Page 26 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

Ruslan laughs, striding across the room to sit beside me on the couch. His encroachment on my space instantly makes my body lock up, but at the same time there’s a magnetic pull towards the man because he looks sexier than ever. Confused by my reaction, I frown, building a small pocket of space between us, but Ruslan fills it, putting his large hand in the middle of us, his fingers covering mine.

Like an electric shock, energy shoots through my body, leaving Ruslan smug over his obvious effect on me. God, I’m so inexperienced in this dirty game of seduction, but I can’t let him know. “You’ll become very familiar with my last name soon enough.” His eyebrow peaks as he side-eyes me.

“Why’s that?”

Ruslan pauses for a second, his eyes boring into mine. “Because you’re about to carry it,” he whispers, leaving me in shock, my mouth dropping open.

“What?”

“You heard me. The Omerta Files are linked to you, so I might as well go ahead and marry you.”

“Marriage or not, you won’t find those files,” I tell him. “I made a vow to my dying father that I would protect those files. I won’t reveal those secrets to you,” I declare, revealing my father’s deathbed wish, even though I doubt the existence of the files, because all that’s in the bottom of the box is a picture.

“Hmm,” Ruslan replies, stroking his beard. “I admire your loyalty, and that’s an even better reason for me to marry you.”

“Oh, not because I have the Omerta files,” I cut back at him, finding my lost confidence. He chuckles as I do my best not to crumple because I’m sitting next to him. “It was a shitty joke,” I spit back as Ruslan’s broad shoulders shrug.

“Might have been, but of course we have to marry. We can’t have a child out of wedlock. That’s not the way Russians work. We are traditional people.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to marry a woman who you had a one-night stand with and whose father is a deceased Italian mobster?” I grate sarcastically.

“Yes. I am,” he replies matter-of-factly. “We take care of our blood—unlike your people,” he jabs back truthfully, my stomach full of rocks.

He knows my father abandoned me? Of course he does. He found you even when you gave him the wrong number. He’s a mobster and a killer.

Swallowing hard, tears glisten in my eyes, his subtle and ill-timed dig hitting a raw nerve. He says nothing else, getting up to leave the room, standing at the door for a second and replying, “Utkin. Your surname will be Utkin.” He clicks the door shut behind him, shattering any life I’ve ever known previously.

Chapter Sixteen - Ruslan

Hitting the right turn out of the parking lot for the day, I sigh, stretching my hands around the wheel, thinking things through. I can’t keep her holed up in that room forever. She’s not budging under the weight.

Mulling over the wedding and how quickly I need to marry Fiona, I consider the stakes. To me, they’re low. I could give a fuck about these women in Chicago. I’ve had and can have whoever I want. In fact, it’s a lot more fun for me, given Fiona has a number of taboo entry points. Pressing the gas, I move forward past a slow-moving car, knowing I don’t have all the details, but oddly, trusting her anyway.

There’s been no DNA test to confirm if the child is mine, but given how tight she was when I entered her, I already know I was the first to pop her coveted cherry.

As I hit a smooth run back home, a call comes in via Bluetooth. “Mark,” I say smoothly, happy for the interruption from my constant thoughts of Fiona.

“Boss. I’ve got news.”

“What is it?”

“Jamie Bergin.”

Both my eyebrows shoot up. “The last time I heard that name was when that car bombing took place downtown.”

“Exactly. He’s down, laying low apparently. I got a call this morning.”

Sighing, my mouth forms into a tight line. “What did he have to say for himself?”

“What do you think?”

“The Omerta Files, huh?”

“Yep. He’s gunning for them, and he wants to know if we have them so we can cut a deal with him if we do.”

My eyes smart when I think about the double-crossing Irish mob boss. He’s a fucking trickster, who stole valuable clients right from under our nose, costing us millions of dollars. Sure, it might have been over five years ago, but a Bratva boss never forgets those who’ve wronged him. “We’re not cutting a deal with Bergin. You can’t trust the bitch.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, but we need to get those Omerta Files. The news is spreading like wildfire, and he’s not the only enemy after the files.” Mark’s normally level-headed, so to hear the slight panic in his voice is interesting.

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