Conquered by the Mafia Boss

“And you gave me so much shit for knocking up a made guy’s girl. Remember?”

My face heats up at his grin. “Completely different circumstances. I didn’t know who she was at first.”

His deep laughs rebound loudly in the small room. “At first?”

“I was thinking with my dick.”

A huge hand covers his mouth as he tries to stifle his laughter.

Laugh it up, prick.

“It’s not really that funny.”

“No, it’s just very déjà vu for me.”

I sigh loudly.

“Well, what’s done is done. The question is, how are you going to handle it?”

My fingers tap the leather on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t know.”

Normally in these situations, with a hostile person like Carlos, I’d just kill him. Get rid of him. But I can’t just fucking kill the president of Les Diables without someone noticing. Without war.

“Do you think getting engaged would cool him off?”

Tony grimaces. “I don’t know, John. You should talk to Sal.”

“Sal hasn’t been through this.”

“He’s your consigliere. Everyone is going to find out anyway.”

“She wanted to get an abortion. I think I talked her out of it.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

I look up from the sofa, incredulous. “You have a daughter.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I want this kid.”

I want what you have.

“Well, then you don’t need to explain yourself. You’re the boss. You do whatever the fuck you want.”

True, but there are limits. Like don’t-fuck-my-daughter limits. And I just fucking bulldozed over that one.

“Do you like the girl?”

I look at him. “I barely know anything about her.” Other than she’s a great lay and I can’t get enough of her body. I think about harnessing that wild, proud girl. Putting a ring on her finger. Getting to fuck her whenever I want. Doesn’t sound so bad. It’s the other shit that I’m worried about. Her father’s reaction to knocking up his precious daughter.

“I’ll probably have to meet him with her. Explain what happened.”

“Do it on neutral ground. He’ll blow your fucking head off in that fortress.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

Meeting Carlos doesn’t scare me, but I’m vaguely worried for Maya. I’m not sure how free Carlos is with his hands, and she’s carrying my kid. Every cell inside me wants to drive up to Sorel-Tracy right now and take her to my apartment, where I know she’ll be safe. I don’t know much about her, but the thought of her being in pain because of me makes me fucking sick. I need to protect her.

Tony gives a beady look. “Things might go south with Les Diables.”

And if they do, I might have to kill Maya’s father.

MAYA

Lined-up cigarettes burn like candles as I hold the flame to them, lighting up the whole row. The white paper wrinkles, turning a smoky, dark color as the small fire licks the head.

At first I thought I’d have a cigarette. It’s been years since I kicked the habit, but something about an unwanted pregnancy with a Mafia don made me want to inhale a lungful of cancerous smoke. I held it up to my lips and thought about the tiny life growing inside me that I just couldn’t make a decision about. I couldn’t draw a single breath of that shit because of one thought running through my head.

It’ll hurt the baby.

The baby. Not the soon-to-be-aborted fetus. Baby.

I look across the neatly trimmed lawn of Parc Mont Royal, staring at the cigarettes quietly burning on the blades of grass.

The best, sanest course of action would be to get a goddamn abortion. Get rid of it before Dad finds out about it and raises hell, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. There’s no rhyme or reason behind it. I just can’t.

What the fuck do I do now? Marry that crazy asshole?

Hell no. You can take care of this yourself without him.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Across the field, a man wearing a leather cut makes a beeline toward me, his steel-toed boots obliterating the grass. He treks right through happy couples sitting down, having picnics, his heated eyes trained on me.

Here we fucking go.

There’s no point in running.

I stand up and extinguish the cigarettes with my shoes, picking my purse off the ground. Heaviness settles in my chest as I recognize Chuck through that dirty blonde beard and his shoulder-length hair. That pigeon tattoo on his shoulder is a dead giveaway, but I’m glad it’s just him.

“How did you find me?”

Chuck stops a foot away from me, crossing his arms.

“I know all your haunts. Let’s go, little girl.”

Little girl? A ripple of anger runs through me.

“Dad must be pretty pissed,” I add casually as we walk toward his bike.