All Chapters of Claimed by the Mafia Boss: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The sharp pain catches me so off guard that I gasp, my hand flying to cradle my swollen belly. It feels like a giant fist has grabbed my womb and is squeezing the life out of it. So, this is what a contraction feels like.Declan is quickly at my side. "Are you all right?" he says, gripping my hand. His phone is immediately in his other hand. "I'm calling Dr. Grant."I manage to tell him through gritted teeth that I think it's just a contraction. His eyes fly wide. "But your due date isn't for another 3 weeks. Is this okay?" He looks utterly panicked now.I try to smile reassuringly despite the vice-like pressure in my abdomen. "It's probably just false labor. Braxton Hicks contractions. They're perfectly normal this far along."Declan doesn't seem convinced as he punches in the doctor's number. I can hear the phone ringing on the other end of the line."Yes, this is Declan Shaughnessy. My wife is having contractions ..." He pauses, listening intently to whatever Dr. Grant is saying

We settle into silence then—a comfortable hush that wraps around us like a cocoon. My head finds its favorite spot on his shoulder as his breathing evens out and deepens—the telltale sign of impending slumber.My eyes close as well, but sleep doesn't claim me as quickly as it does him. Instead, I lay there wrapped in warmth and pondering the complexities of our lives—the hidden currents beneath calm surfaces.Declan may be exhausted from more than just the day's events; perhaps it's the strain of protecting our family from unseen threats. Maybe it's simply fatherhood settling upon him with all its new responsibilities and fears.As these thoughts chase each other through my mind, I focus on Declan's steady heartbeat against my cheek—a rhythm that reassures me despite everything else.For now, this is enough: being here with him in this moment where nothing else matters but us and our little girl sleeping soundly nearby.With that comforting thought cradling my mind, sleep finally take

The chill cuts through my coat as I step out of the car, my breath misting in the air. Seven weeks. It's been seven weeks since that bullet tore through me, since the sirens and chaos. I pull my collar tighter around my neck and glance up at the Metropolitan Detention Center, a cold, gray monolith against the dreary sky.I clutch the envelope containing photos of Tori, a lump forming in my throat. She's all that matters now. The ache in my chest isn't just from the healing gunshot wounds; it's the weight of betrayal, of lost love. Molly, my wife, had been rushed to another hospital that day, her life hanging by a thread. Three bullets were fired from Red’s gun and she still survived. She clung on to life for our daughter, she said. For a chance at forgiveness and a family reunited.A bitter laugh escapes me. Forgiveness? That's as likely as a warm day in this frigid hell.I remember telling Molly about my father, how he died at the hands of someone he trusted—an old friend turned unde

Abigail"Help! Somebody, help me!"The desperate cry snaps my head around, but I don't see anyone in the back of the flooded cabin. Where is that voice coming from? The rising water laps at my thighs, urging me to get out now. Pounding accompanies the shouts. "Help me! Please, help!"I zero in on the sound, my eyes widening. "Oh my God." He must be trapped in the crushed lavatory, the door wedged shut by a serving cart and debris carried in by the current.I charge forward, icy water hitting my chest. The cries have stopped, but I spot fingers clinging to the door frame beneath the surface. He's completely submerged. I have to get him out of there!"Hold on!" I scan desperately for something to pry the door open. There - a jagged piece of seat armrest. Heart pounding, I jam it into the crack and throw all my weight against it. Water pours in relentlessly as the horrific image of watching someone drown right in front of me floods my veins with inhuman strength. Running for help would

AbigailI cover my ears to drown out the sound of the shooter's howls of pain. I keep reminding myself that he killed Gail and would have shot us all if he’d been given the chance. This is a kill-or-be-killed scenario, but I hate that I’m in the middle of it. I purposefully chose a life as far away from the Obsidian Circle as possible to avoid this, and I have no doubt that this hit is tied to Obsidian business affairs.It's another power struggle being played out before my very eyes. I squeeze them tighter and clamp my hands even tighter around my ears.At the same time, I have to wonder if the shooter was aiming for Grayson or for me. Grayson seems the most likely candidate, considering his position in the organization. But if someone were trying to deal a blow to my father, Luther, wouldn’t taking out one of his children be just the thing?It wouldn’t be lost on me that they’d selected his least favorite child, not his precious firstborn son and heir or his cherished daughter, who