Page 68 of Captive Mafia Wife

Still a loyal leader of the Kings, Callum answers her with a solid, “Aye.”

“Even if it’s a wee one we’re talking about protecting?” Freya crosses her arms over her chest, darting him her “big sister” stare. I’ve seen her use it on Callum before.

This time, Callum doesn’t waver. “Aye, Freya. It’s not possible.”

He rounds the table to take Freya in his arms. “I’m sorry?—”

“Stop.” She quickly rises on tiptoe, kissing his cheek before pushing him onto me for goodbyes so she can wipe the tears from her eyes privately.

His gaze meets mine as he gives me a firm handshake. “I know you’ll take care of them both.”

“With my life,” I say.

Callum says, “I’ll be in touch.” We embrace briefly before leaving the room to collect Pearl and say goodbye to Fiona.

My future with the Kings was not discussed tonight, nor do I care to.

My loyalty lies with Freya. If Freya is out of the inner circle, I will also extract myself. We are a package deal. We leave the Great Hall, and she holds my hand tightly.

She knows my thoughts. “Thanks for always being at my side.”

I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was so lovely to hear her say the words. I ask her, “Freya, tell me, where are we going?”

“Home, Fredrick. Let’s go home.” She gives my hand a return squeeze.

After a tearful goodbye between her and Fiona, we leave, Pearl sleeping in her arms. She’s quiet on the ride home, her face trained at the window. She’s lost her community, now her place in the Kings. Soon, she will lose that precious baby in her arms, as well.

Freya’s strength first drew me to her; as I said, she’s a sword, and I’m more than happy to be her shield. Even a goddess warrior has an Achilles heel, hers being the love of her people. Even with those ties healing, Freya has her breaking point.

I fear we’re growing dangerously close to that line.

Chapter Nineteen

Freya

A few weeks ago,in the middle of that street in Edinburgh, I held that little girl in my arms, shielding her from the world, and instantly, she felt like mine.

But och!—how fate has done me wrong!

Does she adore me? Yes. She gives me her sunshine-filled smile the moment I walk in the door. She reaches her wee arms out for me to pick her up.

But when she’s hurt, scared, and feels like there is anything just a little bit off in her world…

She wantshim.

I’d say it’s infuriating, but any woman with a uterus knows the flutters you feel when a handsome, stoic man melts under the tender weight of a child, soothing them with sweet words. A carnal power as old as the Earth takes over.

You want to ride him hard and fill your empty womb with his babies.

I know, eventually, we will find Pearl’s family and reunite them.

We’re doing all we can to find her mother and blood relatives. It’s been weeks without so much as a nibble. There are no missing children’s reports that match her unique description, and there are no files that Social Care Support or Child Protective Committees can find with a photo like hers. A DNA test did find us one match; her father had one done when he was in police custody a few years ago.

Ross Macdonald is an alias. The dead man with the light blue eyes and vine tattoo on his neck, Pearl’s father, is really Tartan Erwin—a thirty-four-year-old Scottish man with prior domestic violence convictions.

After searching the National Records of Scotland for any birth registered in Scotland since 1855, we’ve not found his unique first name, Tartan, listed as a father on any extracts, or short or full birth certificates.

Regardless, as any solicitor knows, DNA doesn’t lie.

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