Page 55 of Mafia Pregnancy

I park across the street and watch Leo jump out of the car and run toward the playground equipment with boundless energy. Danielle follows more slowly, carrying a small backpack and looking relaxed in a way I rarely see at the estate. She has her free hand casually on her stomach as though to keep her windbreaker from blowing upward.

Leo moves with confidence and purpose, climbing structures designed for preschoolers with the fearless energy of a three-year-old who trusts the world completely. He’s not slowed down by the residual wet spots from the storm two days ago and lastcouple of days of drizzle. He wears a baseball cap that matches his yellow jacket but also shadows his face, making it difficult to see his features clearly from this distance.

“Mama, look how high I am.” His voice carries clearly across the park as he reaches the top of a small jungle gym.

Danielle sits on a bench nearby, but her attention never strays far from her son. She’s protective without being hovering and alert to his safety while giving him space to explore. The easy affection between them fills me with longing I didn’t expect.

Even if Leo isn’t my son, I realize I want to be part of what they have. The thought surprises me with its clarity. I want to be the person Leo calls when he reaches the top of playground equipment. I want to be the one Danielle trusts with their safety and their future.

The realization is immediately followed by another. It isn’t safe to bring them into my world. Volkov’s attack, surely at Luca’s direction, proved anyone important to me becomes a target. The life I’ve built offers wealth and power, but it also brings constant danger. Is it fair to ask a woman and child to take that risk when they never chose this path?

They stay at the park for almost an hour. Leo plays with tireless enthusiasm while Danielle answers emails and occasionally takes photos of his adventures. She looks tired in spite of being relaxed, and I wonder when she gets to rest. It seems like her aunt, Molly Richardson, and Carmen are her only support system. In spite of that hint of weariness remaining around her, it’s a peaceful domestic scene I watch with growing yearning.

Eventually, Danielle calls to Leo that it’s time to go, but he argues for “five more minutes”. She agrees to five minutes, no more, and he scampers off to make the most of his extra time.

When the five minutes are up, he comes willingly, taking her hand as they walk back to the car. The trust between them is absolute, and I’m envious of what they share.

They drive to Scoops & Dreams, a small ice cream shop in a strip mall near their apartment complex. I park far enough away to avoid recognition but close enough to observe. This is my chance. If I’m going to interact with Leo, to get a real look at him and gauge Danielle’s reaction, now is the time, while they’re in public. I can’t show up on her doorstep like a psycho stalker. It has to be more casual and “accidental” than that.

I wait until they’re walking toward the shop before approaching from the direction of my car, timing it to look coincidental. “Danielle?” I inject just the right amount of surprise into my voice. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

She freezes, and I catch the flash of panic in her expression before she covers it with professional politeness. “Mr. Vetrov, I didn’t expect to see you in this part of town.”

“I had some business nearby and thought I’d grab something sweet.” I crouch down to Leo’s eye level, finally getting my first clear look at his face without the baseball cap shadowing his features. “Who’s this handsome fellow?”

My mouth still works enough to ask the question, but the resemblance stops me cold. Leo has my eyes—not just the color, though the gray-blue is unmistakable, but the shape and the way they dominate his face. His hair is dark like mine, and there’s something about the set of his jaw that looks achingly familiar.

“This is Leo,” Danielle says, her voice carefully controlled. “Leo, this is Mama’s boss, Mr. Vetrov.”

“Hi,” Leo says with shy politeness.

“Hello, Leo. It’s very nice to meet you.” I keep my voice gentle and non-threatening. “I was just thinking about getting some ice cream myself. Would you like me to treat you both? I’d love the company, and you look like he knows all the best flavors.”

“Can we, Mama?” Leo looks up at Danielle with pleading eyes. “Please? I haven’t had ice cream yet today. We were going to get some anyway.”

Danielle hesitates, and I see the internal struggle playing across her face. She wants to refuse, but Leo’s excitement makes it difficult, and declining might seem rude or suspicious. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Vetrov, but we couldn’t?—”

“Please, I insist. It would be my pleasure.” I stand and offer my most disarming smile. “I rarely get the chance to meet such charming company.”

Leo tugs on Danielle’s hand. “Mama, please? Mr. Velveeta seems really nice.”

I choke back a laugh at the butchering of my name. “Mr. Vetrov, but you should call me Radmir.”

“Okay, Mr. Radmir.”

The innocent trust in his voice does something to my chest. This is my son—I’m certain of it now—and he’s looking at me without fear or suspicion. Just the open curiosity of a child meeting someone new.

“All right,” she says quietly. “That’s very generous of you.”

Inside the shop, Leo takes his role as flavor consultant seriously, pointing out different options and explaining the merits of each with earnest enthusiasm. “That one’s cookies and cream, and it has real cookie pieces. The strawberry is good but not as good as the chocolate chip. Oh, and the mint one is really cold but in a good way.”

I listen to his detailed analysis while stealing glances at Danielle, who watches our interaction with barely concealed tension. Her hands fidget with her purse strap, and she keeps looking toward the exit like she’s calculating escape routes.

“What do you recommend, Leo?” I ask, genuinely curious about his preferences.

“Chocolate chip cookie dough is the best one,” he says decisively, “But rainbow sherbet is good too if you want something that’s not too heavy.”

“Excellent advice. I think I’ll try the chocolate chip cookie dough.” I look at the teenager behind the counter. “Two scoops, please, and whatever Leo and his mom would like.”

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