Page 100 of Enforcer

“No, you’re not!”

“Yup, one of the men suggested it last night, and we had someone fly in a test, and I took it first thing this morning! I’m having a baby, can you believe it?”

“Well, as much as Daddy fucks you…”

“Shut the hell up; you knew what I meant.”

I laugh as she sniffles.

“I’m so happy for you, B. You’re going to be an epic mom! I’m so excited. Oh God, I’m going to be an auntie?!”

The squealing recommences, and on my final spin, I spy Dante leaning against the wall at the end of the hall that leads into the kitchen from the foyer.

“Oh shit, sorry,” I say, forgetting I’m on the phone.

“Sorry for what?” Brynne asks.

“Not you. I woke up Dante.”

“Dante is still there? You are in love!” she squeals.

“I gotta go.” I end the call quickly and clear my throat.

“What the hell was all that about? I’m not opposed to all your bits bouncing around in the morning, but the screaming could’ve been dialed down some.”

He walks towards me, lifting my coffee mug to his lips and gulping a big mouthful down.

“Brynne is pregnant,” I tell him.

His answering smile is genuine and beautiful. “Damn, he works fast.”

I laugh a bit awkwardly.

“That’s awesome, though. They’ll be great parents.”

“I think so, too,” I tell him.

He kisses me, tasting like my coffee, before he turns and saunters back into the bedroom.

The weight of my best friend moving on with her life and starting a family presses down on my chest, catching me by surprise as I rub at the pang.

In a year, when Brynne is a mom and is happy with her husband, will I still be the girl who’s casually fucking the Ricci Enforcer, too afraid to commit?

“You coming, tesoro?” Dante calls from the bedroom.

I swallow, placing my phone down on the island as I pad toward the stairs that lead to the bedrooms upstairs.

The entire way, I let anxiety flounce back through me, knowing it’s the last thing I should do.

Dante left hours ago,and I started going over the books for Brynne. She wanted the accounts thoroughly reviewed before she got back so we could discuss whether all the ties to the trafficking her father was involved in were severed.

I can’t think, however.

I’ve been tossing the idea of calling my mother back and forth all day, and I finally cave and grab my phone.

By the third ring, she answers.

“Alyssa, dear, how are you?” Her high-pitched voice speaks to the wealth she used to have.

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