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Chapter 9
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Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 15
Frost on the vines looks like scattered ash. I stand on the terrace, watching Sicilian morning mist crawl up from the valley, swallowing the black rocks. A year ago at this time, I was bleeding in that Camorra hold, thinking I’d sink into the Tyrrhenian with the twins.Now they’re one. Serafina walks holding walls; Gabriel speaks three words: Mama, Nonna, and—yesterday’s addition—No. He shakes his head, always no, like a little dictator. I don’t know who he resembles. Maybe the Rossi clan, or the father who refuses to admit defeat.The Signet Ring on my finger is dull in dawn light. Inside, the Rossi rose dagger has been polished bright by my skin, like a ten-year-old weapon. I wear it on my index finger, the trigger finger; when I grip a gun, the metal digs into the knuckle, reminding me of the ring’s other use."Elena."His voice from behind. Not from the master bedroom—he keeps to the east wing, connected by a monitored corridor. We meet only for business, or children’s visitation.
Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 14
They escort me downstairs before dawn. Not Alessandro's men, but Rossi family remnants arranged by Nonna—six elders in black weeds, carrying grandfather's rifles, escorting me like a coffin through the corridor. My abdomen still aches, each step like needles stirring in sutures, but I don't touch the wall. I carry Serafina; Nonna carries Gabriel.The hall has been transformed. Not the cold sea-cliff fortress anymore—a courtroom. Long oak table, five high-backed chairs, occupied by representatives of the Five Families. The Commission. The supreme authority of the Mafia, usually convened only when someone must die.But today is different. Today is not a trial for a traitor. Today is Alessandro Marino stripping himself naked of power in public.He stands at the hall's center, no Don's black suit—deep gray, no tie. His hair is neatly combed, but the circles under his eyes show sleepless nights. Before him lies a red velvet cushion on the floor—for kneeling, the old Sicilian ritual of fealt
Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 13
The sea wind isn't Sicilian. Too salty, too cold, carrying the Tyrrhenian's perpetual damp like a weeping wound. I've been in this concrete villa for seventeen days. Built on the sea cliff—no beach, only black rocks like a beast's teeth below. Alessandro's choice—easily defensible, one access point, helicopter landing on the roof.My room is on the second floor, window facing the sea. Not scenery—a monitor. I can see the coastline, and the armed guards stationed on the rocks. The golden cage exchanged for a gray fortress.The C-section scar itches in damp weather. Thirty stitches, a pink centipede crawling across my lower abdomen. Serafina and Gabriel are in the nursery next door, cared for by two nurses and a pediatrician, 24/7. Hired by Alessandro. He permits me four hours daily with them, at designated times, medical staff present.This isn't motherhood. This is visitation rights. Like a prisoner stripped of custody, viewing her children through glass.But today is different. Today
Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 12
I wake up to the smell of antiseptic. Not a natural waking—more like being dredged up from deep water, a bloated corpse hooked by the ribs and dragged to the surface.The first thing I see is the ceiling—white, but not hospital plaster. Canvas. We're moving. A mattress beneath me, but the engine vibration everywhere. I'm in some kind of modified military ambulance, or command vehicle.I try to move my fingers. They respond, like rusty hinges. I try to move my legs. No response—not paralysis, anesthesia or restraints. My abdomen... my abdomen feels hollowed out, like someone dug out the organs with a shovel and packed the cavity with hot coal."Awake."Alessandro’s voice. Close, to my right. I turn my head slowly, neck belonging to someone else. He sits in a folding chair, wearing a black turtleneck instead of tactical gear. His jaw is clean-shaven, but the circles under his eyes are darker. He holds a thermos—the military kind for espresso.He looks... calm. The calm after a storm, or
Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 11
I wake up in pain. Not the dull kind—teeth. Something is gnawing my womb from inside, tearing flesh into strips. I arch my back violently; the iron bed shrieks against stone."Awake?" Alessandro’s voice emerges from darkness. He’s still in that chair, the SV-98 now resting across his knees, barrel pointed at the floor. He’s guarded all night—whites of his eyes bloodshot, black stubble coating his jaw. The Signet Ring hangs against his chest, rising and falling with his breath, gleaming cold in the dawn light.I try to speak, but a contraction rolls through my abdomen, forcing out an uncontrollable whimper. Not the kind of pain you can bite through—primitive, animal, tearing. My hand flies to my stomach, touching skin stretched tight as a drum, hard as rock."Doctor!" Alessandro roars, panic in his voice—not the panic of losing control, but of discovering control has failed. "She was supposed to sleep until noon! Why is she convulsing?"The female doctor with the wire-rimmed glasses rus
Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared Chapter 10
Blood has its own will. It doesn't care about Rossi pride or Marino sieges; it only wants exit. At three a.m., lying on the iron bed in the stone house, I feel the warmth surge again between my legs, my womb silently vomiting.I bite down on the towel, swallowing the scream. Nonna is downstairs on watch, rotating with the other village elders, staring at the mountain road. They think Alessandro will wait until dawn, will honor the "three days" agreement. But they don't know him—or they know him too well and won't admit it. Alessandro Marino never waits. What he wants, he takes in the deepest night, when the victim is most vulnerable, prying open defenses with a knife tip or a kiss.My hand reaches for the Beretta on the nightstand. My fingers barely touch the grip when the dog downstairs barks.Not a normal bark. The frightened whimper of a throat about to be crushed. Then a muffled thud—flesh hitting stone—and the clatter of a shotgun falling.He's here.I try to sit up, but a cramp n
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