn’t wish my childhood on anybody, but it did one good thing for me. It shut me down, made me ignore my feelings.

“Made me a deadly weapon, and I got fucking good at killing. Living? Not so much.” He looks my way. “You make me want to try. I’ll do you a deal. Let me teach you to shoot, and I’ll promise to come back.”

I can tell he’s lying from the look on his face. He doesn’t think he’s coming back, but I can’t tell him I know.

I decide to let the lie sit there, comforting us both.

“Fine,” I say out loud. “Teach me how to shoot. Just don’t expect me to be any good.”

He grins, putting the car in gear. “All depends on the teacher.”

He sets off again, eyes fixed ahead. The darkness is still there— in his eyes, his soul, his whole being.

But there’s a spark there of something else, some light hidden deep inside that grows ever brighter.

There might just be a man in there, after all.

“I won’t let our child grow up like I did,” he says. He sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to me.

“I’ll die before I let that happen.”

14

Salvatore

From the outside, the hotel looks derelict, a blot on the city landscape. Inside, it’s the headquarters for the entire mafia commission.

The ballroom is laid out for up to a hundred guests. A central table with armchairs like something a Bond villain would have.

Against the back walls are more chairs, and then there’s a gallery at the far end for those not high up enough in the hierarchy to warrant a seat.

The room is empty when we arrive. Luca sits with his arms folded, saying nothing.

Beside him, Dante is cracking a joke, but nobody is laughing.

Antonio looks worried. To anyone else, his face is impassive, but I can see the way his eyes shift.

It’s the tense, hunted look he got when he a kid, trying to stay vigilant and protect us from our father’s ready fists.

He cares about us all and wants this to end the right way. What the fuck have I gotten us into?

“Where’s the commission?” Dante asks. “Did you fuck up the calendar again, Antonio?”

“Shut up,” he replies, turning to me. “I don’t like the look of this.”

The far door opens. “The look of what?” a woman asks as she walks in.

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