Page 29 of The Mafia's Septuplets

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted, nauseated, and emotionally volatile. Either you’re developing some chronic condition, or...” She trails off, studying my face with dawning realization.

“Or what?”

She says the stark words gently. “Or you’re pregnant.”

I stare at her, my brain refusing to understand the words for a long moment. Pregnant. The possibility has danced at the edges of my consciousness for days, dismissed each time it surfacesbecause acknowledging it makes everything more complicated. I respond automatically. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? When’s the last time you had a period?”

I try to remember, but the past few months blur together in a haze of grief and business complications and stolen afternoons with Iskander. “I don’t know. Maybe six weeks ago? Seven?” I wince when I realize it was more like ten or eleven weeks, but I’m not admitting that out loud.

Harper’s voice carries that gentle firmness again. “When’s the last time you slept with someone?”

Heat floods my cheeks despite the personal nature of our friendship. We’ve shared everything over the years, but discussing my relationship with Iskander feels different for some reason. I fidget with a stray thread on my sleeve. “It’s not what you think.”

“I’m not thinking anything. I’m asking a direct question that requires a direct answer.”

I study her face, recognizing she won’t let this go until she has the truth, no matter how complicated that truth might be. “Three times,” I say quietly, “With Iskander.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she keeps her expression neutral. “When?”

The confession feels both liberating and terrifying. “The first time was about nine weeks ago, in his office. Then twice more over the past month. We’ve been... I don’t know what to call it. Dating, I suppose, though that word feels inadequate for whatever’s happening between us.”

“Were you using protection?”

I nod, though the gesture feels hollow. “We used condoms, but thinking about it right now, I think I missed several birth control pills after Henri died. The stress made me forget about everything except basic survival.”

Harper processes the information with a slow nod. “Condoms aren’t foolproof, especially when combined with inconsistent hormonal birth control.”

The admission comes out sharper than intended. “I know that. I know all the statistics about failure rates and user error. I just thought...”

“You thought you’d be lucky.”

“I thought I had enough problems without adding an unplanned pregnancy to the mix.” I look down. “Truthfully, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all.”

The silence stretches between us. A pregnancy would complicate everything that matters to me, including my relationship with Iskander, my business responsibilities, and my safety in a world that’s already proven dangerous.

She slides off the cutting table and moves closer. “We need to find out for sure. There’s an urgent care clinic about twenty minutes from here. We can go right now.”

I shake my head, though certainty settles into my bones. “I don’t need a clinic visit to confirm what I already know. My body’s been trying to tell me for weeks. I just haven’t been listening.”

“Then we definitely need medical confirmation, and we need to discuss your options.”

The word ‘options’ implies things I’m not prepared to shoulder. I think about the foster homes, the families that never quite feltlike mine, and the constant awareness that I was disposable to people who were supposed to care. I look up to meet her gaze. “I can’t terminate a pregnancy. I’ve lost too much family already and won’t choose to lose more.”

Her expression softens with understanding. “Then we need to think about how you’re going to manage this. A baby changes everything, Willa, especially given your current circumstances.”

My current circumstances. The euphemism encompasses so much, including inheriting a business I don’t fully understand, being watched by hostile forces I can’t see, and falling for a man whose world could destroy everything I’ve tried to build.

The question emerges as almost a whisper. “How do I raise a child in Iskander’s world? How do I protect someone that innocent from the violence that seems to follow him everywhere?”

Her tone remains calm but firm. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you make different choices about who you trust and where you build your life.”

The suggestion implies abandoning everything, including the shop, the partnership, and whatever’s growing between Iskander and me. That would mean starting over somewhere safe and anonymous, where a child could grow up without fear…but also without a father.

I slump back in the chair, overwhelmed by the complexity of feelings I can’t begin to untangle. “I don’t know if I can do that either.”

“Why not?”