Page 32 of Mafia Pregnancy

“What if I’m right? What if telling him about Leo and this baby puts them in danger? I can’t take that risk.” I take a deep breath. “Honestly, it’s not Radmir or even Andrei who really scares me as much as not knowing what his business is but knowing enough to understand anyone he cares about is probably a target if he has enemies.”

She slowly nods. We sit in silence for a moment, watching other residents of the complex go about their normal lives. A youngmother pushes a stroller toward the mailboxes and an elderly man waters the small garden plot beside his ground-floor unit. Everything looks so ordinary and safe. “I should go get Leo,” I say finally. “Aunt Molly said she’d keep him until five, but I don’t want to impose.”

“I’ll drive you.” She says it like a reconciliation, since we’re both at odds on this issue.

I blink back tears. “You don’t have to?—”

“I want to. Besides, I want to see how he’s doing. Kids are more perceptive than we give them credit for. He might be picking up on your stress.”

She’s probably right. Leo has been asking more questions lately, watching me with the kind of concern that no three-year-old should have to feel about their parent. I need to be more careful about hiding my emotions around him. It’s just one of many things I have to hide now that Mikhail…Radmir is unexpectedly back in my life, bringing myriad complications with him.

10

Radmir

I’ve been watching Danielle for weeks now, noting the way she slips through the house like smoke, finishing her work in rooms before I enter them and avoiding the spaces where we might be alone. After what happened in my office, she’s built solid brick walls between us.

I find her in the upstairs linen closet, folding towels with mechanical precision. The hallway is empty, servants occupied elsewhere, and she doesn’t notice me at first. I lean against the doorframe and watch her work, noting the way her shoulders tense when she finally senses my presence.

She turns, and for a moment, her veneer slips. I see want in her face before she rebuilds those barriers. “Mr. Vetrov, I’ll be finished here in just a moment.”

The formal distance in her voice irritates me more than it should. “Why are you avoiding me?”

She turns back to the towels, but her movements are less steady now. “I’m not. I’m simply doing my job.”

“You’re lying.”

Her hands still on the fabric. “I need to finish this and move to the guest rooms.”

She hastily folds the last towel before she moves toward the door, but I step into her path. The hallway is narrow here, and she’d have to push past me to leave. She stops just short of touching me, and her pulse is jumping at the base of her throat.

I step closer, and she doesn’t retreat. “You’re lying about something. I can see it in the way you won’t look at me directly anymore.”

She finally meets my gaze, defiance flickering there. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, probably another deflection, but I’m done with this dance. I reach for her, pulling her against me before she can retreat. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t push me away. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“Nothing. I’m not?—”

I silence her with my mouth, kissing her hard enough to make her gasp. She yields to me instantly, her body melting against mine in a way that contradicts every word she’s spoken. When I back her against the wall, she comes willingly, fisting her hands in my shirt.

This isn’t gentle. This isn’t the careful exploration from my office. This is hunger and frustration and the need to claim what’s mine. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand while the other finds the hem of her blue polo shirt.

She arches into my touch despite her breathless protest. “Someone could see.”

I work the polo up her torso, skimming my fingers along the warm skin of her ribs. “Let them.”

She shudders when I trace the edge of her plain white bra, and the small sound she makes goes straight to my cock. I push the polo higher, exposing her breasts to my view. The practical cotton bra should be unremarkable, but the way it frames her curves makes my mouth go dry. I can see her nipples through the thin fabric, already hard and straining against the material.

I drag my thumb across one peaked nipple, watching her reaction. “You’re so responsive. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

Even as she protests, she’s pressing closer, her body betraying her words. “You shouldn’t.”

I lean down to close my mouth over her nipple through the bra, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t think about how you taste? How you feel when you come apart for me?”

She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me against her breast. “This is insane. Anyone could walk by.”

I release her nipple and look up at her face, taking in her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. “Let them watch. Let them see how beautiful you are when you lose control.”

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