Page 57 of The Mafia King's Baby

“Did you get everything we needed?”

He nods.” Everything remains secure too. I saw no movement on any of the access roads, no unusual aircraft activity, and no onein the town paid much attention to me either way.” He opens a new database query. “How’s the financial analysis coming?”

I push one of the spreadsheets toward him. “We have enough to implicate at least fifteen agents directly, with circumstantial evidence on another dozen. The money trail is clear—payments from known criminal organizations followed immediately by favorable outcomes in federal cases.”

He studies the numbers with the same sharp attention he applies to everything. “This is enough to bring down entire field offices, which will start the domino effect of bringing down their criminal associates.”

“If we can get it to the right people who will act on it and not ignore it without getting killed first.” My gaze drifts toward Celia, who’s staring at her laptop screen without typing. “We need to be certain about our next moves. We won’t get a second chance.”

The afternoon crawls by as we continue building our case against Lang’s network. The evidence overwhelms with its scope, but presenting it safely requires careful planning. Every corrupt agent we expose creates more enemies who want us dead. If we don’t present this loudly enough not to be ignored, it will be swept under the rug, and we’ll be disappeared.

When evening approaches, I suggest we take a break and prepare dinner. Celia offers to help, though she moves with the deliberate slowness of someone conserving energy, keeping one hand pressed to her stomach. I assign her the simple task of chopping vegetables for salad while Leonid and I handle the cooking.

As she works, she pauses occasionally to breathe deeply, fighting off what looks like waves of nausea. When she reaches for the tomatoes, the knife slips slightly, which is unusual for someone generally so precise.

“You should rest.” I move closer. “Leonid and I can handle dinner.”

“I’m fine.” Even as the words leave her mouth, she sets down the knife and presses both hands to the counter for support.

I catch Leonid’s gaze across the kitchen and nod toward Celia. He follows my gaze and something shifts in his expression—not quite surprise, but a kind of recognition that makes unease prickle along my spine.

After Celia excuses herself to lie down, claiming exhaustion, I corner Leonid by the stove where we’re browning meat for pasta sauce. “Have you noticed anything unusual about her behavior?” I keep my voice low though she’s unlikely to hear us with the cinderblock walls.

Leonid continues browning the meat without looking at me. “She’s been through a lot. It’s natural that she’d need time to adjust.”

“This isn’t adjustment stress. She’s sick every morning, tired constantly, and can barely keep down food.” I study his profile, noting the careful neutrality of his expression. “You’ve noticed it too.”

“I’ve noticed you’re worried about her.” He finally looks at me. “Maybe you should talk to her directly instead of speculating.”

The suggestion seems reasonable, but something in his tone bothers me. Leonid is usually forthright to the point ofbluntness, offering his opinions whether they’re requested or not. This diplomatic deflection is unlike him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He doesn’t blink. “There are lots of things I don’t tell you. Most of them aren’t my business to share.” He turns back to the stove with finality that ends the conversation.

That night, Celia falls asleep quickly beside me, exhausted despite having done relatively little during the day. I lie awake listening to her breathing, trying to make sense of the symptoms I’ve observed and Leonid’s evasive responses. Something is happening that I don’t understand, and the not knowing gnaws at me like hunger.

When she stirs restlessly around midnight, I reach for her instinctively, pulling her closer against my chest. She settles into my embrace with a soft sigh, and I allow myself a moment to simply hold her, to feel grateful for her presence despite all the chaos it’s brought.

The thought of losing her terrifies me more than any enemy I’ve faced. She’s become essential to my existence in ways I never anticipated, anchoring me to something beyond survival and revenge. Whatever is making her sick, we’ll find a solution. I won’t let anything happen to her.

Dawn comes early,bringing pale light through the compound’s tinted, reinforced windows. Celia shifts beside me, then suddenly bolts upright with a sharp intake of breath. Before I can fully wake, she’s stumbling toward the bathroom with one hand clamped over her mouth.

I follow immediately as my brain snaps fully awake, reaching the bathroom just as she drops to her knees beside the toilet. The retching sounds are violent and prolonged, worse than I’ve heard before. I kneel beside her and hold her hair back from her face, rubbing gentle circles on her back as her body convulses.

When the spasms finally stop, she remains hunched over the toilet, breathing heavily. Sweat beads on her forehead despite the coolness of the morning air.

“This has to stop.” I help her sit back against the bathroom wall. “Whatever is causing this, we’re getting you medical attention today.”

She shakes her head weakly. “We can’t risk bringing a doctor here, and I can’t leave the compound safely.”

“Then we’ll figure out another way, but you can’t keep going like this.” I study her pale face, noting the dark circles under her eyes, and the way her hands tremble slightly. “Talk to me, Celia. What’s really going on?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t respond. She stares at the bathroom floor with an expression I can’t read that’s part fear, part resignation, and part something else entirely.

“I need to tell you something.” Her voice barely rises above a whisper.

The tone sends alarm through my chest. “What is it?”

“I’m pregnant.”

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