Page 17 of Mafia Pregnancy

Danielle

T he nausea hits me while I’m cleaning the ash from the fireplace in Radmir’s study, a wave so sudden and violent I have to clamp my hand over my mouth and rush to the nearest bathroom. I barely make it before my stomach empties itself, leaving me shaky and dizzy as I grip the marble countertop.

This is becoming a pattern. In the four days since Carmen and I confirmed what I already suspected, my body seems to have decided to announce this pregnancy to anyone paying attention. I need to be more careful and find ways to manage these symptoms before someone notices.

When I return to the study, I find Andrei standing near the fireplace, examining my half-finished work with deep attention that makes my skin crawl.

He’s always unsettled me in ways I can’t quite articulate.

Where Radmir is scorching intensity, Andrei is frigid calculation.

Where Radmir sometimes lets emotion flicker across his features, Andrei remains perpetually unreadable.

I’m not frightened of him, exactly, but I’m wary, like prey around a hungry beast.

“Ms. Arden.” His voice is polite and professional, but there’s something underneath that makes me want to step back. “Are you feeling well? You left rather suddenly.”

I force myself to stay calm, to project the kind of professional composure that’s kept me employed for months. “I’m fine. I’m just battling a bug.”

“Of course.” He moves closer once I’m again kneeling beside the fireplace, his presence looming over me in a way that feels like he’s trying to intimidate me. “These old fireplaces can be dusty. It’s easy to inhale particles that upset the stomach.”

There’s something in his tone that suggests he knows exactly why I was sick, but that’s impossible.

I’ve been careful and haven’t told anyone except Carmen.

He has no reason to suspect anything. “Yes. I should finish this and move on to the next room.” I reach for my cleaning supplies, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave.

Instead, he settles into one of the leather chairs facing the fireplace, making it clear he’s not going anywhere. “Actually, I was hoping we could have a brief conversation.”

My stomach clenches, and not from morning sickness. “About what?”

“About discretion and the importance of maintaining confidentiality in a household like this one.” His pale eyes study my face with uncomfortable intensity. “I’m sure when you were hired, someone explained the terms of your employment agreement.”

“Mrs. Yranda went over everything with me, yes.”

“Including the non-disclosure provisions?”

I nod, though I’m not sure where this conversation is heading. “I understand Mr. Vetrov values his privacy.”

“Mr. Vetrov values many things, including privacy, loyalty, and the assurance his domestic staff understands the consequences of violating the trust he places in them.” Andrei leans forward slightly, his voice remaining conversational despite the menace underlying his words.

“You’ve been an exemplary employee, Ms. Arden.

Punctual, thorough, and professional. It would be unfortunate if that were to change. ”

I stiffen. “I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”

He blinks, looking placid. “I’m not suggesting anything.

I’m simply reminding you working in this house comes with certain responsibilities that extend beyond dusting furniture and cleaning windows.

” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Sometimes, domestic staff overhear conversations and business discussions that weren’t intended for their ears. ”

My blood runs cold. He knows. Somehow, he knows I was listening when they talked about shell companies and customs documentation and Montenegro.

“I would never repeat anything I might accidentally overhear while working.” The words come out steadier than I feel.

“I understand the importance of confidentiality.”

“I’m sure you do, and I’m sure you understand violating that confidentiality would have serious consequences.

Not just for your employment, but for your overall well-being.

” He stands, straightening his suit jacket with a firm tug.

“The non-disclosure agreement you signed is somewhat vague, but there are very specific consequences to people who betray Mr. Vetrov’s trust.”

The threat is clear, even wrapped in polite language.

I think about Leo, the life we’ve built, and how easily it could all disappear if Andrei decides I’m a security risk.

My stomach clenches when I think about the vulnerable baby in my belly.

I struggle to sound calm when I reply. “I understand completely.”

“Excellent. I knew you were intelligent enough to see reason.” He moves toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, if you’re feeling unwell, perhaps you should consider seeing a doctor. Prolonged illness can affect one’s judgment, making it difficult to maintain the discretion this position requires.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, but I feel better already,” I say coldly. Is he threatening my pregnancy? Does he actually know, or is he just using my flight to the bathroom as a way to put more pressure on me?

“Excellent.” He gives me a warm smile that seems oddly genuine in contrast to the menacing conversation we just had.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d like your employment to continue with our boss for a long time.

” His words ease some of my fears. If he suspected I was pregnant, he wouldn’t be referencing me staying on long-term.

I get the feeling he’s Radmir’s fixer, and he’d be trying to fix the situation with either a discreet abortion or a large payoff if he knew or even strongly suspected.

After he leaves, I sit back on my heels, my hands shaking.

Andrei threatened me—subtly and professionally, but unmistakably.

He knows I overheard sensitive information, and he’s making it clear that using that information would be dangerous.

I had no intention of telling anyone, so I’m irrationally angry at the accusation for a moment before the fear takes over again.

The smart thing would be to quit immediately.

I should give notice, find another job, and disappear from Radmir’s life before this situation gets any more complicated, but I can’t afford to quit without another job lined up, and finding equivalent employment could take weeks or months.

Leo’s school tuition is due again next month, and our savings account barely has enough to cover rent and groceries.

I’m trapped, at least for now.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of routine cleaning tasks, but Andrei’s words echo in my mind.

Every time I think about telling Radmir the truth about Leo and this pregnancy, I remember the cold calculation in Andrei’s eyes and the carefully worded threats about what happens to people who violate trust.

How can I expose my children to whatever world they live in? I’m not really afraid of Radmir, or even Andrei, hurting me or the children, but he probably has enemies, and he clearly engages in dangerous activities. What kind of family life would that be, assuming he even wanted us in any capacity?

By Friday morning, I’ve made a decision that feels both inevitable and terrifying.

I can’t tell Radmir anything about Leo, this pregnancy, or even how I can’t stop thinking about the connection between us that stretches back four years.

The risks are too great, and the potential consequences are too devastating.

Fridays are half-days, and Carmen picked me up this morning, so she could come with me to my appointment, so we leave the estate in her 1999 Honda Civic. My Aunt Molly has agreed to pick up Leo from school if we’re running late.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as we drive toward the clinic in Pacific Beach.

“Terrified. Nauseated. Am I making a mistake I can’t undo?” I stare out the window at the familiar streets, trying to calm the anxiety that’s been building all week. “What if someone sees us? What if word gets back to Radmir that I was at a prenatal clinic?”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “The clinic is in Pacific Beach, not La Jolla. The chances of running into anyone connected to your work are practically zero.”

“You don’t understand. Andrei confronted me earlier this week. He basically threatened me about keeping my mouth shut regarding anything I might have overheard while working.”

Carmen’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “He threatened you?”

“Politely, but yes.” I tell her about the conversation in Radmir’s study, and the subtle warnings wrapped in discussions of confidentiality agreements and consequences. “He knows I heard something I shouldn’t have, and he’s making sure I understand what happens if I talk.”

She seems upset on my behalf. “That’s not normal. Employers don’t threaten their maids unless there’s something seriously wrong with what they’re doing.”

I nod emphatically. “I know, which is why I can’t tell Radmir about Leo or the baby.

Whatever business he’s involved in, it’s dangerous enough that his security chief feels comfortable intimidating domestic staff.

” I think about Leo, the innocence in his three-year-old eyes, and the world I’m trying to protect him from. “I won’t drag my children into that.”

She doesn’t argue for the moment when we arrive.

She parks, in the lot, and we go in. The clinic is busy but efficient, filled with women in various stages of pregnancy and partners who look either excited or overwhelmed.

Carmen and I check in and settle into uncomfortable waiting room chairs, surrounded by parenting magazines and pamphlets about prenatal vitamins.

“Ms. Arden?” Fifteen minutes past my appointment time, a nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “We’re ready for you.”