Page 23 of Mafia Pregnancy

Radmir

T he next day, I position my car across the street from the estate’s staff exit, engine running, waiting for Danielle to finish her shift.

This surveillance feels different from the security measures we take for business threats.

This is personal, and the distinction makes me uncomfortable in ways I don’t want to examine.

At exactly four-fifteen, she emerges from the service entrance, moving with the same purposeful stride I’ve watched dozens of times through security monitors. Today, I need to see where that stride takes her when she thinks no one is watching.

I maintain a careful distance as she drives through the residential neighborhoods of La Jolla, then heads east toward Pacific Beach.

Her driving is cautious. She can’t afford traffic tickets or accidents, clearly.

She parks outside a small preschool building painted in cheerful blues and yellows, called Little Scholars Academy, according to the sign.

I park half a block away, positioning myself where I can see the entrance without being obvious.

For ten minutes, nothing happens. Parents begin gathering outside the building, some chatting in small groups while others check phones or stare at the entrance with the patient expression of people used to waiting. Danielle stands slightly apart from the others, checking her watch repeatedly.

Then the doors open, and children pour out in the chaotic way that only preschool dismissal can produce. I watch Danielle’s entire posture change as she scans the crowd, tension melting into anticipation.

A small boy with curly dark hair breaks free from the crowd and runs toward her.

Even from this distance, I can see the joy in his movement, and the way he launches himself at her with complete trust that she’ll catch him.

She does, lifting him slightly off the ground in a hug that speaks to bone-deep love.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as I watch their interaction.

The way she smooths his hair, how he chatters animatedly while she listens with complete attention, and the unconscious way she checks his backpack and takes his hand as they walk toward her car reveals this isn’t a casual relationship or a babysitting arrangement. This is a mother with her child.

The boy can’t be more than three or four years old. From this distance, I can’t make out his facial features clearly, but something about his movements and his general build sends an odd recognition through my system.

I grab my phone and quickly snap several photos as they approach her car.

The boy turns slightly, giving me a partial profile view, and I zoom in as much as the camera allows.

It’s still not clear enough to see details, but enough to confirm what I suspected.

This child is important to Danielle. Important enough that she structures her entire work schedule around his school hours.

They drive away, and I follow at a careful distance through surface streets until they reach a modest apartment complex in Pacific Beach. The building is older but well-maintained, housing working families who need to balance affordability with safety.

I park around the corner and walk back to where I can observe without being seen. Danielle helps the boy out of the car, but even from this better vantage point, I still can’t get a clear view of his face as they move toward the building entrance.

Three or four years old. The timing would be about right if he’s mine.

The possibility sends a surge of possessiveness through me that surprises me with its intensity.

The idea of Danielle having another man’s child, raising someone else’s son while keeping mine hidden, makes my jaw clench with irrational jealousy.

I pull out my phone again, hands steadier now as I take more photos. The boy is animated as he talks to Danielle, but his face remains partially turned away from my position. I need a clearer view, better angles, or something that will either confirm or dismiss these suspicions.

Danielle suddenly stops on the apartment stairs, her hand moving to her stomach in a gesture I’ve noticed her making more frequently lately. She turns toward the street, scanning the area with the wariness of someone who senses they’re being watched.

I freeze, pressing myself farther behind the tree, holding my breath until she turns away and continues up the stairs with the boy. They disappear into a second-floor apartment, and I remain hidden for several more minutes, processing what I’ve observed.

The expenses she mentioned needing money for and the protective way she speaks about responsibilities I wouldn’t understand make more sense now.

She has a son, and if this child is mine, then she’s been hiding him from me for his entire life.

If he’s not mine, the jealousy burning in my chest at the thought of her with another man tells me more about my feelings than I’m comfortable admitting.

I walk back to my car, my mind churning with questions that demand answers.

Suspicions aren’t enough. I need proof, one way or another.

The drive back to the estate passes in a blur of calculation and growing impatience.

By the time I reach my office, I’ve moved past speculation and into the planning mode that serves me well in business.

I need information, and I need it quickly.

I had planned to dig into her life discreetly on my own, but Andrei has contacts who can make it happen much faster than I can alone.

I pull out my phone and text Andrei pictures before sending: Find out who the boy is.

His response comes within minutes: Understood. Priority level?

I type back: Highest.

Will contact the right investigator personally. Also, update on customs situation. One of Luca’s men spotted at docks again, third time this week. Meeting with Inspector Rodriguez.

The customs issue should be my primary concern. Luca is clearly making moves to disrupt our operations, testing our security, and looking for weaknesses. Under normal circumstances, I’d drop everything to handle the threat personally.

I can’t focus on anything except getting answers about that boy. I text back: Deal with that after the boy.

Less than a minute later, my phone rings, and Andrei’s name appears on the screen. I answer on the first ring.

“The customs situation needs immediate attention.” His voice is brisk and professional. “Rodriguez has been clean for three years, but if Luca’s got leverage on him, we could lose our primary import route.”

“Handle the boy’s investigation first.”

“Radmir, with respect, our entire West Coast operation depends on maintaining clean customs channels. Whatever personal interest you have in some random child?—”

“He’s not random.”

The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped. When Andrei speaks again, his voice is carefully neutral. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I need to know who fathered Danielle’s son before I decide how much to tell anyone.”

He sounds mildly surprised. “Including me?”

“Yes.”

There’s another pause. When Andrei responds, there’s an edge I recognize. It’s the tone he uses when he thinks I’m making a decision that will negatively affect business. I’ve rarely heard it from him in our years working together. “The customs inspector?—”

“Can wait.”

“Radmir—”

“Are you questioning my judgment?” I ask in a cold voice.

Andrei and I have worked together for fifteen years, with eight of them as my second.

He’s saved my life, I’ve saved his, and we’ve built an empire on mutual trust and shared sacrifice.

He’s one of the few people who can challenge my decisions without consequences.

He’s also smart enough to know when he’s approaching a line he shouldn’t cross.

He draws in a breath before speaking again. “I’m questioning your priorities. The child investigation can wait a few hours. The customs situation can’t.”

“The child investigation happens now, or you can find yourself a new boss.”

The threat surprises both of us. I’ve never pulled rank on Andrei this way and never forced him to choose between his judgment and his loyalty. The fact that I’m doing it now, over a boy I’m not even certain is mine, reveals more than I want.

He sounds stunned. “Are you seriously threatening me over this?”

“I’m reminding you who makes the decisions in this organization unless you want to challenge me for leadership the way Luca did? We both know how that ended for him.”

The silence that follows carries weight, consequence, and the potential for permanent damage between us.

“I’m loyal to you.” His voice is quiet but steady.

“I’ve been loyal for fifteen years, which means questioning you when you’re about to do something that could hurt us both.

However, if you want to prioritize a child over our business, that’s your choice to make. ”

“Some things are more important than business.”

The words come out before I can stop them, and I’m surprised to realize I mean them.

For fifteen years, business has been everything.

Profit, power, territory, and respect have been my only priorities.

The idea that a little boy I’ve never met could matter more than customs inspectors and shipping routes should be absurd.

It’s not.

“Since when?” Andrei’s question carries genuine curiosity along with the challenge.

“Since now.”

“And if I disagree?”

“Then you disagree, but the order stands.”

His tone shifts back to a more professional one. “I’ll have our security team start with school records, birth certificates, and medical records if I can access them. Full background on the child and any listed guardians or family members.”

“No. I want this handled discreetly. You have to do it.”

He hesitates. “I suppose I’m glad you trust me enough for that. Very well. I’ll focus on this if you can please put your attention to the customs matter?”

I ignore the second part of is response. “How long until you have answers?”

“Forty-eight hours for comprehensive information but less if you just want confirmation of parentage.”

“I want everything.”

“And the customs situation?”

I close my eyes, weighing risks and consequences.

Letting Luca gain influence with Inspector Rodriguez could cost us millions in lost shipments and create vulnerabilities we can’t afford.

Ignoring the threat goes against every business instinct I’ve developed.

“I’ll handle it. We’ll start with monitoring Rodriguez, but don’t approach him yet.

I want to see what Luca’s play is before we make our move. ”

“That’s risky.”

I give a laugh edged with bitterness. “Everything we do is risky.”

Andrei is silent for a moment. “Some risks are needed. This feels personal.”

He’s right, and we both know it. The smart play would be to handle the customs issue immediately and investigate the boy as a secondary priority.

The fact that I’m doing the opposite by putting my best man on finding information about the boy instead of handling Rodriguez proves my judgment is compromised.

I don’t care. “Find out what you can about the boy. Remember, total discretion. No one else knows about this until I decide what to do with the information.”

“Of course.”

The line goes dead, leaving me alone in my office with a head full of questions and a growing need for answers.

If that boy is my son, then Danielle has been lying to me for months.

Years, though I can’t be too angry for her if she didn’t tell me back then.

I lied about my name, making it impossible for her to find me.

She’s worked for me over three months now, so she’s had plenty of time to tell me. I’m furious about her keeping that from me once we were reunited if he’s mine.

If he’s not mine, the possessiveness I felt watching her with him reveals feelings I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge. Either way, everything changes after I get Andrei’s report.

After sending a message to two of my men who work in the port area, asking them to monitor Rodriguez and anyone approaching him, I walk to the window overlooking the estate’s grounds, watching the gardening crew tend to the landscaping.

Everything in my world runs on schedules and systems. It’s all perfect.

Children, from what I understand, represent the opposite of that. They’re unpredictable, demanding, and messy in ways that don’t respond to logic. The thought should worry me more than it actually does.

Chaos is coming, but I’m still calm.

Feeling regret for how I handled the situation with Andrei, though not my priorities, I pull out my phone to text: “Thank you.” The two-word acknowledgment costs me nothing, but he’ll understand what it means.

I’m asking him to help me navigate something completely outside our usual operations, and I’m grateful for his willingness to follow my lead even when he disagrees with my judgment.

I have up to two days of waiting to learn if that boy is mine, and that much time to decide what I’ll do with the answer if he is.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Earlier in the week, Danielle asked me to choose between her and my business. I told her I couldn’t walk away from the life I’ve built. Now, faced with the possibility I might be a father, I’m discovering some choices make themselves.

If that boy is my son, Danielle was right to protect him from my world. The question is whether I’m willing to change that world to be part of his life.

I put off considering that answer for now.

I won’t need to make such choices if he’s not mine.

That would be the easiest outcome, but the idea of hearing someone else fathered him makes my chest ache.

It’s not strictly from jealousy at the idea of another man having such an important position in Danielle’s life.

It’s far more complex, and as I tentatively consider the idea I might be a father, the thought fills me with unexpected yearning for something I never knew I wanted.