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He kisses me hard enough to leave me breathless all over again, then walks out with Aldo. I stand there for several seconds after they’re gone, staring at the doorway. Then I look down at my coffee. It’s cold. I take a sip anyway.

This is ridiculous.

Because the truth is, I have allowed myself to become completely comfortable with Dario controlling parts of my life. He tells me where he wants me, when he wants me, and sometimes what he wants me to do. And instead of pushing back the way I always thought I would, I find myself trusting him.

That should frighten me. Controlling men are supposed to scare me. I’ve seen what happens when a woman gives a man too much power over her life. And yet Dario never makes me feel trapped. He makes me feel safe.

That’s the problem. Because I’m beginning to realize those two things can exist in the same man. And there is something else I can’t ignore anymore. I don’t actually know what Dario does. He calls himself a businessman, but that’s all he ever says.

He owns the ranch, a film company, a shipping company, and once casually mentioned a casino as though owning one were the most ordinary thing in the world. Aldo treats him with a level of respect that goes beyond an employee respecting his employer.

There are times when Dario walks into a room and everyone seems to instinctively make space for him. Then there are the phone calls that stop when I enter. The way Dario never seems surprised by anything. The way men who look dangerous defer to him.

I’ve tried telling myself I’m imagining things. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m seeing ghosts because I grew up surrounded by them. But lately, the explanation is becoming harder to swallow. Dario might be involved in organized crime. The mafia. And I might be falling in love with him.

The realization hits me so hard that I grip the counter. Love.

I don’t want to say it. I don’t even want to think it. But it’s there. I love him. Which means I have to tell him the truth about me too. I have to tell him about my family. About New York. About the fact that if my suspicions about him are correct, the two of us aren’t simply from different worlds.

We’re from opposing ones.

I should have had a conversation with him long before now. And yet I keep putting it off because some foolish part of me is terrified that once I know the truth, I won’t be able to pretend this is just a beautiful thing happening between two people who want each other.

***

A few days later, I can’t ignore the other problem anymore. My period is late. Not a few days late. It’s been two months. I’ve also been nauseated every morning for the last week, and I’ve spent the better part of today convincing myself stress is responsible.

It isn’t.

The pregnancy test sitting on the bathroom counter tells me otherwise. Positive. I stare at it. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it.

I’m pregnant.

For a moment, fear is the only thing I feel, but then I place a trembling hand over my stomach, and something warm spreads through my chest. Dario’s baby. A smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. I’m going to have Dario’s baby.

The man I love. I laugh softly, almost crying because happiness feels so foreign that I don’t quite know what to do with it. I want to tell him. I want to see his face. I leave the bathroom and hurry toward the foyer just as I hear the front door open.

Dario is home. I slow when I hear his voice. He’s speaking Italian, and I understand every word, courtesy of my mother, who insisted Anya and I learn several languages. I guess it’s paying off now. I stop behind the corner.

“Matteo Rossi will handle it,” Dario says.

My entire body goes cold. Rossi. It can’t be. Aldo says something I can’t make out, and Dario answers. “He’s family. I’ll speak to my cousin myself.”

My stomach drops. Matteo Rossi. I know that name. Everyone in my family knows that name. Matteo Rossi is the head of the Rossi family in New York. A mafia don. My fingers tighten around the pregnancy test hidden in my hand.

No, no, no…

I back away from the corner before either man can see me. Everything suddenly makes sense. The secrecy. The men in black suits. The way Aldo obeys him. The way Dario carries himself. The businesses…

I have spent years running from this world. Years building a life where nobody could reach me through my family. Years convincing myself I could have something normal. And now I’ve fallen in love with a fucking mafia don.

I hurry back to the guest house, barely aware of my surroundings, and shove clothes into a bag with shaking hands. I’m supposed to leave for New York in a few days for Anya’s wedding anyway. It doesn’t matter if I leave now.

I don’t stop to think about the baby or Dario. If I do, I’ll stay. And I can’t stay. Not when I’ve finally discovered who he really is. I grab my keys and rush outside, my heart breaking with every step. Then I get into my car, turn my phone off and drive.

I don’t look back at the house. Because if I do, I might remember the way he holds me when I sleep, the way he kisses me in the morning, or the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world he wants to protect.

And I might turn around. So I keep driving toward my stepbrother Mikhail’s apartment in LA. He is the only person I can think of who can charter a plane for me at short notice.