Page 31 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?” Blackfen sighs wearily. “No fun. And honestly, I’m not set up to deal with men in love with a legal-aged woman. I have otherspecialisms. I’ve got work to do.” He taps on his keyboard. “I’ve sent you the address. That’ll be her. And I’ve notified your men to come and bring you a car.”

I stare.

Lifting himself to standing, he pulls back the screen between us.

“You can keep your territory, and your money, I don’t need it. I get enough good shit from…” He trails off. “Never mind. God help you if you ever harm her, though. I’ll be watching.” There’s a playful tone to his threat that I can’t fully process over the generosity of what he’s done.

I stand, and my legs nearly give way. Giving an exasperated sigh, Blackfen supports me, but I’m already moving, stumbling. I have to get to her. Must.Now.

I leave Blackfen’s house with his yell of, “You’re welcome, you prick!” echoing after me, and there’s some of my men outside with cars. I slide into the driver’s seat of the nearest, because I haven’t got the patience for anyone being slow, and head to Emily.

The right one. I hope. I can’t live another second without her.

I rap on the door, and frown that it sounds flimsy, flexing with the impact of my knuckles. I should be too deadened and exhausted to be excited, though my body doesn’t have that memo, and is fizzing like a bottle of one of those sweet children’s drinks.

Footsteps sound inside.

The door opens and I look up, scowling, ready for another girl who isn’t?—

“Markov.” She beats me to it.

It’s Emily.

10

EMILY

He’s here. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d arrive on my doorstep. That’s too implausible.

There’s a split second where my imagination flies through likely reasons for his presence. He doesn’t allow people to leave Mortlake alive, he thinks I owe him money, I screwed up some work and he’s here to take revenge, he knows I’m pregnant.

He’s going to kill me.

As adrenaline pulses through my veins, he catches me up. He’s a solid wall of muscle as he crashes into me. His head dips and his lips are on mine before I can so much as squeal.

Then he’s holding me to him, and pressing a hard kiss to my mouth.

The shock is almost as intense as his kiss. For a second, I’m so surprised I don’t know what to do. I just let him, unable to process what’s happening. My arms hang uselessly and I’m a puppet, suspended between reality and fantasy.

His hand goes to my nape, and it feels like a claim. He growls, low and feral from deep in his chest, and something inside me responds.

If this is a hallucination, well, cool.

Real life is overrated. I bring my hands up to his shoulders and cling to him.

He deepens the kiss, digging his fingers into my neck possessively as he coaxes my mouth open with his tongue. His lips are a passionate connection, as though he just wants to get as close as possible. He pulls me tight to him, his solid arms braced around me.

I’m kissing him back, loving that he’s here and maybe not caring why, and he is far too real, hot, substantial, smelling of chocolate, citrus, and black pepper, that he can’t be a figment of my imagination.

Then without warning, he breaks away. His eyes are wild, dark as a stormy December day as he gazes down at me.

I’m sure he’s going to say something. I’m waiting.

But the next thing I know, he’s ducked, grabbed me around the waist, and tossed me over his shoulder.

I scream, but the front door of my mother’s house swings shut, and Markov’s arm holds me tight over my thighs.

Am I being kidnapped?