Page 153 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

"How is she?" I demand, making him flinch and step back.

"Mrs. Ginetti will be fine. She'll need rest, fluids, and time to recover from the trauma."

"Good. That's good." Relief washes through me, but something in his expression makes my gut tighten. "What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitates. "She was concerned about the baby. I've reassured her that there are no immediate signs of complications, but we'll need specialized equipment for a proper examination."

Baby?

The hallway seems to tilt beneath my feet.

Isabella pregnant? With my child?

The news is out of left field.

Unexpected, although I don’t know why.

I hadn’t used protection with her. Not once.

“When can you get the proper testing?”

"She’s not showing any signs of a problem, so I'll arrange for an obstetrician to see her tomorrow. But like I said, in the meantime, she needs to rest."

I nod, although he'd better not be telling me I can’t see her. I have to see her. Unless…

“Does she want to see me?” God, is it possible she blames me for all this, for not protecting her?

My thoughts flash back to our conversation, when I told her I’d help her get out of this life, whatever it took. I'd meant it then.

Our arrangement was business, a solution to keep her alive. No strings attached. That was the deal.

But everything is different now. And it’s not just that there’s a child. She’s mine, dammit. More than that, I’m hers. She has my heart, my soul, just as surely as Emilia had them.

As I move to enter the room, it occurs to me that she hadn’t said a word about the pregnancy.

Had she planned not to tell me?

Was she going to leave with my baby and never say a word?

I press my palms against my eyes, forcing myself to breathe through the anger that wants to flame.

Slowly, understanding seeps through the anger. Of course she wouldn't tell me.

In her eyes, I'm a monster who kills by profession. The man who married her only out of duty. Whose job it was to keep her from harming La Corona.

The memory of her words floats back to me. "I'll choose you, Roman, but it's not because I trust you. It's because I have no choice if I want to live."

Every choice has been taken from her by her father, by La Corona, by me. Why would she believe this baby would change anything? That I wouldn't just use it as another chain to bind her?

Sympathy for her grows. I think of the fear she must feel trapped in a marriage she didn't choose, carrying a child she didn't plan, belonging to a man she doesn't fully trust.

I take a deep breath, wiping my hands on my pants one more time. They're clean now, but I still feel Salvatore's blood on them.

How many men have I killed in my lifetime?

Too many to count.

Yet nothing has ever terrified me more than walking through this door to face my wife.