Page 13 of Mafia Pregnancy
The blunt observation makes me look up sharply. Andrei’s expression remains neutral, though I can see the questions in his eyes. Questions about judgment, about complications, and the wisdom of letting personal feelings influence business decisions.
“I slept with her.” The admission feels strange spoken aloud, like acknowledging a weakness I’ve been trying to deny.
I don’t bother to ask how he knows. I pay him to be aware of everything happening on and off the estate.
“Once. It won’t happen again.” Twice, but I don’t admit the encounter four years ago, or our past. That’s private and doesn’t pose a danger of which he should be aware.
“It complicates how you handle the security risk she represents.”
He’s right, and we both know it. If Danielle was any other employee who’d overheard sensitive information, the solution would be straightforward. We’d assess the threat level, determine the likelihood of exposure, and eliminate the risk if necessary.
She’s not any other employee. She’s the woman who challenged me about wine selection four years ago and made me forget why I don’t get involved with civilians.
She looked at me like I was worth saving instead of just using.
Her memory kept me awake for months after I walked away from that hotel room.
Years, if I’m honest with myself. I didn’t start sleeping well again until hiring her and having a reasonable idea of where she is day and night now.
Ten weeks ago, she was the woman who came apart in my arms like she’d been waiting four years for me to touch her again.
“I’ll talk to her.” The decision forms as I speak it, though I’m not sure what I’ll say or how I’ll approach the conversation.
“I’ll find out what she knows, what she understands about what she heard. ”
“What if she understands too much?”
The question forces me to confront possibilities I’ve been avoiding.
If Danielle has pieced together enough information to pose a genuine threat to our operations, if she’s planning to use what she’s learned for her own purposes or to hurt us.
.. “Then I’ll handle it appropriately.” I sound cold and emotionless, but my insides twist at the notion.
Andrei nods slowly, though I see the reservations in his expression. “Just remember personal feelings have ended more careers in our business than federal investigations.”
After he leaves, I sit alone in my office, staring out at the ocean while processing what just happened.
Danielle overheard sensitive information about our operations, and I deliberately allowed her to hear more so I could evaluate her trustworthiness.
In any rational assessment, she now represents a security risk that requires immediate attention.
The thought of eliminating that risk makes my chest tighten with panic.
Not because I have feelings for her—I can’t afford feelings for anyone in this business—but because she’s innocent in ways that matter, civilian in ways that make her fundamentally different from the people I usually have to worry about.
She’s not a competitor trying to muscle in on our territory.
She’s not a federal agent building a case against our operations.
She’s not even a disgruntled employee looking for revenge or profit.
She’s someone who cleans houses to pay her bills and had the misfortune to overhear a conversation about customs documentation and shell companies.
I made it worse. Was it some unconscious desire to have leverage over her, or to necessitate a need to keep her close?
I remember her desperation on her second day, and the way she accepted overtime work without hesitation because she needed money urgently. That kind of financial pressure makes people do things they wouldn’t normally consider, including accepting risks they don’t fully understand.
Working for me was supposed to be a simple cleaning job. Regular hours, steady pay, and household maintenance that doesn’t pose a hazard to her health beyond exposure to cleaning supplies. She never should have been in a position to overhear sensitive business conversations.
That failure is mine. The smart thing would be to terminate her employment immediately.
I could make it simple, with a generous severance package and a non-disclosure agreement that makes it clear what happens to people who violate their employment confidentiality.
She might even think it’s because of the lingering awkwardness of four years ago compounded by sex ten weeks ago.
It’s the smart thing to do, but I can’t purge the memory of how she looked that afternoon ten weeks ago when I lifted her onto my desk. Not just aroused or overwhelmed, but also…grateful, like I was giving her something she’d been missing for four years instead of just taking what I wanted.
The woman I remember doesn’t strike me as someone who would use overheard information for blackmail or revenge, but four years is a long time, and people change.
I need to determine if Danielle Arden represents a security risk that requires permanent solutions, or if she’s simply a civilian who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It will be easier to sort that out if I try not to think about how she tasted when I buried my face between her thighs and made her cry out my name, or how her hands felt when she gripped my shoulders like I was the only solid thing in her world.
I already know that’s unlikely to happen.
I haven’t been able to get those thoughts entirely out of my mind since that afternoon.
Maybe I should try to prepare myself for the possibility that the woman who made me remember what it felt like to want something more than power might be the person who destroys everything I’ve built, because if it comes down to it…
I could never hurt her for any reason. It’s a weakness for a man in my position, but it’s better to face that truth than pretend I could ruthlessly eliminate her if the need arises.
No one will lay a hand on her as long as I have the power to stop it, blood in my veins, or breath in my body. She belongs to me and has for four years. I just have to be strong enough not to claim her and try to keep her safe from my world.