Page 3 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

He never scared me. But this is a bit scary.

“Did you take some time off after the helicopter crash?” he asks roughly.

I bite my lip and shake my head.

He huffs with annoyance. “I told you to?—”

“I wanted to work. It was better than…” Being sad that he doesn’t love or want me.

He folds his arms over his chest. It’s an uncharacteristically defensive pose.

“I understand.” His voice is so deep and solemn, I can practically feel it through the floor.

“Things might change,” I say impulsively. “Could I arrange to have some time off in a few months? After I begin this new role and I’m settled into it?” When I give birth to his baby. It would be good to have it planned in advance.

And although I could ask for maternity leave, I’d rather keep the pregnancy to myself for a bit longer. Another week to come to terms with the fact he’s rejected me again. I’ll tell him when the lump in my throat is more manageable.

No one knows yet. My generous salary means I could get an evening appointment for the first scan, and I’ve altered my clothing to hide the growing bump, so anyone else at work probably thinks I’m embracing being frumpy.

Mr Bridger nods. “When were you thinking of?”

The mental maths is instant. I’ve been counting weeks and months since our night in the cabin in January. I pause, as though I haven’t thought about it, and shrug. “End of October, maybe? Halloween abroad would be fun.”

His head tilts slowly, and I realise my mistake. In one of our many conversations, I told him that I don’t like Halloween. My parents wouldn’t let me get dressed up or go trick or treating, and once I was old enough to do it on my own, I felt that I was faking at a joy I missed out on when I was younger. I might even have confessed that I was waiting to enjoy Halloween with my own kids, if I had any.

Mr Bridger had told me he’d used a bedsheet to be a ghost, and gone out without his parents knowing. It was the one time of the year he got treats.

Is it morning sickness, or nerves that’s making my tummy clench?

My boss’ gaze drops again.

And that’s when I notice.

My hand is cupping my bump.

My blazer has fallen open, and my hand is pressing against my belly, in that pose that’s seemingly natural to pregnancy, showing exactly where my body now curves.

“You’re…” He’s staring right at my stomach.

He knows. His grey eyes slide up to my face, and there are so many feelings there. Fear. Wonder. All the emotions I went through when I discovered.

There’s no point in lying now. Once he starts to question, he won’t let go. He’s utterly ruthless when he wants to know something.

I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

2

DANE

Four months earlier

The leader of the Volk bratva smiles at me as we walk to my helicopter on the roof of his compound in Norway. The meeting has gone well, but I don’t trust that smile. I check out of the corner of my eye for Stephie. She’s just there, and I flick my gaze immediately away. Never good to show anyone what you value most. It’s too easy to exploit.

I really should think of her as Miss Oliver, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Too formal for the young woman I fuck every night and make scream my name as she comes.

In my dreams. My imagination that goes wild for my little assistant, and has since we first met.

“Safe trip back,” he says, insincerely. “I hear there is snow forecast, and you English can’t manage with anything but rain.” His laughter is mocking.