Page 5 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

“Boss, it’s not good.” The pilot’s voice is tense.

“New plan, we’re not going to Inverness. Too risky. We’ll land wherever we can, and call Leon for help.” My second-in-command stayed in London while I went to meet with Volk, because you never want your whole team away from home. Leon is smart, and loyal, and I can trust him with Beckton as well as helping with this. What he isn’t, is a good negotiator, so he rarely leaves London.

“Here.” Stephie points at the map. “It’s flat around this house, so getting the helicopter down should be possible. And there are so many hills everywhere else.” She gestures out of the window, and she’s right. Scotland is a fucking mountainous wasteland. The small flat area is the best bet. There are small grey curves on the map near the building, and it’s white beneath us rather than blue or green. Snow, as the Volk leader said.

Fuck. Just what we need.

“Have you got that?” The tablet I’m using links through to the one in front of the pilot.

“No.” There’s outright fear in his voice now. “I can’t see properly. It’s all dancing around.”

The map and the horizon are still steady for me. Ish. “At one o’clock,” I direct him.

The pilot turns slowly but jerkily, and we head towards the building Stephie identified. As ever, my little assistant has known the right way to support me, whatever the crisis. My princess. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Possibly be dead. Possibly be able to sleep. Maybe have had sex in the last four and a half years.

“See the roof?” It’s becoming clear through the snow. “You’re aiming for that area of flat between the boulders and the house.”

“I’ve got it, but it’s blurry.” He’s holding things together admirably, but struggling to hold the controls, his hands trembling.

“Can you help him?” I ask my bodyguard.

We’re descending fast, and my ears go painful and tight then pop as they equalise.

A grunt of pain comes from the other man in the front and I turn to him, fear gripping my throat. He’s barely conscious.

“I’m coming to help.” My hand is on my seatbelt, but Stephie’s is over it.

“Stay where you are!” the pilot roars at me. I fall back. “You’re safer there. I can… Brace, I can’t control this,” he says, voice high and tight. “The wind is much stronger here, funnelling through the valley.”

Stephie shrieks in fear as we bounce downwards, then slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle it. For a second, I think we’re going to be fine.

Then a gust must catch us, because the next thing I know, I’m slammed forwards in my seat, caught by the belt, and the glassof the windscreen shatters, avalanching down. The boulder we were trying to avoid is half in the cockpit.

The snow blows in.

Agony from slamming down onto the ground shoots up my body.

“Stephie.” My instinct is for her, despite the carnage right in front of me, and my deteriorating vision. And pain, who cares? “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice trembles in denial of her brave word.

There’s glass everywhere. All over both of us, and I vaguely recognise we must be cut, and that Stephie saved my life by stopping me going to the front of the helicopter.

“The fuel tank. We need to get out of here.” I fumble for my seatbelt release, and after a beat, Stephie does the same.

“Guys. Now.” As soon as I’m free, I’m on my feet and leaning into the cockpit. My stomach threatens to go inside out. The boulder has shattered the whole console and folded it into two of my best men, who have been many, many places with me. There’s blood pouring from both, and the angle of their necks is all wrong. The pilot’s eyes are glassy.

It’s a crush of pressure and failure that I can’t afford to indulge in right now.

I lunge for the door, which has partially buckled, and swear when it doesn’t move.

The fear that we could go up in flames—that Stephie would be burnt and in pain and then worse—is more than I can deal with. It lends me strength. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve kicked the door with everything I have, and it bends open. I’m breathing heavily as I grab Stephie from behind me and shove her out of the helicopter. She falls, almost flat on her face, into the snow.

“Go!” I yell.

My good girl doesn’t question me, she crawls away, leaving space for me to squeeze through the barely sufficient gap, and jump after her. Thankfully it’s a soft fall. It must be heather underneath the snow, because it’s too spongey to be grass.