Page 35 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

“Mrs. Moretti, you can go back now.”

I follow the nurse down the familiar hallway of Dr. Patterson’s private practice, my shoulder feeling almost normal as I move. These weekly checkups have become routine—examine the healing tissue, test range of motion, and adjust physical therapy recommendations.

Today should be no different, except for the nausea that’s been plaguing me for the past week.

“How are we feeling today?” Dr. Patterson asks as I settle onto the examination table.

“Physically, much better. The shoulder barely bothers me now.” I flex my arm to demonstrate. “But I’ve been having some stomach issues lately.”

“What kind of issues?”

“Nausea, mostly in the mornings. Food aversions. Coffee makes me sick, eggs are unbearable. I thought maybe it was stress from everything that’s been happening.”

Dr. Patterson nods, making notes on his tablet. “Any other symptoms? Fatigue, mood changes, missed periods?”

The last question makes my stomach drop. “I…yes. Actually, I think I might have missed my last period.”

“When was your last menstrual cycle?”

I try to calculate, but the weeks blur together. “I can’t recall, doctor.”

Dr. Patterson sets down his tablet and looks at me directly. “Mrs. Moretti, given your symptoms and the timeline you’ve described, we should run a pregnancy test.”

“A pregnancy test?” The words come out strangled. “I didn’t think…I mean, we weren’t trying…”

“It’s just a precaution. Better to rule it out so we can properly address your symptoms.”

My hands start shaking. “How long will it take?”

“Just a few minutes for the initial test. If it’s positive, we’ll do a blood draw to confirm and check hormone levels.”

He steps out to get supplies, leaving me alone with the possibility that’s suddenly crashed into my carefully ordered world. Pregnant. With Alaric’s child.

Dr. Patterson returns with a small plastic cup and clear instructions. Five minutes later, I’m sitting on the examination table, staring at a test strip that will determine the direction of my entire future.

“Positive,” Dr. Patterson announces, holding up the test. “Congratulations, Mrs. Moretti.”

What the fuck. Pregnant. Actually pregnant.

“I need to do a blood draw to confirm and get accurate hormone levels,” he continues, already preparing the needle. “We’ll also need to change your current medications. Some of what you’re taking for pain management isn’t safe during pregnancy.”

“Change medications?”

“The anti-inflammatory you’ve been taking can cause complications. We’ll switch you to something pregnancy-safe. You’ll also need to start prenatal vitamins immediately.”

My mind struggles to process the practical details while the larger reality slowly sinks in. A baby. Alaric’s baby.

“How far along?” I manage to ask.

“Based on your last period, approximately five to six weeks. We’ll do an ultrasound next week to get a more precise timeline and make sure everything is developing normally.”

Five to six weeks. Which means conception happened right around the time of the Miami trip, that night when Alaric claimed me, made me his.

“Mrs. Moretti, are you alright?”

“I’m just…processing. This wasn’t planned.”

“Many pregnancies aren’t. But you’re young, healthy, and have excellent medical support. There’s no reason this can’t be a perfectly normal pregnancy.”

“What about my shoulder? The injury?”

“Shouldn’t affect anything. The healing is progressing beautifully, and by the time you’re ready to deliver, you’ll be at full strength.”

Dr. Patterson finishes drawing blood and applies a small bandage to my arm. “I’ll have the lab results by tomorrow, but the home test is quite reliable. In the meantime, start taking prenatal vitamins and avoid alcohol completely.”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

A thousand questions crowd my mind, but none of them are medical. How do I tell Alaric? How do we protect a child in our world? What happens when our enemies learn about this vulnerability?

“No questions right now.”

“Excellent. Schedule a follow-up for next week, and call if you experience any unusual symptoms. Congratulations again, Mrs. Moretti.”

I walk out of the examination room in a daze, clutching the packet of information he gave me about early pregnancy. The hallway feels too bright, too loud, like someone turned up the volume on reality.

Marco is waiting in the lobby, but he’s not alone. A pretty blonde nurse is leaning against his chair, laughing at something he’s saying. Her hand rests on his shoulder in a gesture that seems too familiar for a chance encounter.

“How was the appointment?” he asks when he sees me approaching.

“Fine. Just routine follow-up.”

“Great. You look better already.” He stands, and the nurse’s hand slides away reluctantly. “Ready to head home?”

“Actually, I need to stop by the pharmacy first.”

“No problem. Whatever you need.”

As we walk to the car, I notice Marco checking his phone again. Three text messages in the span of thirty seconds, all of which he dismisses without reading fully.

“Busy day?” I ask.

“You know how it is. Business never stops.”

But something about his tone feels off, the same evasiveness I noticed yesterday during our conversation about the Dante sightings. Combined with the Russian phone call and his suspicious behavior, a picture is starting to form that I don’t like.

At the pharmacy, I collect prenatal vitamins and the new pain medication Dr. Patterson prescribed. Marco waits in the car, engaged in another intense phone conversation that he ends abruptly when I return.

“Everything okay?” he asks, starting the engine.

“Should be, with time.”

My mind wanders on the drive back to the mansion. A baby changes everything. Our relationship, our security considerations, our future plans. Children of crime bosses become targets from the moment they’re born, living their entire lives under the shadow of their father’s enemies.

Can I bring a child into this world? Can I ask Alaric to risk loving someone else who might be taken away?

But even as the fears multiply, something else grows alongside them. A fierce protectiveness that surprises me with its intensity. This baby is mine, ours, created from genuine love instead of obligation or arrangement.

“Kasi?” Marco’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “We’re home.”

I look up to see the estate’s familiar gates, the manicured grounds that have become my sanctuary and my prison. Somewhere inside, Alaric is probably reviewing business reports or planning Boris Petrov’s demise.

How do I tell him that our dangerous world just became infinitely more complicated?

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Marco, gathering my pharmacy bags.

“Anytime. And Kasi? If you need anything, anything at all, you know you can come to me, right?”

There’s something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. Concern, yes, but also something else. Something that feels like guilt.

“Of course. Thank you.”

I walk into the house, past the marble entryway and expensive artwork, carrying news that will change everything. Benedetto nods as I pass, probably noticing the pharmacy bags but too professional to comment.

In my room, I set the prenatal vitamins on my nightstand and stare at them. Such small pills to represent such an enormous shift.

A knock on the door interrupts my contemplation. “Come in.”

Alaric enters, still wearing the suit from whatever meetings consumed his afternoon. His eyes immediately go to the pharmacy bags, then to my face.

“Everything alright? How was the doctor?”

This is it. The moment where I either tell him the truth or find some excuse to delay the conversation.

“Can we sit down? I have something to tell you.”

His expression immediately shifts to concern. “What’s wrong? Is your shoulder worse?”

“No, nothing like that. My shoulder is fine.”

I gesture to the sitting area by the windows, where afternoon light streams through expensive curtains. We settle onto the sofa, and I try to find words for news that will change both our lives forever.

“The nausea I’ve been having, the food aversions…Dr. Patterson ran some tests.”

“And?”

“I’m pregnant, Alaric.”

The words hang in the air between us like a detonated bomb. His face goes completely blank, processing information that doesn’t compute with any plan he’s made.

“Pregnant,” he repeats slowly.

“About five weeks, based on the timing. From that night in…” I trail off, but he finishes the sentence for me.

“Miami. You’re sure?”

“Blood test will confirm tomorrow, but yes. I’m sure.”

He stands abruptly and walks to the window, hands clasped behind his back. For long minutes, he doesn’t speak.

“Alaric? Say something.”

When he turns back to face me, his expression is unreadable. “Are you happy about this?”

The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know. Terrified, mostly. Our world isn’t exactly safe for children.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Are you…upset?” I ask him.

“I don’t know what I am.” He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting the perfect styling. “A baby. Jesus.”

“We don’t have to decide anything right now. We have time to figure out how to handle this.”

“Do we? Boris Petrov is still out there planning retaliation. Marco’s reporting strange sightings that may or may not be real. Our enemies will see a child as the ultimate weakness to exploit.”

Every fear I’ve been trying not to think about, laid out in brutal honesty.

“So what are you saying?”

His voice is firm. “I’m saying that bringing a child into this world might be the most selfish thing we could do.”

The words sting, but I understand the logic behind them. Children of crime bosses don’t get normal childhoods. They get kidnapping attempts, death threats, and the constant weight of their father’s sins.

“But?” I prompt, hearing the unspoken word in his tone.

“But I already love this baby more than I thought possible.” He crosses back to the sofa and sits beside me, taking my hands in his. “Our child, Kasimira. Made from what we found together.”

“Even knowing the dangers?”

“Especially knowing the dangers. Which means we need to be smarter, more careful, more ruthless about eliminating threats before they reach our family.”

Our family. The phrase makes my chest tight with emotion I wasn’t expecting.

I grip his hands tighter. “So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this. Together.”

He pulls me against him, careful of my healing shoulder, and I rest my head on his chest. For the first time since Dr. Patterson said the word “positive,” I let myself feel something other than fear.

Hope. Fragile and dangerous, but real.