Page 19 of Mafia Pregnancy

By the time I finish, the table is perfect. Museum-quality china creates an air of refined elegance, crystal glasses sparkle like diamonds, and the silverware gleams against pristine white linens. It’s a setting that speaks to wealth, power, and the careful attention to detail that separates the elite from everyone else.

I’m gathering my cleaning supplies when I hear voices in the front hall. They’re mostly male voices, confident and commanding, and speaking in accents that suggest international business dealings. Radmir’s guests have arrived.

I slip out through the service hallway, invisible as I’m supposed to be. I’m just another member of the household staff who makes his life run smoothly, apparently including a randomorgasm. I stifle the laugh that would surely emerge with a sharp edge. When I hear his voice greeting his associates, I can’t shake the memory of how he sounded when he whispered my name.

This afternoon changed everything between us, whether we want to admit it. The question now is what we’re going to do about it. My plan is to return to denial, aloofness, and pretense. I can go on pretending he doesn’t matter to me, and he’s a stranger. It’s true in most ways, and I have too much to lose for casual pleasure that ends with nothing but unhappiness.

6

Radmir

Ten weeks have passed since I pressed Danielle against my desk and remembered what it felt like to lose control completely. Ten weeks of business trips I didn’t need to take, meetings I could have handled remotely, and deals I pursued in person solely to put distance between myself and the woman who cleans my house like she’s trying to scrub away every trace of what happened between us.

I’ve been to Prague twice, spent a week in Monaco handling financial arrangements that my accountants could have managed, and flew to Vancouver for a shipping negotiation that Andrei could have closed over the phone. Each trip was an excuse to avoid the estate and avoid watching her move through my hallways like a ghost who refuses to acknowledge my existence.

When I am home, she’s perfected the art of being invisible. She arrives precisely at eight, works in a blur, and leaves at four without making eye contact or engaging in conversation beyondthe occasional acknowledgement. If she’s in a room when I enter, she finds a reason to be elsewhere within minutes. If our paths cross in the hallway, she studies the floor like it holds secrets more fascinating than anything I might have to say.

It should be exactly what I wanted. Clean, distant, and uncomplicated.

Instead, it’s driving me slowly insane.

I’m reviewing shipping manifests in my office when I catch a glimpse of her through the doorway. She’s cleaning the hallway outside, working along the baseboards.

She looks exactly the same as she did that afternoon when I lifted her onto my desk and reminded myself why I don’t get involved with employees, except for the careful way she holds herself now, like she’s constantly prepared to flee.

I should look away and focus on the documents that actually require my attention instead of watching her dust furniture that’s probably already spotless. Instead, I catalog the efficient way she moves, the unconscious grace in her posture, and the way she pauses sometimes to check her phone with an expression I can’t quite read.

Footsteps in the hallway announce Andrei’s arrival, and I force myself to look down at the shipping reports spread across my desk. He enters without knocking, as he has for the past eight years, though he stops just inside the doorway.

I don’t have to look up to know he’s watching Danielle work. I can feel his assessment in the sudden stillness of his posture, and the way his presence fills the room with unspoken questions.

She must sense the scrutiny because she gathers her supplies and disappears into the guest room at the end of the hall. Only then does Andrei move fully into my office, closing the door behind him. “You’re focused on the wrong thing.” He settles into the chair across from my desk without invitation. “Again.”

I keep my attention on the manifest in front of me, though I’ve read the same shipping container number three times without processing what it means. “I’m reviewing the port situation.”

“You’re watching the help.” His tone carries no judgment, just the flat observation he might use to comment on the weather. “The same way you’ve been watching her for ten weeks, when you’re not conveniently finding reasons to leave the country.”

“The Prague negotiations required?—”

“The Prague negotiations required a phone call and a wire transfer.” Andrei leans back in his chair. “Just like Monaco. Just like Vancouver. You’ve been running from a house cleaner for two-and-a-half months.”

I finally look up from the papers, meeting his steady regard with what I hope is appropriate indifference. “I’ve been managing our international interests.”

“You’ve been avoiding your domestic complications.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through what I assume are his notes from recent surveillance reports. “Which brings us to the actual reason I’m here. We have a problem at the port.”

The shift to business is a relief, even though I know this conversation isn’t over. “What kind of problem?”

“Container 447-B was flagged by customs yesterday. A supposedly random inspection, according to their paperwork.Hard to believe it.” He slides a photograph across my desk. “This was taken three blocks from the customs office two hours before the inspection was announced.”

I study the image of a black sedan with tinted windows. The license plate is partially obscured. “Luca’s people?”

“Most likely. The same car was spotted near our Long Beach facility last week.” Andrei retrieves the photo and tucks it back into his jacket. “Someone’s mapping our shipping operations.”

I lean back in my chair. We’ve been careful to rotate our import routes, use different shell companies for documentation, and vary our timing to avoid establishing patterns. Luca knows our methods because he helped develop them during the years we worked together, so we’ve been trying to vary them, but clearly haven’t been as successful as I’d hoped. “What was in the container?”

“Legitimate cargo. Electronics from Shenzhen, all properly documented and declared.” Andrei’s slight smile suggests this outcome wasn’t accidental. “The shell company will pass inspection, and there’s nothing to connect the shipment to our operations.”

I sigh. “Yet the inspection cost us time and drew unwanted attention.”

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