Dante: A Dark Mafia, Enemies to Lovers Romance (Chicago Ruthless Book 1)
Dante: Chapter 21

I have no idea how long I’ve been lying on this bed. It could be hours, it could be minutes. Time seems to have taken on a whole new meaning. It does when you have nothing to tell the time by. It’s still dark outside, but I don’t even know if it’s tomorrow yet or still today.

The sound of the door being unlocked makes me bolt upright. My heart rate kicks up a gear, and I swallow as I wait for someone to walk inside. I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when I see Dante walking into the room. He closes the door behind him, and I jump up from the bed, running to him.

When did I become so pathetic?

“Dante, I —”

He doesn’t let me utter another word before his huge, powerful hand is wrapped around my throat, and he slams me against the wall.

He presses his face close to mine. His anger from earlier hasn’t dissipated at all. In fact, it seems even fiercer than before. “Don’t,” he hisses, his hot breath dusting over my cheek as he squeezes my throat tighter until I’m struggling to breathe. This isn’t the way he usually grabs me. I’ve never felt my airway restricted like this before. He’s trying to hurt me. To kill me. “Did you honestly think I would be blind enough to let you slip out from under my fucking nose, Kat?”

“N-no,” I rasp, my throat already raw from the pressure of his grip.

“You think I’m stupid, then? Is that it?”

“N —” Tears run down my cheeks, and my head pounds from the pressure on my throat. In a few seconds, I’m going to pass out and then I won’t be able to tell him. I won’t be able to tell him about the only thing that might make him spare me. I use every ounce of breath left in my body to gasp out two words. “I’m pregnant.”

I clutch at my throat as the cool air rushes into my lungs. It’s only then I realize he’s let me go. His hands are on either side of my head now, caging me in as he keeps me upright with the weight of his body against mine.

“What?” he growls.

“I’m p-pregnant,” I breathe.

He shakes his head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not,” I insist. “That day in your office. You never got me the pill after…” And I forgot to remind him.

He narrows his eyes at me.

“I took a test. I’m five weeks.” I sniff.

“So, not only were you running from me after you swore you’d repay your debt, but you were trying to take my child away too? Is that what you’re telling me?” he growls, and it’s so full of menace and vitriol that it makes me shiver. But he does not get to pretend like he’s the victim here.

I wipe my tears away and glare at him. “What choice did I have, Dante? It’s not just me now. I did what I had to protect my child.”

“My child,” he snarls. “You think it needs protecting from me?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I do know that I would rather die than be forced to give him or her up.”

“You think I would make you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. You made all these decisions about our child without knowing anything. You didn’t think of just telling me you were pregnant instead?”

“I only know what you told me,” I shout in his face, and he inches closer to me.

“And what is that?”

“That as soon as I’m no use to you, you’ll hand me over to your men.” I swallow hard as the thought of that happening, of being torn from my baby makes me feel like someone just tore my heart out of my chest. “What use will I be to you when I’m nine months pregnant. Or breastfeeding a tiny infant? Or when I’m exhausted and sore?”

He slams his fists on the wall either side of my head and I can feel the anger in him rising to a crescendo. But he pushes himself back and then walks out of the door, locking it behind him and leaving me alone.

I must have fallen asleep shortly after Dante left because it’s bright when the sound of the door unlocking startles me. I rub my eyes and focus on the figure walking into the room. It’s the young new housekeeper who started here a few days ago, and whose name I can’t recall. She’s carrying a tray of food and my stomach growls at the smell of eggs and toast.

She sets the tray down at the end of my bed, avoiding eye contact the entire time.

“Thank you,” I say as I pull the covers off myself and climb out of bed, but she slips silently back out of the room, leaving me alone again.

I sit next to the tray anyway, wondering how long it will be before I see Dante again. We have so much to talk about. I expect he’ll be here in a few hours. Shouting at me for leaving and demanding answers that I don’t have. So, why is a part of me look forward to seeing him anyway?

There are two boiled eggs and two slices of brown buttered toast on the tray as well as a jug of water and a glass of orange juice. And right there, nestled beside the cutlery is a blue and white box containing a pregnancy test — one of those expensive digital ones. So, he wants proof, does he? Fine by me. I will light that baby up like the Fourth of July.

I sit cross-legged on the bed and start to eat, feeling better with each mouthful and hopeful that if Dante hasn’t killed me yet, then maybe we can figure this out.