Got Pregnant For My Ex Boss

Holy shit. My ruthless Mafia Boss is the sugar daddy who calls me "Mistress" on the dark web.

After my phone accidentally dialed him, Don Cassius's private phone buzzed on the conference table.

The entire boardroom was dead silent.

I held my breath. My palms were slick with sweat.

Ten seconds ago, I hit the video call button for a contact saved as: 6'1, Dumb Money, 8-Pack.

Who was currently sitting at the head of the table. The same man who had just ripped my art restoration draft into five pieces.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think the sweet man who cried for his "Mistress" online and wired me millions without blinking was the city’s most feared Mafia godfather.

Ten minutes ago, he tapped my canvas and sneered, "Aria, this is your fifth draft? Did you get your head slammed in a door five times?"

I almost cried right then and there.

My family was drowning in millions of dollars of debt. My only way out was restoring antique paintings. And he was the boss who held my life in his hands.

But now—if he answered that video call and saw my face, everything would flip.

The constant fear of my drafts getting rejected. The debts. The nightmare of my parents selling me off for an arranged marriage.

All of it, solved.

I stared at his phone on the table. My heart hammered so hard it bruised my ribs.

Answer it. Come on, answer it.

The screen lit up.

Then, he declined the call.

A second later, my own phone buzzed.

[Mistress, I'm in a meeting. I can't take my pants off right now. Be good.]

[Don't be mad. Sending you money. I'll contact you later. Love you.]

[Transfer: $52,000.00]

I was stunned.

But seeing the money, I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from twitching up.

A split second later, a voice like cracked ice snapped me back to reality.

"Aria."

I snapped my head up. My gaze crashed into Cassius’s dead, gray eyes.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?"

Every head in the boardroom turned to me. A dozen suited wiseguys stared at me like I was dead meat.

I opened my mouth. "I..."

"You what?" Cassius stood up. At six-foot-one, he towered over me, his three-piece suit impeccable. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

"I... I heard you."

"Then what's so funny?" He took a step forward, his presence suffocating. "Aria, I've been in this business for ten years. I've never seen a restorer as garbage as you."

My lips trembled.

"Your color matching is a disaster. Your brushwork looks like a fucking toddler did it. Do you have any idea what this 'draft' of yours is?"

"Boss..."

"Shut up."

He stepped right up to me, leaning one hand on the table, casting me entirely in his shadow.

"Do you know how much this painting is worth?"

"..."

"Twenty million dollars." His words sliced like a knife. "Your parents' debt, plus interest, is just a fraction of that."

My blood ran cold.

"I gave you five chances," Cassius whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Show me this trash again, and I'll throw you in the underground fighting ring."

"With your frame, you'll last three rounds."

"The payout will just be enough to buy your urn."

The room tilted.

I knew exactly what the underground fighting ring was. Last month, an underperforming restorer was sent there. He came back wrapped in bloody bandages.

Tears spilled from my eyes. I couldn't stop them.

"Boss, I..." My voice shook violently. "My boyfriend just texted me, I couldn't help—"

"Stop."

Cassius cut me off cold.

"Nobody cares about you and your boyfriend. "

He pointed a finger at my head, looking like he was about to put a bullet between my eyes.

"I paid top dollar for you. For this auction. You pull this shit again, and I'll show you exactly how the Falcone family does business."

Someone in the room let out a low sneer.

I buried my head lower. Tears hit the table. One by one.

The $52,000 transfer notification was still lit up on my screen.

The man who cried for his Mistress, begging me not to leave him.

And the Mafia tyrant standing in front of me, ready to end my life on a whim.

They were the same person.

I dug my nails hard into my palms.

Don't cry. Don't talk back. Don't let him notice anything is wrong.

If Cassius found out I was the "Mistress" who made him get on his knees and call himself my dog... I wouldn't even get an urn.

He'd bury me alive.

"Did you hear me?" Cassius's voice pressed down on me.

My blood froze. I forced the words out of my tight throat.

"Understood, Boss. It won't happen again."