Page 44 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

We walk through the grounds, heading up to the large white stone house on top of the hill.

“Three on the roof,” Luca says softly.

I glance up and see the armed men tracking our movement. “Hold for now,” I reply. “In a minute, when I give the signal.”

At the front door, Christian is nowhere to be seen. There are six men, presumably two for each of us. Not guards of the high council.

Presumably, Christian doesn’t want word getting out that he’s killed three members of the same family, including the boss.

He might be head of the council, but he’s not immune to the rules.

But killing us in private? He gets to make up any story he likes.

I’ve got a choice here. Walk in, let him execute us like sitting ducks. Or fight, and pray I can get to Keira in time before she’s killed. My temper says murder them all, but I hold it in. Forher.

I can keep calm for her. I can think straight. It’s what she’s taught me, how she’s changed me.

That’s my edge in this situation. Christian is expecting me to explode and get gunned down.

All of a sudden, it all makes sense. If I rush the place, he can say I went crazy, wanted the high council seat for myself, and he had no choice but to shoot me.

That’s why the men are here. That’s why the cameras are watching, recording the whole thing.

All I have to do is resist my instinct. Every fiber of my being tells me to tear the place apart, but he’s expecting that.

I need to be more like Luca. Precise, clinical, pragmatic.

Once I have Keira safe, that’s when I’ll slaughter them all, and I won’t regret it for a single moment.

Touch my wife, and you die.

It’s that simple.

I’ll prove it soon enough.

17

Keira

Ihear Christian’s voice as I come to. It takes me a moment to place it.

The last thing I remember is walking out the front gate.

No,notwalking out.

Something stopped me.

What was it?

I’m in a beautiful bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it’s oddly familiar. I wonder if I was born here. I shouldn’t be able to remember it, but something about the blankets is comforting.

I shuffle in place, listening to the conversation out in the corridor.

“Where are they?” Christian asks someone.

“I put them in the dining room,” a gruff voice replies.

“Exits covered?”

---