Page 34 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

“My men went door-to-door.”

“You visited everyEmily Smithin the country?” I say with disbelief.

He tilts his head in agreement.

“You’re crazy.” But I admit, I’m flattered. I had no idea he was looking for me.

“Worked with a glass slipper.” He glances to the side, where I’m in the passenger seat, a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but I end up doing neither, as we lapse into silence. It’s not quite the peaceful companionship of when we listened to audiobooks together, because there’s an electric charge now. We’re two live wires, liable to spark.

He turns off the motorway, and before I can ask what’s going on, he’s pulled up outside a restaurant. A fancy-looking one, and when he opens my car door, I finger my pink cotton dress nervously.

“I don’t have the right clothes…” I mutter.

Markov blinks at me as though I’m speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“And I don’t need to stop for food.”

His gaze dips to my waist, expression serious. “We have to look after our baby.”

My heart inflates without my say-so. We? Our? And a full sentence with a verb and everything?

So when he offers me his hand, I take it.

In the restaurant, he’s rude, there’s no doubt. But the way he doesn’t fill in is so honest, I find I like it. There’s no pretence. He indicates for me to order first, and I dither, but settle on a burgerwith all the trimmings because I’m hungrier than I thought, and rose lemonade.

And he just puts up fingers to indicate two, and the waitress takes a second, but gets it.

“You’re having pink lemonade?” I laugh as she leaves.

He nods.

“What do you usually do when you need to order food?” How does he manage?

“If you wait, they make suggestions,” he says with a wry smile. “And I don’t go out much.”

“Oh, that’s smart.” I’m just wondering what I should say, when Markov huffs.

“I shouldn’t have left.” His brows are low, and he seems uncomfortable, but he pushes through before I can say that he doesn’t have to. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

There’s a lump in my throat, and I have to swallow back tears as Bratva boss Markov, black suit, black hair, grey at his temples, stubble on his jaw, takes a calm sip of his pale pink fizzy drink.

“I didn’t know what to do afterwards, and I had a plan for the next day. I thought you’d be there.”

I had this all the wrong way around, and after three months of being on my own with this pregnancy, and spending every waking hour looking after my mother, it’s all a bit much when our food arrives without my having to cook it.

I tear up as I blink at the food on my plate. He had a plan?

“My manager sacked me,” I say with a little hiccup.

“I know. I killed him.” His words are heavy stones dropping through water.

It’s my turn to be unable to speak. I suppose I should have guessed, because that’s how the Silent kingpin of Mortlake deals with things, but, wow. It’s not as though I wished Denis a long and happy life, butdead?

Markov shrugs. “I was very angry. What we did meant a lot to me, and you were gone.”

“It was my first time,” I blurt out, my face flaming. “So I didn’t know what I should do when?—”