Page 80 of The Mafia King's Baby

I reach over to take her free hand. “We’ll see them tomorrow morning. The best viewing is at sunrise when they come down to the water. How are you feeling? Any nausea?”

She squeezes my hand and smiles. “Better today. The doctor said the worst of the morning sickness should start easing up soon. I think the baby likes car rides. I’ve been feeling different lately and more aware of the changes.”

The mention of our child sends warmth through me. I’ve been watching the subtle changes in her body over the past few weeks, the slight thickening of her waist that only she and I would notice, and each small transformation reminds me that we’re creating life together, building something innocent and pure from the chaos that brought us together. Seeing the baby on the ultrasound a few days ago really solidified it for me. There were no guesses for gender yet, but we’re having a singleton, and he or she is strong and healthy.

The bed-and-breakfast emerges through the trees, resembling something from a postcard. Its Victorian architecture, painted in soft blues and whites, features wraparound porches and gardens that reflect decades of meticulous care. It’s the kind of place where wealthy couples come to celebrate anniversaries, and where ex-fugitives seeking refuge bring their pregnant partners to momentarily pretend life is normal.

Celia steps out of the car and stretches, one hand supporting her lower back, which is already hurting her sometimes. “It’s beautiful. How did you find this place?”

I retrieve our bags from the trunk while scanning the property for potential security concerns. “Leonid recommended it. He stayed here once during a surveillance operation that required extended cover. The owners ask no questions and offer warm hospitality.”

The proprietress, a woman in her sixties with silver hair and kind eyes, greets us at the front door with the warmth of someone who’s built her business on discretion and comfort. She shows us to a corner room on the second floor, with windows overlooking both the garden and the distant water, where wild ponies roam free.

She hands me an old-fashioned skeleton key. “Breakfast is served until ten, and there’s a private beach path behind the garden. Most guests find the evening walks particularly peaceful.”

After she leaves, I close the door and engage both the standard lock and the additional security measures I had one of my associates—former now, since I’ve had to officially shut down all mybratvaoperations to comply with the terms of my deal, and my legitimate businesses will probably be forfeited to cover tax debt—sneak in and reinforce security measures in the room. Celia watches me with amused tolerance, understanding some precautions are too important to abandon.

She settles into the room’s reading chair, moving her hand in unconscious circles on her belly. “Still worried about federal agents bursting through the door?”

I check the windows and note the sight lines to potential approach routes. “Not legitimate federal agents, but Lang’s network had connections beyond what we’ve exposed so far.Until every corrupt agent and the syndicates they served is identified and prosecuted, we can’t assume complete safety.”

She tilts her head with curiosity. “Do you think we’ll ever stop looking over our shoulders?”

I sit on the bed’s edge and pull out my encrypted laptop. “After we disappear into our real new identities, yes. The government thinks they know our future plans, but they only know what I’ve chosen to tell them, and the businesses I’ve chosen to surrender. They have no knowledge of the assets I spent weeks moving around and hiding to prepare for our new lives. We’ll always be…comfortable.” I give her a small smile. Ten figures in hidden assets around the world will ensure we’re very comfortable. “Speaking of which, I have news about Morocco.”

Her face lights up with anticipation. “The riad?”

I turn the screen toward her, showing her the PDF documents I signed electronically with my new identity I’ll start using once my government obligations end. “It’s purchased as of this morning. Renovations will be complete by the time we arrive, and the staff will be carefully vetted through channels the Bureau can’t monitor. Our son or daughter will have gardens to play in and mountains to explore.”

She leans forward to study the documents more closely. “You really think we can make it work? Building a life so far from everything we’ve known?”

I close the laptop and move to kneel beside her chair. “I think we can make anything work as long as we’re together, but I have something else to show you first.”

The small velvet box feels heavier in my hands than its size should warrant, weighted with hopes for a future I never thoughtpossible. Inside, the simple solitaire speaks to elegance rather than ostentation. I look up at her with my heart pounding. “Celia Bourn, will you marry me?”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me the question surprises her despite all our planning about shared futures and new identities. Tears fill her eyes, and for a moment, I worry I’ve miscalculated, that formal marriage feels too much like permanence for someone who’s already sacrificed so much.

Her voice comes out as a whisper, then stronger. “Yes. Yes, absolutely yes.”

I slide the ring onto her finger, and she examines the ring with the kind of wonder that makes my chest contract with emotions I never learned proper names for until recently.

She holds up her hand to admire the ring. “It’s perfect. How did you know my size?”

I help her stand and pull her into my arms, careful of the slight curve where our child grows. “Leonid has many useful skills, including the ability to estimate ring sizes from photographs. I wanted to ask you properly, with a ring and romance instead of new identities with a shared last name and just assuming you’d follow me to Morocco.”

She reaches up to cup my face. “I would follow you anywhere, but I’m glad you asked.”

The kiss that follows tastes like promises and possibilities, being soft at first but deepening as we remember how long it’s been since we’ve had true privacy. Her body has changed since the pregnancy progressed, with subtle curves becoming more noticeable, but the desire between us has only intensified.

She says it against my lips, and I feel the words rather than just hearing them. “I love you.”

I pull her closer. “I love you too. Both of you.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the island, walking hand in hand along beaches where wild ponies leave hoofprints in sand that stretches toward endless horizon.

The ankle monitor chafes against my skin, but it feels like an inconvenience rather than a symbol of captivity. A couple more months, and I’ll be able to remove it once the first trial is complete. I’ll still owe testimony to the government if they need me, but I’m already arranging careful message relays that will ensure I get those correspondences to my government-issued new identity while still protecting our true new selves, so the feds never learn about it.

Dinner at the bed-and-breakfast’s restaurant passes in comfortable intimacy, sharing local seafood and wine while Celia drinks sparkling cider and glows with happiness that makes other diners smile when they look our way. We look like a couple celebrating their engagement and planning a future filled with ordinary joys, which we are, with just a few additional complications.

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