Page 77 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

A flush spreads across her cheeks at the memory. “Maybe for you.”

“For both of us,” I correct her. “You’re not that good an actress, Elena.”

She tries to look away, but I hold her gaze. “When did you find out?” I already know but am compelled to ask anyway.

“Four days ago. I denied the signs for a few days before that though. The nausea, the fatigue... I thought it was stress at first.”

“Four days.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “You kept this from me for four days.”

“I was going to tell you tonight,” she says quickly. “I had decided on that while I was in the parking lot, before....”

I stand, needing distance to control the anger threatening to resurface. “Four days of you walking around unprotected, vulnerable.”

“I wasn’t unprotected. Your people?—”

“Weren’t enough tonight, were they?” I turn to face her. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did...”

The image of what could have happened flashes through my mind as I see Elena dragged into a van, taken to Nikolai, and used as leverage against me. Ultimately disposed of once he’d used her to hurt me.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I didn’t think?—”

“That’s the problem. You didn’t think.” I grit my teeth. “This isn’t about just you anymore.”

She stands, crossing the distance between us. “I know that now.”

“Do you?” I search her face. “Do you understand what’s at stake?”

“Our child,” she says simply.

The words hit me with unexpected force. Our child. Not my child, not her child.Ours. A life we created together, a permanent connection between us that can never be severed. “Yes,” I say, my voice rough. “Our child.”

Elena reaches for my hand, placing it back on her stomach. “I want this baby, Damir, and I want you to want it too.”

“I do.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she blinks them away quickly. “I was afraid you’d see it as a complication. An inconvenience.”

“Never.” I pull her closer, one hand still on her stomach, the other at the small of her back. “This child is part of me and part of you. It will never be an inconvenience.”

She relaxes against me, resting her head on my chest. I feel her pulse beating slightly faster than normal, matching the rhythm of my own. “We’ll need to make changes,” I say, my voice softer now. “Not just security, but to living arrangements, schedules, and plans for the future.”

“I know.” She looks up at me. “But can we talk about that tomorrow? Tonight has been...”

“Overwhelming,” I finish for her. “Yes, we can discuss details tomorrow.”

I lead her to the couch, sitting beside her. “How are you feeling?” I ask, studying her face for signs of distress or discomfort.

“Physically? Fine, mostly. The morning sickness is pretty much always there but mostly low grade for now.” She offers a small smile. “Emotionally? I’m still processing everything.”

“The pregnancy or the kidnapping attempt?”

“Both.” She slumps back against the cushions. “It’s a lot to take in.”

I nod, understanding her need for space to process. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“No, not yet. I was going to make an appointment after I told you.” She glances at me. “I wanted us to go together.”

The simple statement catches me off guard. Us. Together. As if we’re a normal couple expecting a child, not a mafia leader andhis arranged wife navigating a dangerous world. “I’d like that,” I say, almost surprising myself with the sincerity of the words.

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