Page 9 of Mafia Pregnancy

That’s a nightmare scenario, but I try to sound unconcerned. “He won’t. There’s no reason for him to ever meet my employer, and Leo has never seen a picture of Mikhail. It’s a day job, Carmen. My work life and my personal life don’t intersect.”

“Are you sure about that? What if there’s an emergency? What if something happens and you need to bring Leo to work?”

“That won’t happen.” I cross my arms, trying to project confidence I don’t entirely feel. “I have backup childcare arrangements. Mrs. Rodriguez next door, my aunt, and even you in a pinch, though we work the same shift now.Myson will never step foot in that house.” I shrug. “There’s literally no reason for him to. If he did, I doubt Mr. Vetrov would notice him anyway or think to ask if he…his cousin, or whatever Mikhail might be, if anything, is Leo’s father.”

Before Carmen can respond, Leo appears in the kitchen doorway, holding a piece of paper and grinning with pride from creating something he thinks is perfect. “Mama, look what I drew.”

He hands me the paper, and my heart nearly stops. It’s a drawing of two figures standing side by side. There’s a tall man in black and a little boy holding his hand. The man has darkscribbles for hair and eyes that Leo has carefully colored gray with his crayon.

“It’s me and my daddy,” he says, bouncing on his toes. “I made him really tall, like a superhero. He’s gotta have my eyes, right, since I don’t have yours?”

My hands shake as I stare at the drawing. It’s innocent, the product of a four-year-old’s imagination and longing but having him make such a connection as eye color is devastating.

“It’s beautiful, baby.” I fold the paper quickly, my fingers trembling. “Why don’t you go play while Carmen and I finish talking?”

“Can I have a snack?”

“No. I’ll be making dinner in a few minutes.”

With a big sigh of annoyance at being denied a snack, he skips back to the living room, already distracted by his blocks, and I shove the drawing into the junk drawer where I keep batteries and takeout menus and other things I don’t want to examine too closely.

Carmen watched the entire exchange in silence, and when I turn back to her, her expression is thoughtful. “He draws pictures of his father often?”

“Sometimes.” I avoid her gaze, sitting back down at the table. “It’s normal for children his age to wonder about absent parents.”

“What have you told him about his father?”

“That he’s gone. I kept it vague.” I frown, feeling judged and not liking that. “I didn’t want him to feel abandoned or unwanted.”

She keeps probing. “Gone how? Dead? Traveling? Living somewhere else?”

“Just gone.” I wrap my hands around my coffee mug. “Leo hasn’t asked for specifics yet, and I’m hoping he won’t for a while. I don’t want to lie to him, but he’s too young for the truth.”

Carmen nods slowly, but she seems to keep mulling it over. She’s too observant and too caring. I can sense her wanting to push deeper into territory I can’t afford to explore. “Maybe working for Mr. Vetrov won’t be as difficult as you think,” she says finally. “Maybe seeing someone who reminds you of Mikhail will help you get closure. Put that chapter of your life to rest once and for all.”

“Maybe.” I don’t believe it for a second, but I need this conversation to end before I say something that reveals too much. “The important thing is keeping Leo stable and happy. Whatever discomfort I feel about the resemblance, I can handle it.”

“And if Mr. Vetrov ever asks about your personal life? About Leo?”

“He won’t. Men like him don’t make small talk with the help.” The words come out more bitter than I intended, but they’re true. Radmir has made it clear I’m invisible to him now, just another employee in his carefully ordered world.

She finishes her coffee and stands to leave, but she pauses at the kitchen door. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Danielle. Of you ever need to talk about any of this, I’m here. No judgment.”

I don’t snort in disbelief, but I’m tempted. I felt judged a couple of times during the conversation, but I know it comes from a place of caring, so I just nod and escort her out. After she leaves,I sit alone in my kitchen, staring at the junk drawer where I hid Leo’s drawing. Keeping this secret presses down on my chest like a physical thing. Carmen suspects something, I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn’t know how deeply this goes.

She can’t know. No one can.

In the living room, Leo’s narrating an elaborate story about his blocks, something involving dragons and castles and brave knights who save the day. His innocent chatter about heroes and adventures fills the apartment with warmth and life.

This is what matters. Leo is happy and loved and safe. I can’t let my complicated feelings about his father jeopardize any of that. The evening passes in its usual rhythm of dinner preparation, bath time, and bedtime stories. As I tuck Leo into his bed and kiss his forehead, he looks up at me with eyes that are exactly like his father’s.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Do you think my daddy would like my drawing?”

The innocent question pierces my heart, which is a question he’s asked several times now, as I think about it. I worry he’s going to start asking questions I don’t want to answer yet, but I force my tone to sound reassuring and try not to think about that. “I think he would love it, sweetheart, just like all the rest.”

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