AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I sit alone at the breakfast table, my uneaten toast growing cold. Worry gnaws at my stomach as I think of Philippe out there, in constant danger. Though Philippe insists it's just business as usual, I know better.
His men and I’ve become friends of some sort. I’ve heard the true horrors that unfolded that night. Frankie and Aldo were mutilated. Eyes gouged out. Fingers cut off, all while they were alive.
I shudder at the thought and glance at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room, its rhythmic ticking, counting down the minutes until Philippe's safe return. He's been on a call with the other Dons for over an hour now, discussing counter-security plans after the Bratva head's assassination yesterday. If they find out the Italians were behind it, spearheaded by Philippe himself …
Philippe warned me it would be a lengthy discussion, but knowing he's the prime target of the Bratva's wrath makes each second feel like an eternity.
My fingers curl around the locket hanging at my neck, the metal still warm from where it lay against my skin. Oh, Mum, what have I gotten myself into?
I need to distract myself from all these gruesome thoughts of what could happen to Philippe if things go south.
I take a deep breath and unfold the newspaper, scanning the headlines for any mention of last night's violence. My eyes catch on the main story: ‘Oil Tanker Truck Leaves Half Dozen Dead in Bratva Convoy’. I quickly read it, tension coiling tighter with each word.
No direct blame was placed on the Italians, only vague references to the Bratva’s ‘criminal elements’. The police don't have proof, only suspicions that the failed brakes on the oil truck were anything other than an accident.
It banged into the SUV carrying the Bratva head and the vehicles with his bodyguards that followed. The driver of the oil truck managed to get out just as he realized the brakes weren’t working.
He’s safe.
I let out a shaky exhale, relief flooding through me. The Bratva may point their finger at Philippe, but the authorities have noevidence to act on. Not yet, anyway. We're safe for the moment. For now, even the Bratva might be in the dark.
As I set the paper down, the date at the top catches my eye - the 15th of February. I pause, realization dawning. Quickly I count back in my head. Over two months since my last cycle. How did I not notice before now?
My hand drifts down to press against my lower abdomen. Could it be? I gasp as a wave of nausea rises to the back of my throat. There’s no chance I could be pregnant. I’m on the pill, aren’t I?
No. No. I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.
I’m on the pill.
I run up to my room. Open my medicine cabinet, and my heart begins to race like a jackhammer. With everything happening - my parents being murdered, the depression that followed, the shooting, I forgot to tell my nurse I take the pill. My pill box, made out by Philippe’s people, doesn’t hold the familiar pink tablet.
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but … a spark of nervous excitement flickers inside me.
My heart pounds as I swiftly make my way down to the basement clinic. The hallways are empty this early, and the rest of the compound is still asleep after late nights of debauchery. Perfect. No one to notice my hurried steps or the anxiety written on my face, no doubt.
I slip inside the clinic, immediately heading for the supply cabinets along the back wall. My hands tremble slightly as I sort through the contents, grabbing a pregnancy test and shoving it in my pocket. For good measure, I turn back and take three more.
A million thoughts race through my mind as I climb the stairs back to my room. What if it's positive? Philippe and I have never discussed children. I don't even know if he wants to be a father.
But if I am pregnant, I know in my heart I'll keep it. I lost my birth mother. I was adopted. I would never abandon or give up a child. This baby, if it exists, came from love and would be raised in love.
Safely back in my room with the door locked firmly behind me, I follow the test instructions with fumbling fingers. The two minutes of waiting stretch into an eternity. I whisper a prayer, clasping the test tightly.
When I finally look, the result makes my breath catch. Two lines stare up at me. Positive. Pregnant.
My hands tremble as I set the pregnancy test down on the bathroom counter. The other two tests lie abandoned. I don’tneed another sign. A million thoughts race through my mind all at once. I'm going to be a mother. Philippe is going to be a father.
I take a deep breath, pressing my palm against my still-flat stomach. There is a precious new life growing inside me, Philippe’s child. I have to tell him, but I want to choose the right moment. He's been under so much pressure with the attacks on the casino and the elimination of the Bratva head.
This might feel like an added burden to him—something more to worry about.
As heir to the most powerful mafia in the states, Philippe has many enemies. If word got out about my pregnancy, it would make me a target, too. Any child of his would be at risk.
Still, through the worry, joy flickers inside me. Philippe is strong and cunning, a natural leader. He will protect us, of that I have no doubt. He would be a wonderful father. After we have both lost so much, this baby could give us a chance to build our own family.
I’ll hold off telling him, just until things have settled down. Philippe and I have weathered storms; our love has proven strong. Together, we can handle anything, even parenthood.
As I leave the bathroom, resolve settles over me. My life is about to change in ways I never imagined. But with Philippe by my side, I'm ready to face whatever comes next. This child will be the living symbol of our bond. And I already know I'll do anything to protect our baby.
