Page 13 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

I nod, wondering what’s so important inside the box. “Okay, I’ll keep it,” I tell him, wanting to help.

“You just need to keep it to yourself for the next couple of months until Roberto—do you remember Roberto?” my father says in a scattered tone, his sentence out of order.

“Yes, I remember Roberto. My uncle.”

“Yes. Keep this box safe until Roberto gets out of prison. Then you can pass the box over to him. Until then, you don’t mention anything about this box to anyone.” He taps the box with his trembling finger, and I receive the message, loud and clear. Luca forces out a weak smile, but it’s bright enough for me, and there’s a glimmer of hope inside my heart that he’s still surviving and maybe—just maybe he can experience a miraculous recovery. It’s hard not to admit that I feel some thrill inside about keeping the box, but I don’t understand what could be so precious that my uncle who’s in prison would need it for.

“Okay, I vow to keep it safe,” I tell him, locking eyes as he rises gingerly to his feet. “I want you to know I love you dearly. I’ve only isolated you all this time to protect you from the terrors of the Mafia. That’s what your mother wanted for you. Ifthey knew about you, Fiona—it would have made you a known target.”

Compassion fills me as I think it through. “You’re right. It might have hurt me all this time, but I’m glad you did it,” I reply, breaking down with uncontrollable sobbing.

My father hobbles closer to me, drawing me into his arms, and I let myself sink into his embrace, because I can smell the scent of death upon him, and I know this might be the last time I see him again.

Addio mio padre.

Chapter Eight - Ruslan

My Chicago office is one of the many Chicago River skyscrapers that overlook the water, and every morning I take the time to admire the view from above. It’s taken me many years to reach the top of my game in the Bratva network, and I don’t plan on falling off its perch anytime soon. With my hands shoved deep in my pockets, I’m distracted by a hard knock at the door.

“Come in,” I shout, still attempting to make heads or tails of our attempted heist of the Omerta files. Andrei and Mark should have obtained the CCTV footage already, but really the information I wish for has to do with retrieving the correct number for my special Red October.

Mark enters with a dubious expression lining his face, and I find myself wanting to ask about the wrong information. “I have news.”

I gesture for more information from him. “What news do you have? Is it to do with the girl? Did you get the CCTV footage from Destiny Bar?”

“The girl, hey?” Mark chuckles in amusement. “No, it’s not about the girl in the red. This news is about Kian.”

“News about Kian,” I repeat back slowly as I drift off momentarily, intrigued by my interest in the girl still.

“Yes—news about Kian. I have to admit, this is a new one. You’ve never been obsessed with a woman like this. And yet, she’s not even a woman yet. She looked young.”

I look up, assessing Mark for a moment, but I don’t care what he thinks of me. What I want, I take, and if it’s the girlin red from Destiny’s Bar that I want, then it’s her I’m going to have.

“She might be young, but she’s also smart, and she defied me. Nobody defies Ruslan Utkin, but I’m fine to play catch the mouse, but when I catch her—”

Mark’s face shifts, his cheeks holding air as if he’s about to burst out into laughter. “What will you do?”

“Don’t you worry about what I’m going to do with the girl. You should find one of your own and then you won’t be so concerned,” I spit back.

“Ah, you like her… she’s gotten under your skin.” Mark winks, his chuckle deepening.

“I would like to get my hands on her, that’s what I’m saying. What footage do you have to show me?”

“There’s some interesting CCTV footage that you might find useful for our Omerta investigation.”

“Hand it over. Let’s take a look.” Mark hands me a USB file, and I round my desk, slotting it into the side of the computer. Pulling up the surveillance footage, I take note of the time recorded in the bottom right-hand corner. My mouth presses together in a grim line, as I see it’s dated two weeks prior to our break-in. Balling up my fist, I shake my head. “Fuck, we were too slow.”

“Yes, it looks like we were—but watch,” Mark advises.

“Okay, let’s see who we have to steal the Omerta files back from.”

Mark and I pore over the action on screen, taking note of the streetlight up above shining on the derelict house, the time stamp reading a touch before midnight. A similar time to ours.I’m looking for people as the time passes on the screen, but what I should be looking for is a car.

That’s when I take note of it. What appears on screen looks to be a brand-new black Chrysler Dodge Ram blending in with the silhouette of the night’s backdrop. I watch as the car drives off, craning forward to check for the license plate, but it’s too dark on screen to pick it up.

“Son of a bitch. Who owns this car?” Jabbing at the screen, Mark points to the screen again.

“Finish up the video, and check the additional photos I’ve added in. They were taken by my sources. Guess whose car it is?”

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