Page 1 of Surprise Pregnancy for Villain

Chapter One

Nicoletta

“Did you hear a word I said, girl?”

My Aunt Carlotta’s shrill voice pierces my ears even through my top-of-the-line noise canceling headphones. I ignore her as usual and turn up the music volume to drown her out. I don’t have to listen to her. She’s not my mother or anyone’s mother, for that matter. She’s just an embittered old spinster, a fading former Mafia Princess, desperate to hold onto her past glory and privileged position of being the Don’s sister-in-law. I’ve upset the hierarchy by returning home and ousting her from the top spot of ladyhood in the Borelli crime kingdom.

“Nicoletta!” She screams, slamming her fist down on the table. “Did you hear me?” The impact knocks over my can of Dr. Pepper, spilling it all over the surface and her gnarled fingers. I hide a smirk; it serves her right, the old biddy. I quite enjoy pissing her off. It’s no secret that she hates me and hates me being here, but that’s okay. The feeling is mutual.

“What?” I yell, tearing the headphones from my ears in annoyance. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Busy doing nothing, as usual,” she says, shaking drops of red soda from her hands.

“I happen to be doing schoolwork,” I snap. “And I have to get this paper finished, if you don’t mind! So, fuck off and leave me alone.”

Carlotta’s face goes white with shock, her mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. “How dare you speak to me that way,” she finally blurts. “If your mother were still alive, she’d whip the skin off you. You need to be taught respect. It’s plain that my brother-in-law,your father,” she emphasizes, “has failed to do that.” She wags a finger at me. “I knew that boarding school would ruin you and turn you into an insolent, disobedient little tramp. Think you’re fancy now, don’t you, a college girl, ha!” she snorts. “You’ll never even graduate.”

I slam my laptop shut and rise from my chair. “Just watch me!” I snarl. “I wish my motherwasstill alive because she’d support my decisions. The only reason I came back to this miserable wretched house was to enroll in college. Father insisted I live here, or he wouldn’t pay the tuition.”

“Your father wants you here to do your duty to the family,” Carlotta goes on. “Not to entertain your college dreams. Now, you’d better go upstairs and start getting ready for the engagement party tonight.”

My insides curdle at the mention of this ridiculous event. I’ll never forgive my father for promising me in marriage to the worst human alive.

Lucca D’Angelo.

Just the thought of him makes my heart clash violently against my chest.

“Everyone’s been anticipating seeing you with your betrothed.”

I hate the idea of being given away like chattel. Worse, to be given away in front of everyone who’s anyone in the mafia circles at an overblown, over-the-top spectacle. I won’t do it.

“There’s no need,” I reply calmly, belying my agitation. “Because I won’t be there.”

“What?” Carlotta gapes at me, appearing even more shocked than when I told her to fuck off, and I love it. “You have to attend, you’re the bride to be!” she sputters.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be the bride, not anybody’s bride, ever! I won’t attend this stupid party, and I won’t marry that cold-hearted piece of D’Angelo shit.”

“You’d dare go against your father’s wishes? You spoiled, insolent little brat!” Carlotta says, looking incredulous. “Lucca D’Angelo is destined to become the next Don of this clan. You should be honored to marry him!” She sweeps a thin, bony arm across the expanse of the marbled foyer of the Borelli mansion in which we’re standing. “All that you see, all that you are is because of tradition! How dare you make a mockery of it!”

“Tradition!” I say, disgust dripping from my voice. “Screw tradition! I’m the daughter of Giovanni Borelli, the most powerful Don in the territory. If everyone in this family didn’t have their heads so far up tradition’s ass, I’d become the next Don and not Lucca.”

My aunt’s hooded, beady eyes narrow. “You know very well that only firstborn sons can become Don,” she says. “Since my sister failed to produce a son before she died, that honor reverts to the D’Angelo side of the clan. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take back that blasphemous comment and start doing your duty to this family.”

“No!” I yell back, fed up with her and this whole conversation. I don’t care that she thinks I’m a brat. I’m tired of hearing about duty and the D’Angelos and great-grandfather Borelli, who first came to America from Sicily, and his sister who married a D’Angelo, creating the dichotomous thread of the Borelli mob. I turn on my heel and march up the grand, curving staircase that leads to the second floor, my aunt still screeching like a hawk all the way up. I run to my bedroom and slam the door closed behind me. I flop down on my huge, round bed and punch the pillows in frustration. My eyes sting with tears, and I’m not sure if they’re of sadness or straight-up, red-raging anger.

I just can’t face all those people tonight, I can’t. And I can’t bear the thought of standing on a dais, pretending Lucca’s grip on my hand doesn’t hurt, forced to smile as they announce our engagement and condemn me to a life sentence of misery. I can’t erase the memory of our first meeting, the incident that sparked my fear of him. The incident I’ve never shared with a soul.

My father would kill him.

There will be war.

For the sake of peace, I’ll pretend it never happened.

Yet, I must find a way out of this engagement, and there’s only one person who can help me, the only person I trust. I grab my phone and punch Katie Huntington’s contact. While Katie came from a relatively wealthy background, the Huntingtons are not part of the underground mafia network. She’s a feisty redhead and the only one who understands what it’s like to be born into a dysfunctional family. I don’t know what I’d do without her, my best friend since childhood, my confidante, among many other things. I type out a text.

Me:Hey u, feel like goin clubbing 2nite…pick me up around 8?

Kate:8? That’s way too early for clubbing. What, do you havecurfew or something?

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