Secretly Shopping While Eight Months Pregnant—Then I Saw My Ex, a Mafia Boss

Two days passed in a strange, golden haze of gilded captivity.

My blood pressure stabilized slightly, thanks to Mrs. Gable’s meticulously prepared low-sodium meals and forced bed rest. Nico barely left the Bedford estate. He moved his primary operations into the home library on the first floor, running his vast business network via encrypted video calls and private meetings with his capos.

He came up to the master suite every two hours.

He brought me fresh water. He sat beside me while I read nursing textbooks I had requested from my old apartment. He never touched me inappropriately, but his physical presence was constant—a persistent, warm shadow that refused to leave my orbit.

On the third evening, while snow began to fall heavily outside, a knock sounded at the library door downstairs.

I had come out of the master bedroom, wrapped in a thick cashmere robe, slowly walking along the carpeted second-floor gallery to stretch my swollen legs. I stopped near the top of the grand staircase, looking down into the foyer.

Mateo was standing at the front door, speaking in low, urgent tones with a young associate who was dripping melted snow onto the marble tile.

"He's sure?" Mateo asked, his hand resting on the grip of his sidearm.

"Positive," the associate whispered. "Serena Crane spent two hours at the St. Regis this afternoon meeting with Marco Moretti. She brought a legal folder with her. Our source inside the hotel says she was offering information regarding Nico’s current whereabouts and... his domestic situation."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Serena.

She hadn't just retreated to her luxury life after Fifth Avenue. She was moving.

Before Mateo could respond, the library doors swung open. Nico stepped out, wearing a dark turtleneck and slacks. His eyes instantly swept the foyer, catching the associate, then Mateo, and finally tracking up the stairs where I was standing near the banister.

His expression hardened instantly.

"Elena," Nico said, his tone softening as he looked up at me. "You should be resting."

"I heard them, Nico," I said, my hands gripping the cold marble rail of the staircase. "Serena is talking to the Morettis."

Nico’s eyes flared with a brief, deadly light before he masked it with a calm smile. He walked up the grand staircase, two steps at a time, his movements fluid and effortless, until he stood on the step just below me, bringing his eyes level with mine.

"Serena is a foolish girl who thinks she can leverage old rivalries to force my hand," Nico said smoothly, reaching out to take my cold fingers in his warm grip. "She means nothing. She has nothing."

"She knows about me!" I insisted, my voice rising slightly despite my effort to stay calm. "She knows I’m here! She knows I’m pregnant! If she tells Marco Moretti that you have a pregnant wife hidden in Bedford—"

"Marco Moretti already knows you're alive, Elena," Nico interrupted softly.

I froze. "What?"

Nico let out a quiet sigh, pulling me gently away from the stairs and back toward the private warmth of the master suite. He shut the double doors behind us, locking out the noise of the foyer.

"The moment you walked into Marchetti on Fifth," Nico explained, guiding me to sit on the plush sofa near the fire, "the entire city knew. Do you really think a boutique on Fifth Avenue is private? Half the staff on that street are paid informants for various families. By three o'clock that afternoon, Marco Moretti knew I had recovered my missing wife."

"Oh God," I covered my face with my hands, terror surging back through my veins. "I brought them right to us. I went to buy a crib, and I put a target on my baby's back."

"Hey," Nico commanded softly. He dropped to his knees in front of the sofa, taking my wrists and gently pulling my hands away from my face. His dark eyes were burning with an intensity that forced me to look at him. "Look at me, Elena."

I looked down at him. The most feared mafia boss in the tri-state area was kneeling on the carpet between my knees, holding my trembling hands in his.

"You didn't put a target on anything," Nico swore softly. "I am the target. I have always been the target. But you... you and our daughter are the only things in this world I will burn everything down to protect."

"Serena will sell you out, Nico," I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes. "She wanted your name. She wanted your empire. You humiliated her on Fifth Avenue."

"Serena Crane is a nuisance," Nico said coldly, his jaw setting into hard angles. "And nuisances are dealt with quietly. Tomorrow morning, her father will receive a delivery containing twenty years of bank statements from their offshore accounts in Zurich. By noon, Serena will be on a private jet to a family compound in Geneva, and she will not return to New York for five years."

He leaned up, pressing a warm, firm kiss against my knuckles.

"Nobody touches my family, Elena. Not Serena. Not Marco Moretti. Nobody."

Before I could answer, a soft chime rang from Nico’s phone on the coffee table.

He reached for it, glancing at the encrypted text message on the screen.

His entire posture transformed. The gentle husband vanished; the ruthless predator returned in a fraction of a second. He stood up, his face dark as a thundercloud.

"What is it?" I asked, my heart sinking.