Page 28 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

“I see. You’re after food. Not a getaway.”

“No. Not a getaway,” she admits as I study her full face, reminding myself not to be too trusting of the siren. She’s duped me a couple of times already, and while it was impressive, I don’t plan on ever letting it happen again.

She holds her stomach, and I notice her protruding belly, understanding it’s important for her to eat. She’s carrying my baby, and I want her to be healthy.

“Not a getaway. Only a craving.” I smirk, growing fonder of her every day I spend with her.

“Yes,” she explains in exasperation, her stomach growling as confirmation. “My appetite has skyrocketed over the past few days. I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m eating all the food you’re bringing too.”

I finger a tendril of her dark hair, then open the fridge, the light illuminating her Coke-bottle body and producing a stiffer hard-on for me. Fiona stares down at it, her pretty mouth parting as my eyes bore into hers.

Feed her first. Restraining myself, I smile at her. “My eyes are up here, Fiona.”

Embarrassed, her face flashes redder than before as she coils her hair around her fingers in nervousness.

“Sorry, but it’s right there,” she mumbles, her eyes sinking into mine.

You’re so innocent and honest. I’ve never met one like you. God.

“You’re making it hard for me—literally. Especially when you come into the kitchen wearing that,” I answer, a demure grin rising on her face. She had to know I would find her. What if it would have been one of the other guards that saw her body like this? Instantly, my protective mode switches on, and I want to flare up in anger, telling her never to come out of her room like this again, but in the same breath, I’m turned on enough to want to spread her out on the kitchen table, and eat her instead.

“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in the house. I couldn’t hear anybody. Did you get rid of the guards?”

I stare at her warily, not wanting to tell her too much for fear of her escape, but I can’t walk on eggshells forever with her. We are too be married, and I can’t keep her locked away like a prisoner for much longer. “No. They were needed elsewhere. Those men are part of my street soldiers.”

“Oh.” Her lengthy eyelashes flutter, curiosity dancing in her eyes, but I don’t offer more. We aren’t there yet. Instead, I redirect the conversation back to why we’re here in the first place.

“What are you craving to eat?” I chuckle. “Besides me.”

Fiona laughs, and I relax. “Um, it might sound funny, but I’m craving salt. I want a salami sandwich with cheese, pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard. Oh, and a bowl of potato chips and orange juice on the side.”

I draw back from the open refrigerator, unable to believe her request, a frown drifting over my face.

“That’s really what you want to eat?”

Fiona nods her head slowly, a flash of worry on hers. “Yes. That’s really what I want to eat.” She rubs her belly, and Iresist the temptation to lay a comforting hand on her stomach, grinning back at her.

“That’s my favorite food,” I tell her with a smug smile, pulling out the premium slices of salami and cheese. “You’re about to have a Ruslan-style sandwich,” I drawl, my eyes drinking her in.

“What—you eat this regularly? I had no idea; I was thinking it was weird how my tastebuds have been changing so quickly. I wouldn’t eat any of this normally.” Her face lights up as I grab the condiments, reasoning a DNA test won’t be necessary. It’s too uncanny for her to be craving my favorite snack.

“Yes. It’s my go-to, including potato chips. When did you start having this craving?” I ask her, lining up the ingredients on the counter.

“I don’t know. The baby seems to like it, and I’ve had this insane craving for the salami, and the pickles. It’s hard to explain.”

“Not really,” I tell her, pulling a loaf of bread out of the bread box. “It’s my favorite food, so the baby’s letting you know, it’s a Utkin for sure,” I state with pride, slowly growing more and more excited about having a kid, even though it wasn’t on my agenda. I suspect Fiona will be a good mother, despite the obstacles standing between us.

“Yes, it’s your child. Did you ever think it wasn’t, Ruslan?” Fiona probes, standing beside me, her long hair grazing my arm as I lay out four slices of bread.

I stop momentarily, running a hand down her arm, and she doesn’t shy away from me.

“Red October, you tried to poison me. And you had me on a wild fucking goose chase across Chicago. But to be honest, I didn’t know. Still don’t—technically.”

Part of the chamber of my heart belonged to the Bratva, and I thought it had frozen over, but it hasn’t. I’m alive, and with the birth of my baby, my heart might just be thawing out. Fiona makes me feel something, and I can’t put my finger on what it is for the life of me, but I’m willing to find out.

“Yes. That’s fair. You don’t know, but I did tell you I was a virgin when we got together,” she mentions in a low voice as I spread the mayo on the bread, the soft syllables of her voice unravelling me.

Gently, I place the knife on the counter, tuning into her, her green eyes seeking out my approval. “I believe you. I could feel you were a virgin, when I was inside you,” I tell her, dipping to graze my mouth over hers. “But you’re not one anymore, are you?” I tease, skimming my long finger along the edge of her near-perfect jawline.

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