Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss: A Dark Mafia Secret Baby Romance by Fia Farina

Author:Fia Farina [Farina, Fia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fia Farina & Rosalie Rose
Published: 2024-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Kat

He falls asleep beside me. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do. But he looks so peaceful when he sleeps; like a different man entirely, so much less haunted. Less plagued. I can almost imagine him in a different life. One where there’s no crime at all, and no mafia and no killing and death, no history of it, no blood or pressure or legacy.

Legacy. I watch him sleep, and envy the peace he has in this moment. It eludes me. My legacy is his legacy; our son. And he doesn’t know. Has no idea. When he spoke of marriage, he was so willing to give that up. Maybe because a marriage to me would be one in name only, a façade designed to protect me from his enemies.

Maybe he was serious. Maybe to keep me safe, he would be willing to give up a future in which he has a real wife, and real children, and a real legacy.

But if he had me…is there a way, a possibility, that he could have both, after all?

I shake my head, shake myself. I’m exhausted, but I’m finding it difficult to sleep. Usually when I’m like this, tossing and turning late into the night, I’ll go downstairs and rest in the living room, read a good book or get ahead on work; sometimes I’ll go out and walk the estate, through the dark woods. There’s a river back there. In the dark, at night, it feels treacherous and magical, like a wishing well from a fairy tale.

But those little escapes have been taken from me. In their place, now, is only fear. Instead, I go into the ensuite bathroom. The pain medication that Aleks’ medic gave me hasn’t quite worn off yet, and the pain is manageable, though the woozier effects have worn off. When I get into the bathroom and see my reflection, I gasp.

My face is bruised, swollen. There are a pair of little gashes on my cheekbone, one of them knitted together tightly with stitches. From the ring, I think—the one the big man was wearing when he backhanded me. A chill of fear pulses through me at the memory. Something in me feels tainted by it now. By everything. All of this.

“Are you alright?” He shuffles his feet moving into the doorway. I know he does it to warn me, so I won’t be startled when he speaks. Our eyes meet in the mirror. “It’s going to get worse, you know, before it gets better.”

I nod. “I know. It’s pretty hard to look at, though.”

His face, dark, stormy, says: It hurts for me, too. I can only imagine. In no world is it not his fault that this happened. All of this. To me, and to us. But he’s still fighting to fix it. To resolve things and make it all right.

What if that means marriage, in the end?

I notice something—a bandage showing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. When I go to him and pull it up, I find a dense wrap of gauze there, held in place by expertly applied medical tape.

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