Page 48 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is why Ruslan doesn’t like me going out by myself.I see that they want me to pull over.Just follow what they say. Do it.

Pulling over, I stop the car, my shallow breaths leading me to hyperventilate.Please don’t hurt me or my baby. Come on, Ruslan find my location.I scramble to cover my phone, dropping it in the middle console as one of the men approaches looking oddly familiar to me.

Why do I know him. Deep grooves exist on either side of his mouth, his face sour, but he has my same coloring, and it’s obvious he’s Italian.

The man grins tapping on the glass of my side window, but the smile cracked on his face gives me the impression he knows me. Tense, I watch him through the glass, not wanting to roll my window down. I watch in horror as the man dips his hand in his pocket.

This is it. He’s about to shoot me. But thankfully, I’m wrong, he scrawls something quickly placing a dinner napkin up to the window spelling out his intentions.

I’m your Uncle Roberto. Fresh out.Blowing out a relived breath, I roll down the window for him.

“Hey there. I thought it was you. Sorry I had to do that,” he remarks in a hoarse voice, a dead ringer to my father’s.

“You did have to do that? Are you out now?” I gasp, thinking he was supposed to have been in for longer.

“Yeah, I’m out. Good behavior and a few favors,” he says, brushing me off, but I have no idea how it is.

“Ah, okay. Nice to see you,” I reply awkwardly, guilt surfacing as I think about the treasure chest of money we found.

“I want to see my niece, is that a crime?” he proposes, but something about him and his crew is giving me the heebie-jeebies. Second-guessing myself, I remember that my father trusted me to give over the Omerta files to him, so he can’t be that bad.

“No, it’s not a crime. Just let me park, and we can talk. Medelin Park is right next to us,” I say more so to cover myself. There’s plenty of people around, and the exit back onto the freeway is only a minute or two away. Ruslan should be here any minute now.

Wriggling out of the vehicle, my lips dry, reluctantly I stand close to the vehicle and a nearby park. He looks down at my stomach, a funny expression riding over his face, and I can’t tell if he’s pleased by the pregnancy or not.

“So, the rumors are true.”

I offer him a thin smile, cupping the underside of my belly. “Yes, the rumors are true. I’m pregnant.”

Now his face clearly shows open disappointment as his brow creases. “You couldn’t have picked a different man? Sure, you and your father had differences, but Ruslan’s your guy?”

“I uh—” I look around, feeling flustered by how much he already knows and his unwanted criticism.

“You’ve still got Italian blood pumping through your veins, and you picked a Russian?” The veins in his neck are starting to show as he becomes irate, and my father’s solemn words ring in my ear.

“Roberto has a nasty temper. That’s what landed him in hot water with the cops in the first place. Keep your wits about you with him.”I wish the warning sign, courtesy of my father, would have popped up earlier when I was inside the vehicle, but with baby brain, it’s become a mess up there, not a computer.

“I didn’t have a choice. He kidnapped me!” I fight back.

“Pfft. Kidnapping. You could have gotten out of that. You could have called me, and I would have found someone on the outside to handle it.”

“No, you don’t understand. He hunted me down. I really had no choice.”

“Nah, something’s not adding up. You’re having his baby. You’re lying!” he screams, and even if he’s my uncle, from the fire blazing in his eyes, I don’t think he’ll spare me.

“Please. Believe me.”

“No! You could have waited until I got out. Those were the fucking instructions. What? Are you dumb?” Roberto flips out,whipping out his gun as I start crying. I’ve got no other defenses, and I’m worried about my baby.

“I couldn’t,” I sob. “I was being targeted. Too many people knew about the files,” I try to explain to him, his face reddening in anger.

Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.I put my hands up as two other men race from the waiting Jeeps.

“You are a pretty little liar,” he throws out as his men reach me. “Take her back to the base. We’re going to make her Russian come and get her.”

I don’t know how they do it, but a bag is dropped over my head, and I’m powerless to struggle as the men haul me into their truck, taking me to God knows where. The drive isn’t that long, I count it to be no longer than thirty minutes when we arrive.

A tormenting storm of anger fills my chest as my heart rate speeds into overdrive. I end up dumped on cold concrete in a large open holding area in some sort of huge base in the middle of an empty field. There are chairs and good lighting, but I don’t know what the place is. To me, it’s another type of warehouse that I want to get out of.

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