Page 36 of Surprise Baby for the Don

I turn back to Savinis’ men and smile cheekily, raising my hands to show I’m unarmed, and they step forward to pat me down, their hands rough, intrusive. They’re trying to assert their control, to remind me who holds the power here. But they don’t realize that every second I’m here, every second they keep me from Ginny and Rocco, they’re just fueling the fire inside me. The power they think they have is an illusion. It’s only what I allow them to have.

When they’re satisfied that I’m clean, they step back, motioning for me to follow.

“Boss is waiting in the office,” one of them sneers, jerking his thumb toward a door on the side of the warehouse. “Better not keep him waiting.”

I shoot him a cold look but say nothing, forcing myself to stay calm, to keep my anger in check. I can’t afford to lose controlnow, not when Ginny and Rocco depend on my cooperation. I follow them into the building, my gaze sharp, scanning every inch of the dimly lit space for any sign of them.

The warehouse is as grimy and decrepit as I expected. Rows of rusted shelves, old machinery covered in dust, the air thick with the smell of oil and mildew. Shadows flit along the walls, men stationed at every corner, their eyes trained on me. I can feel them watching, feel their smug satisfaction, their belief that they’ve got me exactly where they want me.

The Savinis have been waiting for this a long time. They never liked my father, and that disdain has seamlessly been passed down to me. It was my inheritance, whether I wanted it or not. Perhaps they thought that my father’s passing would mean that they’d be able to fill a power vacuum, to step up and take the city after he died.

What they didn’t know then, what they still seem to fail to grasp, is that I was calling the shots long before my father died. He was very ill in his last years, his mind not what it had once been. So I took over for him quietly, only Rocco aware that there was any change of guard. To everyone else, it seemed that my father was still in charge, still the powerful man he’d always been. It was the least I could do then to protect his legacy.

The men lead me down a narrow hallway, the silence heavy, oppressive. My footsteps are steady, my gaze forward, my mind racing with a thousand different scenarios, a thousand different ways this could go. I don’t see Ginny or Rocco yet, but I know they’re here. I can feel it, this pull in my chest, this certainty that they’re close.

Finally, we reach a door, and one of the men steps forward, rapping on it with a knuckle. A muffled voice responds fromthe other side, and they open the door, motioning for me to go inside.

I step through, my heart pounding, my fists clenched at my sides as I take in the scene. Carlo Savini is sitting behind a desk, his face twisted in a smarmy grin, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. David stands beside him, leaning against the wall with that same arrogant smirk, his gaze fixed on me like I’m a prize he’s already won.

“Mateo,” Carlo says, spreading his arms in a mock gesture of welcome. “Glad you could make it.”

I don’t respond, just stare him down, letting him see the fury simmering beneath the surface. I don’t bother hiding it. I want him to know exactly how close he is to death.

23

Ginny

Ilie on the cold concrete, cheek pressed against it so long I can’t feel it anymore. Numbness has taken over, creeping into my limbs, spreading up my side, a dull ache setting into my bones. The floor beneath me smells like dust and stale air, like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. I keep my breathing shallow, even, forcing myself to stay calm despite the fear that’s starting to claw at my chest.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, my wrists bound in zip ties, my body still and quiet. Every time I shift, even a little, the plastic digs into the skin of my wrists, rubbing it raw. I don’t even want to think about the angry red welts that are probably already forming under the plastic. I try to ignore it, try to ignore everything. The ache in my cheek where they slapped me, the cramping in my stomach, the dull throbbing in my head. I focus on the silence around me, the stillness, listening for any sound, any hint of what might be going on outside this room.

There’s a guard standing over me and Rocco, his shadow looming as he paces back and forth, agitated, impatient. Every few minutes, he stops, looking toward the door, muttering underhis breath. He’s distracted. Something’s happening out there, something big, something he wants to be part of. He doesn’t want to be babysitting the hostages; he wants to be out where the action is.

My gut tells me that Mateo must be here, or at least they’re waiting for him to arrive. I’d heard the man who hit me tell Mateo he’d better be here by six. I have no concept of what time it could be, but I have to imagine that it’s getting close to six.

Rocco sits slumped in a chair a few feet away, head drooping, his body motionless. There’s dried blood caked on his temple, smeared across his cheek, and my chest tightens every time I look at him. He’s so quiet, so I don’t know if he’s unconscious or just sleeping. I don’t let myself think beyond that.

The guard yawns, stretching his arms above his head, his eyelids drooping. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, keeping my face down, my body as still as possible. He’s not paying attention to me, not really. His focus is on whatever’s happening outside, his gaze drifting to the door every few seconds, the boredom and frustration clear on his face.

That means he’s an opening we can exploit. I start to move my hands, just a tiny shift, testing the zip ties around my wrists. They’re tight, biting into my skin, but I have small hands.

I wiggle my hands, twisting my wrists just enough to widen the zip tie without making it obvious to the guard. The pain is sharp, but I grit my teeth and keep going, focusing on the slow, subtle movements, on the feeling of the plastic giving way little by little as I try to maneuver my hand out of it.

Finally, I feel my wrist slip free. My heart races, adrenaline flooding through me as I carefully pull my other hand free,keeping them low behind my back, out of sight. The guard hasn’t noticed. He’s still looking at the door, oblivious, yawning like this is just another boring shift for him.

I keep my face neutral, breathing steady, as I reach behind me and pull at the zip tie loop, widening it as much as it’ll go. My hands are free, but I don’t want to make it obvious. I slip my wrists back into the loop, just enough to look like I’m still bound, and keep my arms close to my body, waiting.

A sudden, sharp pain shoots through my stomach, and I can’t help the low groan that escapes me. It feels like something twisting inside me, an ache that’s too deep to ignore. I don’t know if it’s the stress, the tension, or the potential baby that’s theoretically growing inside me, but it’s enough to make me gasp quietly, my body curling in on itself instinctively.

The guard glances over, his expression flat. I let my arms fall in close, hiding the looseness of the zip tie, and look up at him, my face contorted in pain.

“Shut up,” he snaps, glaring down at me.

“I can’t help it,” I groan, letting my voice sound shaky, weak. “My stomach really hurts.”

He lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Nice try.”

The pain hits me again, and for a split second, I freeze, my mind going blank. I try to breathe through it, keeping my face down, but my eyes flicker over to Rocco, watching for any sign of movement.

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