I Carried the Mafia King’s Child—and Burned His Empire

Isla’s POV By the time the call ended, the sounds that had seeped through the thick wood of the don’s office—broken breaths, the harsh drag of furniture against the floor, a cadence I never wanted burned into my memory—had faded into an ugly silence. I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, phone still pressed to my ear, fingers stiff and unresponsive. When I finally turned away, my legs felt unsteady, as though the marble hallway had tilted beneath me. The Montenegro headquarters was always cold, but tonight the chill crept straight through the soles of my shoes and into my bones. I made my way back to the conference room on autopilot. Inside, I lowered myself into a chair and spread the ledgers across the table with careful precision, pretending that numbers and signatures still mattered. I murmured instructions to my assistant—routine things I’d said a hundred times before—while my stomach churned violently. The nausea rolled in thick waves, and I had to pause, breathing slowly through my nose. The baby shifted inside me, restless, unsettled, as if it already understood what I had only just begun to accept. I don’t know how long passed before the heavy door at the end of the corridor creaked open. Alaric stepped out first. He always filled a space without trying—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in authority the way other men wore suits. Power clung to him, unmistakable, the kind that made people straighten their backs without realizing why. Sabrina emerged just behind him. He’d changed jackets, but not his shirt. The collar sat open, carelessly so, and near the edge of it—faint but impossible to miss—was a smudge of lipstick that hadn’t quite been wiped away. My eyes caught on it despite myself, my chest tightening as though something inside me had cracked clean through. Sabrina, on the other hand, looked immaculate. Her hair had been smoothed back into place, her makeup flawless once more. Only the lingering flush along her cheekbones betrayed what had happened behind that door. I stood immediately, intent on leaving before either of them could speak. I had nothing left to give this moment. But she intercepted me with ease, drifting into my path like she’d planned it. “You’re Isla, right?” she said brightly, voice light and friendly. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Today’s actually my first official day working with the Montenegro organization. Funny timing, isn’t it?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust my voice to come out steady. She stepped closer, both hands wrapped around a glass of hot water. Then—almost theatrically—her foot slipped forward. Her body pitched toward me. “Oh—!” The glass hit the floor with a sharp crash, shattering into glittering shards. I moved instinctively, sidestepping just in time, but Sabrina collapsed against the table anyway, clinging to its edge like her legs had given out entirely. Her eyes filled with tears in an instant. “I—did I say something wrong?” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why would you shove me like that?” The act was so obvious it would have been laughable under different circumstances. I stared at her, exhausted beyond the point of anger, unable to summon the energy to defend myself. Alaric was already at her side. He caught her before she could sink any lower, one arm steady around her shoulders. His concern was immediate, instinctive. “Sabrina, are you hurt?” he asked sharply. “Did you fall?” Then he looked at me. Whatever softness remained in his expression vanished. His gaze hardened, sharp and disapproving, as if I’d already been judged and found lacking. “Miss Frostwyn,” he said coolly, “you’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be wandering the office floor like this, causing scenes. Being with child doesn’t excuse reckless behavior—especially toward new members of my organization.” There was no pause. No question. No interest in hearing my side. “I didn’t touch her,” I said quietly. It took effort to keep my voice from shaking. His lips curled faintly. “So you expect me to believe she threw herself to the floor for no reason?” Each word landed like a blow. They stood close together, bodies angled toward one another without thought or effort, as if proximity was natural between them. I suddenly felt like an intruder in a place I’d never truly belonged. I turned away. My hand flew to my mouth as I hurried down the hall toward the restroom, my vision blurring at the edges. I barely made it to the sink before the nausea overtook me. I braced myself against the counter and retched, my shoulders heaving as tears streamed down unchecked. My hands shook violently, one instinctively pressing against my abdomen as though I could shield the life inside me from the truth unraveling around us. The door slammed open behind me. Alaric walked in. He lowered his voice immediately, the way he always did when he wanted to sound reasonable. “Don’t misunderstand what happened out there,” he said. “I spoke harshly because people were watching. I couldn’t appear biased.” He stepped closer, reaching for me as if to steady my arm. “You shouldn’t have startled Sabrina, but I know you didn’t mean to cause trouble. You’re emotional right now—that’s normal.” I said nothing. “Go home,” he continued, gentler now. “Rest. Don’t stress yourself out or affect the baby. I’ll come by later tonight.” I straightened slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. When I met his gaze, I forced my lips into a small, distant smile. “Of course, Don Montenegro,” I said evenly. His hand froze midair. I had never called him that before. It was always Alaric. Always whispered, always intimate. Titles had no place between us—or so I’d once believed. For a split second, something like unease crossed his face. Then the sharp sound of heels echoed outside the door. Another employee stepped into the restroom. Alaric reacted instantly. He withdrew his hand as though it burned and stepped back, his expression locking into something cold and official. His voice rose deliberately. “Miss Frostwyn, this is a professional environment. Any personal displays should be kept out of the workplace.” Personal displays. He didn’t look at me again before turning and leaving, his departure swift and unmistakably final—carefully staged so that anyone watching would understand exactly where I stood. Alone, I rested one hand over my stomach, fingers curling protectively. I stayed there for a long time. So long that even the tears ran out. And in that silence, something inside me finally went still.