Page 6 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

I stumble up, my vision still not right, but not deteriorating as badly as I assume the pilot’s did and grab Stephie under her armpits as she attempts to get to her feet.

“The others!” she protests as I drag her away. There’s not a high probability of fire, but it’s definitely not nothing, and I’m not risking it. Stephie is too precious.

“It’s too late for them,” I tell her bluntly.

A glance out of the corner of my eye shows me her shock. Thankfully, the adrenaline of the crash is counteracting the effects of the drugs, and my vision is crisp, my senses on alert.

When we’re a decent distance from the helicopter, I stop. And that’s when things begin to sink in.

I’m still holding Stephie. She’s slight. Delicate. This is the first time I’ve held her, and my body responds with a flare of longing and need so intense I have to check myself, putting my feet further apart to not be unsteady. I knew she was tiny compared to me—everyone is when you’re six-foot-seven—but she must only be about five feet and four inches, and she’s almost doll-like in my arms. My princess. I’ve turned her without thinking, so my hands are at her side and on one shoulder. She’s stronger than she looks, too. The only solid thing in the world right now. Her hair is a bit messy, and she’s breathing hard, her eyes wide, but otherwise, my girl is as calm as ever.

Which is good, because I’m unsteady, my vision blurred.

Snow is gently falling, with the occasional gust that forces it against us. The same wind that meant we crashed, when combined with the pilot being drugged by Volk. Bastards clearly meant to kill us all in a helicopter crash.

“That’s it.” I don’t know what I’m saying, or why. Is it intended to comfort Stephie, or myself?

I swallow hard and fight the urge to sway.

Stephie looks over her shoulder at the helicopter. “Should we go back for the others?”

“Never return to a lighted firework,” I reply grimly. I’d like the first-aid kit and other items in the helicopter, but I’m not putting either of us in danger to fetch them right now. Not when the engine is hot, and the status of the fuel tank is uncertain.

She glances up at me, and I realise I haven’t let her go.

It’s like slowly tearing tape off my skin to release her. Every hair protests that it wants to keep her near, and screams at the separation.

“We need to get to shelter.” Before one or both of us pass out in the snow. There’s snow in her hair, and she’s just wearing those wide-bottomed trousers she likes, heels, and a suit jacket thing. Definitely not snow ready.

“Are you sure they’re?—”

“I’m sure,” I cut her off. Necks at that angle are not survivable. My highest priority would always be Stephie, but in this case, she would be even if she wasn’t the woman I love.

I draw my phone from my pocket, and I’m not surprised to see nothing. No service. Not much battery. I switch it off.

“We’re on our own.” I indicate the cabin, and she nods.

With a worried backward glance, Stephie walks with me towards it. There are no vehicles outside, and I don’t relish that I’ll probably need to break the door to get us in, but this is a matter of life or death. And one of the advantages of being very rich is that I can pay compensation and not even have to apologise if I do something someone doesn’t like. And bribes go a long way, too. Very effective.

It’s generous to call it a house. It’s a small, single-story stone building with a metal panel roof and green-rimmed windows inquadrants that make it seem as though it’s cowering. Afraid of the weather and the animals, and the towering mountains in the distance.

Taking a breath, I knock on the door. “Hello!”

No answer. I reach for the handle.

3

STEPHIE

It opens.

Relief showers over me as we walk into the little building. It’s not much to look at from the outside or in, but it’s almost empty, and it’s weatherproof.

“Hello?” Mr Bridger calls again, but there’s no answer, and I don’t think there will be. His voice isn’t as strong on the second call, and I glance up at him. His jaw is clenched, hard.

Adrenaline continues to flow through me, and snippets of the past ten minutes, hour, and day, flash in my eyes as I try to focus on the immediate circumstances. And forget that two men I considered, if not my friends, then my colleagues, are now dead, and I’m stranded with my boss in the middle of nowhere. Northern, mountainous Scotland.

And it’s snowing.