Page 75 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

Guilt and fear twist in my stomach. He’s right. I knew better than to go outside alone, even on hospital grounds. I’d been careless, distracted by my pregnancy and the question of how to tell him. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Something in my tone must alert him because his expression softens slightly. He reaches for my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?” he asks, studying my face.

“I’m fine. Just shaken.” I hesitate, wondering if this is the moment to tell him about the baby. The words form on my tongue, but the SUV turns onto the private road leading to our penthouse. Security gates open automatically when we approach. “What happens now?” I ask.

“Now, we reevaluate our security protocols,” says Damir. “Nikolai is getting bolder. This attack was meant to draw me out, to use you as leverage against me.” Damir’s hand tightens around mine. “We need to be more careful. No more unscheduled outings. No more slipping away from your security detail.”

I nod, too exhausted to argue. The events of the day have left me drained. As we pull into the underground garage, his handmoves to my abdomen again, resting there with gentle pressure. The gesture seems too deliberate to be coincidental.

“Damir,” I start, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He meets my gaze, and his is intense and knowing. “Later,” he says softly. “When we’re alone.”

The car stops. Anton exits first, checking the garage before opening our door. Damir helps me out, his hand never leaving the small of my back as he guides me toward the private elevator. I’d planned to tell Damir tonight, but I suspect he already knows somehow. I’m more nervous that I would have been otherwise, wondering if he’s going to be angry that I didn’t tell him sooner, excited, dismayed, or some complicated blend of emotions like those that assailed me when I first found out four days ago.

22

Damir

The private elevator to the penthouse ascends in tense silence. Elena’s hands still shake, the blood of her would-be kidnapper visible on her shoes. I maintain physical contact with her, my hand firmly on her lower back, but my expression remains cold, controlled fury. The metallic scent of blood mingles with Elena’s perfume in the confined space. My thumb traces small circles against the fabric of my coat that she wears in a gesture of reassurance that contradicts the storm brewing inside me.

Inside the penthouse, I direct my security team to sweep the entire floor again before dismissing them.

“Every corner. Every vent. Every possible entry point,” I tell Anton, my voice low and precise. “I want triple the usual surveillance tonight.”

Anton nods once, sharply. “You got it.”

They disperse throughout the apartment, their movements efficient and practiced. The soft beep of their communication devices punctuates the silence as they report clear zones to each other. Elena stands near the entrance, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the blood on her shoes.

When Anton returns with confirmation that the penthouse is secure, I dismiss the team with a nod. The door closes behind them with a soft click that echoes in the quiet space.

I cross to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as it flows from the crystal decanter. The familiar ritual does nothing to calm the rage simmering beneath my skin. I don’t drink it, instead setting it down with precise control as I turn to face Elena.

“You waited outside despite explicit instructions not to.” My voice is eerily calm, at odds with the fury coursing through me. “You positioned yourself in a vulnerable location. You ignored established protocols.”

Elena’s eyes widen slightly as she parts her lips to respond, but I continue before she can speak.

“Every security measure I’ve put in place—every guard, every camera, every protocol—exists for a reason.” I step closer to her, my gaze never leaving hers. “Tonight proved that.”

She takes a step back, her shoulder blades pressing against the wall. “Damir, I?—”

“What were you thinking, running into the night with my child inside you?”

Her sharp intake of breath confirms what her eyes already reveal—shock that I know. The color drains from her face as her fingers instinctively move to her stomach. “How did you?—?”

“The receipt for the pregnancy test in your desk.” I move toward her slowly, deliberately. “I found it two days ago.”

Her eyes widen. “You went through my things?”

“I gave you time,” I say, ignoring her accusation. “I set a deadline for confronting you. You had one day left.”

Elena’s gaze drops to the floor. “I was going to tell you.”

I again ignore her words and press on. “That changed when you were nearly kidnapped tonight.” I stop directly in front of her, close enough to see the striations of brown in her eyes. “We need to have everything clear, known, and plan ahead now. No time for secrets.”

The penthouse is silent except for the soft hum of the heating system and Elena’s uneven breathing. Outside, the city lights twinkle against the night sky, oblivious to the tension inside these walls.

“Why did you wait?” I ask, my voice softer now but no less intense. “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”

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