Page 20 of Mafia Pregnancy

“But we don’t, do we?”

She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch despite her words. “This is going to end badly.”

“Maybe it will.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “But it doesn’t have to end today.”

When she opens her eyes, I see the war playing out in her expression. Want versus fear, desire versus self-preservation.

“I should finish my work and go home,” she says quietly, but there’s a new steel in her voice.

“You should.” I don’t move my hands from her face. “Yet you’re not going to, are you?”

She steps back, forcing me to drop my hands. “Yes, I am.”

“Danielle—”

“No.” She smooths her polo shirt, rebuilding her professional composure. “This was a mistake. Again.”

I shake my head. “Was it? It doesn’t feel like it.”

“It definitely was, at least for me.” She meets my gaze directly, and I see hard resolve. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s going nowhere, and we both know it.” She moves toward the door, and when I refuse to yield, she doesn’t stop. She pushes past me with firm determination. “You’re not looking for anything real, and I can’t afford anything casual.”

I reach out for her, but she darts away from my hand. “What makes you think I’m not looking for something real?”

She hurries out of touching distance before pausing at the end of the hallway, though she doesn’t turn around. “Because men like you don’t end up with women like me. Not permanently.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know what I am to you. A distraction. Something convenient.” She finally turns, and the distance in her expression catches me off guard. “I need more than that.”

I take a step toward her. “What if you’re wrong about what you are to me?”

“Then prove it.” The challenge in her voice surprises me. “Walk away from whatever business keeps Andrei making threats about confidentiality. Choose something other than power and control.”

The ultimatum makes me blink in its audacity. She’s asking me to choose between the life I’ve built and whatever this is between us. “I can’t do that.”

“I know.” Her smile is sad but unsurprised. “That’s why I won’t do this again.”

She walks away with purpose, leaving me standing in the empty hallway trying to understand what just shifted. The woman who was falling apart in my arms moments ago has transformed back into someone unreachable, protected by walls I can’t seem to breach.

I remain in the hallway for several minutes after she’s gone, trying to understand what just happened.

The sex was incredible, as it always is with her, but there was something else.

Something desperate in the way she clung to me, like she was trying to memorize the feeling before letting it go forever.

She just asked me to choose her over everything else in my life, and when I couldn’t give her that answer, she made the choice for both of us.

My phone buzzes with a text from Andrei, and I pull it from my pocket, expecting another business update.

Same black sedan, same time, and third day this week.

No license plate or direct threat, but someone is watching.

I scroll up through his previous messages from the last few days, noting the pattern he’s identified.

The car appears at 3:47 p.m. each afternoon, parks across from the estate’s main entrance for exactly eleven minutes, then disappears.

It has all the earmarks of professional surveillance and taunting rolled into one.

The car is careful not to overstay but consistent enough to send a message.

Luca’s getting bolder.

I type back: Increase perimeter sweeps. Rotate the schedule.

His response is immediate: Already done. Additional cameras are being installed at the south gate.

I slide the phone back into my pocket and head toward my office, but my mind isn’t on Luca or his escalating games. It’s on the way Danielle looked at me in the hallway, like she wanted to tell me something but couldn’t find the words. It felt eerily like goodbye, which makes my chest constrict.

In my office, I pull up the security feeds, scanning through the cameras until I find her. She’s in one of the guest bathrooms, washing her hands with more attention than necessary. The way she moves almost seems calm, but there’s tension in her shoulders.

She finishes and moves to the mirror, staring at her reflection for a long moment. Even through the grainy camera feed, I see something troubled in her expression. She runs her hand through her hair, smoothing it back into place, then turns away from the mirror.

The gesture strikes me as significant somehow, though I can’t pinpoint why. There’s something different about her lately, a wariness that goes beyond our complicated situation, and a distance that feels more like self-protection than simple avoidance.

I tilt my chair, considering what I know about her.

She’s always been guarded and careful with personal information.

In all the months she’s worked here, I’ve learned precious little about her life outside these walls.

She mentioned needing money for expenses, but she’s never been specific about what those expenses are.

The security feed shows her moving through the house, returning to her routine like nothing happened, but I can see the subtle changes I missed before now. She carries herself slightly differently, navigating narrow spaces with care and adopting a protective posture that seems deliberate.

Something beyond our past is weighing on her. Whatever it is, she’s carrying it alone.

My phone buzzes again with a text from Andrei: Black sedan just left. Eleven minutes, same as always.

I set aside the phone and return my attention to the security feeds. Luca can wait. Right now, my priority is understanding what’s driving the woman who just fell apart in my arms, then immediately started building walls again.

She said she has responsibilities and complications I wouldn’t understand. The way she said it suggested they’re significant and important enough to make her consider walking away from something she clearly wants.

The afternoon passes slowly. I try to focus on legitimate business by reviewing investment portfolios and signing off an application for construction permits for a property development in Carlsbad, but my attention keeps drifting to the security monitors.

Every time Danielle appears in frame, I stop to study her movements, looking for clues about what she’s hiding.

By five o’clock, most of the household staff has finished their shifts and departed. Carmen left an hour ago, and the kitchen staff wrapped up their prep work for tomorrow’s meals, but Danielle is still here, working alone in the formal dining room.

I find her polishing the mahogany table, moving in slow, careful circles. The afternoon light streaming through the windows catches the auburn highlights in her hair, and for a moment, I just watch her work.

“You’re staying late again.”

She doesn’t startle, but her hand stills on the table’s surface. “Mrs. Yranda asked me to finish the dining room before I left. There’s a conference call scheduled here tomorrow morning.”

“Andrei could have handled that.”

“I don’t mind.” She returns to her polishing, avoiding my eyes. “I need the extra hours.”

“Do you?”

The question makes her pause. “Of course. I have expenses, and?—”

“Yet you turned down overtime work last week.”

She sets down the polishing cloth and faces me directly. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking why someone who desperately needs money would suddenly start declining extra shifts?”

She looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Maybe I found other sources of income.”

“Maybe by selling information that should be confidential?”

The words hang between us. She understands what I’m suggesting.

Her expression tightens as she unconsciously smooths her polo shirt.

“I’m not suicidal or crazy. I wouldn’t do that.

I have priorities and want to keep a job.

I was just busy last week. I can’t always be at your beck and call, sir. ” There’s tartness in the last word.

“There’s nothing else going on?” I ask with a hint of suspicion I can’t filter out.

“What else would there be?”

I step closer, and she doesn’t retreat. “You tell me.”

She looks almost at me, and her voice is cool, but she’s still nervous. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Isn’t there?” I study her face, noting the subtle signs of stress around her eyes and the careful way she’s holding herself. “You’ve been different lately. Distant. Like you’re carrying something heavy.”

She inhales sharply, but her expression remains neutral. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

She finally looks at me, holding my gaze for a long moment, and she’s obviously wrestling with something. “I need to finish this and go home,” she says finally, breaking eye contact.

“Of course.” I don’t move. “But, Danielle?”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re dealing with, whatever complications you mentioned, I’m happy to help if I can.”

Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe, or longing, but she quickly masks it. “I appreciate that, but some things are better handled privately.”

“Even if they don’t have to be?”

She just shakes her head, not bothering to reply before picking up the polishing cloth and returning to her work, effectively dismissing me. Still, I don’t leave. Instead, I watch her.

“What are you so afraid of?” I ask quietly.

Her hand stills again. “I’m not afraid.”

“You are. I can see it in the way you look at me sometimes, like you want to say something but can’t. Like there’s something you’re trying to protect.”

Her shoulders sag slightly. “Maybe I’m trying to protect myself.”

“From what?”

“From compounding the same mistake twice.”

The admission hangs in the air between us. She returns to polishing with renewed focus, but she’s maintaining only tenuous control.

“Was it a mistake four years ago or eleven weeks ago?” I move close enough that she’d have to look at me if she turned around.

She doesn’t turn though. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it complicated everything and led to...” She trails off, shaking her head.

“Led to what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

I can tell it does matter though. Whatever happened after that night, whatever consequences she faced, they’re still affecting her decisions now. They’re the reason she’s so guarded and afraid of letting this connection develop into something more.

“Danielle…?” I reach for her, but she steps away.

“I really do need to finish this.”

“Fine.” I head toward the door, then pause. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No. It’s not.”

Before it can degenerate to a toddler-level back and forth of squabbling, I leave her to her work, but the exchange stays with me as I return to my office.

She’s hiding something significant that goes beyond simple self-preservation or job security.

The question is whether I’m prepared to push hard enough to uncover it.

If I do, will she let me help her carry whatever burden she’s shouldering alone when she’s made it clear she wants nothing from me if I’m still in dangerous business?

She’s stated what she wants, but the connection between us grows stronger every time we’re in the same room. She can build all the walls she wants, but eventually, they’ll come down.

When they do, what will I find on the other side?

Impatiently, I reach for my phone, planning to tell Andrei to dig up all her secrets, but I hesitate.

This feels like something I should do on my own, privately.

I want to wait for her to open to me, but that seems unrealistic.

She’s obviously hiding something important to her, so I shouldn’t open her up to scrutiny from anyone but me.

I doubt she’ll appreciate me going bloodhound on her, but I have to know what’s keeping the barrier between us. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life to have her surrender to the pull between us without trying to fight or deny it, and that means learning everything I can.