Page 30 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

Curious as to what she means, I frown. “I have no idea what I’m getting ready for? Are we going out to dinner someplace?

“Yes, oh yes you are. You’re due to attend an Utkin family dinner. It’s a very important event, and it will be good if you can make an impression.”

“Impression?” My voice changes pitch as a tug pulls in my chest.

The maid stops buzzing back and forth with a smile. “Yes. It’s a Russian tradition to meet the family before getting married. It’s only right,” she chirps, her automatic response agitating me.

“Right, the marriage,” I retort, the bitter acid of regret scorched on my tongue. Rolling my eyes, I wish I could go back in time and correct my stupid dare. If I knew what I knew now, I wouldn’t have done it.

The maid gets back to her duties, leaving me feeling painful regret. Rubbing my stomach, I feel guilty about my thoughts, because it’s not as if I’m upset about the baby. I just wish it was with a man I could truly love.

I can’t marry Ruslan. He’s everything I loathe in a man. I want a perfect gentleman for my child. Not a ruthless Mafia boss who sees me as his possession to do with what he will.Heading into the bathroom, I drag my hair up off my neck, distracting myself from the dire situation I’ve thrown myself in, not sure about anything.

Tingly heat flushes through my pussy as I think about our steamy encounter in the kitchen, pre sandwich. I would have let him do anything to me, and I wanted him as much as he craved me. We wouldn’t have made it to the bedroom, but it was Ruslan’s self-restraint that set the groundwork for the interlude to only go so far. It’s as if I’m powerless under his touch.

“Why can’t I keep it together around him? I should resist,” I scold with a mumble, a pang of guilt knifing through my stomach. Unfortunately, there’s a huge part of me that’s more than willing to submit to him. The fire of his touch burns so good, it’s the only thing setting me alight. I wonder if it’s because I gave my virginity away and I’m birthing a son with him.

Some say you never forget your first love….

Disgusted with myself for putting love and Ruslan in the same sentence, I hover over the bathroom counter—my face deadpan and bare, reminding myself of the ugly truth in the huge mirror.

“That’s not what this arrangement is. It’s as far from love as it can get,” I remind myself, a jaded expression blanketing my face. Marriages of convenience are the norm in Mafia circles, it’s not as if I don’t understand the protocol. But my sweet mother convinced me it was different with her and my father.

“We married for love, Fiona… but your father and I… w-we have to part ways because your father chooses the mob over us,” my mother confessed to me one night when I asked about her and my father’s complicated relationship. “He loves you, and by you staying here in Ohio, it’s the ultimate display of his affection. I thought I could change him. That I could get him to live a more wholesome life—but it’s not in him. He has this thing inside, and he won’t let it go. The mob’s got a hold on him. Your father has his ways. I can only turn a blind eye to some things.”

“Mom, what—”

“Never mind. It’s better you don’t ask so many questions but know this—your father moving on to Chicago is the best thing for both of us. You’ve got a chance at a normal life. Me—maybe, but only if I stay living my humdrum life in the shadows. I’ve sinned too. I watched him do horrible things—covered for him.” She shivered as if relieving the events. “I don’t want that for you, and neither does your father,” my mother told me as she sat staring at the TV screen, spilling everything to me. “I’m a rotten sinner like everyone else. A mob wife. No, Fiona. Promise me that you won’t be like me, because once you’re in, there’s only one way out.”Her haunting speechchilled me to the bone, and that conversation as a teenager is what led me to not ask much more about my father.

Yet, here I am, the sins of my father being passed on to me. I’m destined for the same fate as my mother, only this time, I’m an open target.

“Sorry, Mom, I did turn out to be just like you,” I whisper bitterly, unaware of how long the maid’s been watching me in the bathroom doorway. Blinking rapidly, I plaster a small smile on my face. I’m about to walk out of the bathroom, when the maid stops me.

“You should do your hair and makeup.Trust me.You don’t want to go to one of these Russian dinners and disgrace yourself. I can tell you. Here, I can help you with your hair. I’ve been admiring it since you’ve arrived.”

Scoffing, I hold on to the sink, staring back at her through the mirror, as she selects a stock of makeup supplies from the drawers beside us. “Arrived? Is that what you call it?”

She pauses with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry,” she rushes out. “I didn’t mean anything by it. If you prefer to do your own hair and makeup, I understand.”

I clap my hand over her wrist. “No. Stay. Please help.” My eyes beg with her, because any kind interaction is welcome. Ruslan has every shade and color known to man, and as she pulls out all the makeup supplies, I’m surprised by the wave of jealousy hitting me.

Is this a special suite for his women?I let go of the thought, thinking I do want to make a decent impression, but truthfully, I don’t know what I’m in for with his family.

“Okay, I will do my best. I think there’s a hot curler here. I think curls would look nice, and a smoky eye.”

“Perfect.” And for the next twenty minutes, I have a normal conversation with the housekeeper, and by the time my makeup and hair are done, I find my mood’s elevated as well.

“Ah, now you look like the perfect bride to be.”

Nodding my head, I admire the cascading loose curls, and the smoldering eyes. I left my mouth lined with clear gloss, but it’s enough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve got rooms to clean, so I better get back to it. Best of luck,” she issues, quickly stepping aside. I put on the delicate pair of gold earrings Ruslan’s brought for me and walk out to the open area, waiting for Ruslan.

But it’s not me waiting for him. It’s him waiting for me. He’s already standing near the couch. His devastatingly seductive darkness and heady cologne have me aching to jump his bones.

A gentleman, but underneath the formal suit, a deadly wolf lay. I’d already experienced Ruslan’s primal side, and liked it—does that make me a wolf too? But right now, I admire his self-containment as a low whistle breezes from his lips. He isn’t like any of the immature Chicago boys I’ve dated.

“You are beauty worthy of every star. My family are going to love you.” I blush,his admiration making me feel womanly.

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