AllFreeNovel
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He’s Russian.
He’s insanely wealthy.
He’s all sorts of crazy-possessive and overprotective.
He’s surrounded by men who look like they enjoy a good gangland murder every bit as much as a good bruschetta.
“Shit.” I slump in my own chair. “Holy… shit. You are totally a mob boss.”
Pasha has the gall to smirk. That’s all the answer I need.
I press a hand to my stomach. “Shit. Shit shit shit. Shiiiiiiiiit. This is your baby. I’m pregnant with your baby.”
“So now, you understand why I need to keep you safe. You and our baby. As much as I’m working on making friends with the government, I have plenty more enemies who wouldn’t lose sleep over harming you so long as it harms me.”
His words sound garbled in my ears. I’m trying to just draw in the next breath, exhale, and repeat.
I’m pregnant. With a Russian mob boss’s baby.
I fucked a mob boss. A criminal.
An insanely hot criminal, but this is not the time to split hairs.
“I just… I just got my new apartment!”
I don’t mean to yell and I hope it’s not actually coming out as yelling. The last thing we need is every eye in the restaurant on Don Corleone here or whatever the Russian version is.
But I’m panicking. I’m panicking and struggling to maintain a grasp on whatever shred of control over my life I have left. “I paid a deposit and everything! Do you know how cutthroat the real estate industry is in this city?”
Oh my God, he’s actually laughing at me.
This man has the balls to laugh at me.
Pasha waves at me to sit back down when I move to stand up and march the hell out of here. I don’t obey because I want to—I obey because I’m surrounded by, like, twenty-plus armed men who take their marching orders from him.
Shit.
Fuck.
My baby. My baby’s gonna be a mob boss one day.
Better that than a debutante, right?
And that momentary thought is how I’m suddenly snorting up and coughing on my raspberry sweet tea. Now, Pasha’s the one being waved back down because no, I do not need his help; I just need a moment.
Come to think of it, I don’t want his help.
“Thanks, Pasha, really.” I offer him my most magnanimous smile so he knows there’s no hard feelings. “For everything. You’ve been wonderful, and you’re absolutely right—this food is too amazing to skip for salad. So again, thank you.”
He casually lofts a brow. “But…?”
“But I don’t need your help. Or your money. Or your protection.”
The other brow joins his hairline. “Oh, really?”
Why do I have this sinking feeling that he’s not taking me seriously? “Really really. I’m a big girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything. I’ve got a great job with great employers, and a solid paycheck?—”
“I will provide for my child. And you.”
