Page 4 of Mafia Pregnancy

After dinner, he helps me clear the table, standing on a step stool to reach the sink and taking his job as official plate-rinser very seriously. He tells me about his friend Jaden, who has a new baby sister, and how babies are very small and cry a lot but they’re still pretty cool.

“Do you think I’d be a good big brother, Mama?”

The question makes me pause. “I think you’d be the best big brother in the world. Why do you ask?”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “Just wondering.”

We settle into our nighttime routine after that of bath time, teeth brushing, and three stories before he finally agrees it’s time for sleep. I tuck him into his twin bed, kiss his forehead, and turn off the light, leaving only the small dinosaur nightlight glowing in the corner.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

Once he’s asleep, I stand in his doorway for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing, before finally retreating to my own room. The apartment is quiet now except for the distant sound of traffic and the occasional creak of settling wood.

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror. The woman looking back at me seems older than twenty-seven, worn down by years of single motherhood and financial stress, but she’s also stronger than the girl who fell for a stranger’s lies four years ago. She’s built something real from nothing, created a life worth protecting.

What I’ve made here is enough. Leo is safe and happy and loved, and that’s all that matters. Everything else is just noise.

2

Radmir

The Zurich flight lands at San Diego International at six in the morning, three hours ahead of schedule thanks to favorable winds over the Atlantic. I’ve been traveling for eighteen hours, but my body refuses to acknowledge the fatigue that should be crushing me by now. Instead, I’m wired with the kind of restless energy that comes from closing a deal worth eight figures while maintaining the careful balance between legitimate business and the darker enterprises that fund it.

Success follows three weeks of meetings with Swiss bankers, German shipping executives, and a particularly tedious Bulgarian who insisted on conducting business over seven-course dinners that lasted until midnight. I endured sterile hotel rooms and conference calls that started before dawn and three weeks away from San Diego, the estate, and the life I’ve built here.

I had three weeks to forget about the application photo that crossed my desk the day before I left, belonging to DanielleArden. Even her name on the employment roster made something twist in my chest, a sensation I thought I’d buried four years ago along with the memory of citrus perfume and wine-stained lips that tasted like promises I assume neither of us intended to keep.

The moment I saw her photograph, I should have rejected the application and told Carmen to find anyone else to fill the position. Instead, I approved it without hesitation, then spent three weeks in Europe trying to convince myself it was a coincidence. The woman who haunted my dreams for months after I walked away couldn’t possibly be the same one applying to clean my house.

Now, as my driver navigates the morning traffic toward La Jolla, I know I was lying to myself. I recognized her instantly, just as I recognized the pull she still has on me. Her image on paper could make me forget about billion-dollar acquisitions and focus instead on the memory of her laugh when she couldn’t work the wine opener in that hotel room.

I should fire her before she can start. Maybe send Carmen a text and have it handled before I even walk through the front door. It would be cleaner that way and safer for both of us. Instead, I’m curious about what four years have done to her, whether she still has that unconscious grace when she moves, and if her voice still carries that slight rasp when she’s nervous or excited.

The estate appears around the final curve. Home, though the word feels insufficient for what this place represents. It’s a fortress, a sanctuary, and a carefully constructed symbol of everything I’ve built from nothing. Somewhere inside, Danielle is learning the layout, touching surfaces I’ve touched, and breathing air I’ve breathed.

I park in the garage and enter through the side door, moving quietly through the kitchen where Mrs. Yranda, my housekeeper, is already preparing coffee. She’s been with me for six years and is a quiet woman in her fifties who manages the household with military precision. She never asks uncomfortable questions about my business or the odd hours I keep. She looks up when I enter, surprise flickering across her features. “Mr. Vetrov. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“The flight was early.” I pour myself coffee from the carafe, inhaling the familiar blend I have shipped from a small roastery in Vienna. “How are things here?”

“Very smooth, sir. The new cleaning girl started today. Carmen vouched for her personally.”

I nod as if the information means nothing to me, and I haven’t spent the last three weeks wondering what it would be like to see her again. “Good. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

Instead of heading directly to my study, I end up taking the long way through the house, past the guest quarters and up the main staircase toward the gallery. The house feels different with her presence in it, charged with an energy I didn’t anticipate. Every room holds the possibility of an encounter. It’s unsettling in a way that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with memories I thought I’d successfully buried.

I hear her before I see her, alerted by the soft scrape of a ladder being positioned against the wall in the gallery outside my office. She’s cleaning the tall windows that line the hallway, working from one end to the other.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she’s wearing jeans and a simple blue shirt that brings out the goldenflecks in her eyes. Even from this distance, I can see the careful way she moves, testing each rung of the ladder before trusting it with her weight.

She reaches for the corner of the window frame, stretching to clean a stubborn spot, and I see the moment the ladder begins to shift beneath her. My body moves before my mind catches up, crossing the space between us in three quick strides.

The ladder gives way just as I reach her, and I catch her waist, pulling her back against my chest before she can fall. For a moment, we’re frozen like that, her body pressed against mine, my hands spanning her ribs, and both of us breathing hard from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

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