9. Dane
DANE
I’m going to strangle whoever deserted Stephie with my bare hands. I’m so fucking jealous that some other man got her pregnant, I can barely see straight.
For a glorious, wonderful, painful second, I thought she might be pregnant with my child. That the dream I had the night we spent in the cottage was real.
Annnnd then I came to my senses.
Her pregnancy dates span the time of the helicopter crash, but she said nothing happened. I trust the woman I love over my drug-induced dreams.
Besides, I deserve this pain. I’ve kept Stephie for myself for so long.
Keeping her at work, ensuring she doesn’t have enough time to date.
Probably, the moment I left her in London she went and found some lucky bastard who now knows how she looks when she comes.
For real. Not just the fantasy, or the images conjured by drugs when we were alone and in front of a fire.
It took me four months to destroy the Volk. I needed alliances to do it, and I’ve only returned to having killed and bankrupted them all. But carefully, using other mafias, so there’s deniability. Made deals and slipped in clauses until Volk were finished. Dead.
Returning to London and a normal travel schedule, I realised the temptation of Stephie would be too much if we’re in the same city and she was still my PA. I can’t think rationally about her since that night.
But finding she got pregnant by a man who isn’t taking responsibility, has changed everything.
She gapes at me.
“You, you…” she stammers in disbelief.
I’m a little surprised myself. I knew I loved Stephie, but I had no idea it went this deep. That I could love her and her child fathered by another man.
But I do. I love her baby as much as I love her. And if she needs a father for her child, I’m there. I’ll be that for her.
I missed her so much. It’s been an absence I’ve carried around with me, not having her with me. A bloodied, ragged hole in my heart.
I’m furious with whatever idiot got her pregnant and then left her alone, but we’ll get back to that.
If she won’t tell me, I’ll find another way of tracking this bastard down and making him pay.
That he couldn’t see what a treasure he had in Stephie is an unforgivable mistake.
I’ve already promised not to kill him, but there are many things I can do that will make a man wish for death.
It’s frustrating this happened, in some ways. Haven’t I spent the years since I met her ensuring she has no time to find a boyfriend? Avoiding her falling in love with someone else, and leaving me, was always the point.
I guess preventing her from having a child wasn’t part of that, because I’m not upset about that aspect. Shockingly, I’m almost happy. She’ll be an amazing mother, and this is my chance to be more to her, without breaking the self-imposed and societal boundaries.
In the meantime, the important thing is that I ensure Stephie stays with me. I try to think of a logical explanation for why I’d volunteer to do this. “You need help with this pregnancy, no? Your parents won’t be there.”
Her mouth sets in a thin line. It’s true.
She’s told me before about her parents, and how they ignored and belittled her.
They’re fucking lucky to be alive. Fancy lawyers who think being my assistant is a lowly job that’s unworthy of their respect, because she doesn’t have a law degree and a house in the home counties where women paint their nails all day or work in the city.
“Really, there’s no need for you to be involved. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want to do this. Even if it’s on my own.” Her chin tilts up with the determination I so admire in her.
“But your child will need a father.” And it’s going to be me.
Biology is bullshit. I know that after being brought up on the streets of London and practically adopted by the previous Beckton kingpin.
We don’t have to accept the genetic lottery we’re given in life.
We can find the person who will love and nurture us, or they can find us.
She fiddles with her cuffs, a gesture that makes my heart ache because she does it when she’s anxious.
“Maybe. Eventually. But at the moment it doesn’t yet have a functioning stomach.
I’m not letting myself be concerned about positive male role models, any more than I’m thinking about what school they’ll go to. ”
“They’ll need a father before a school. And you need someone too.”
My heart is racing. I can’t let her do this alone. I have an ache that’s from my bones to be the one she turns to for this part of her life.
Yes, of course it would be better if it were a romantic relationship. But I’m a morally grey kingpin, and she’s my little assistant. I’m her boss. There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed if you value someone, and that sort of power imbalance is top of the list.
“But, I don’t understand why you’d offer?” Her eyes are as wary as a small, soft animal as she glances up at me from beneath her lashes.
Because I love you.
Because the only thing that stops me wishing it was my child you’re carrying is that if it were, it would mean something horribly inappropriate happened that night, and I can’t stomach the thought I might have hurt you like that.
I take a deep breath in and exhale hard. “You work for me.”
She raises one eyebrow. “I didn’t see ‘the kingpin will be the father of your child’ in the employee handbook of benefits. Do you do this for everyone?”
“No,” I snap. I have started this conversation, and the whole thing is entirely my responsibility.
I’m usually a better negotiator and liar than this.
I’ve done hundreds of deals for Beckton and the London Mafia Syndicate over the years.
This is the same. I have to explain my motivation in a convincing way, while hiding my true aims. But the mere thought of Stephie’s baby makes me unhinged.
“Not all my staff. I can’t have you quitting on me and leaving for a job that gives more time off or bullshit like that. ”
“Time off isn’t bull—”
“It would be very inconvenient to me if you left my employment.” Yes, that’s better. Never mind that I just moved her into another role. “And if you’re worrying about your child, that will cause problems.”
“I’m sorry my pregnancy is an inconvenience to you, Boss,” she says wryly and shakes her head.
“You’ll make it up to me,” I reply with my trademark arrogance, ignoring the pang that she doesn’t call me Dane. I told her to that night. That much, I do remember clearly. “And besides, you can train your child so they can work for Beckton too.”
The outrage in her expression is perfect. “That’s why you want to be my baby’s father? To have an heir?”
I shrug in a way that she’ll interpret as “yes” but actually is “if that’s the explanation that will get me what I want, fine”. I admit I’m slightly insane about this.
I think of her constantly. I’ve thought of her every day for the last four months. I’ve relived the vivid hallucination I had that night in the cabin of us having sex until I convinced myself it’s real, then knew it was a dream.
And I’ve told myself the best thing was to do my work, destroy Volk for nearly killing us, not let my heart be engaged, and get on with life without returning to London, storming into her office, and claiming her over her desk.
Or my desk.
Or the floor.
To be honest, my imagination isn’t fussy about the exact location.
The amount I’ve thought about her means I’ve got nothing but an ache like someone has cut my heart out with a rusty knife. Being away should have been time to get over my love for a girl who’s totally off limits.
It didn’t work.
As evidenced by my behaviour now I’m back.
It’s not as though the time apart has dampened my affection.
Worse, they haven’t only grown stronger, they’re deeper.
I’m more convinced than ever that I need her in my life, and whatever the price for that is, I’ll pay it.
Money, sure. Heart ache, already there. My kidney? I’ve got a spare.
Protecting her was the aim of staying away, and instead I’ve discovered some other man moved in on my Stephie. My assistant. My girl. She’ll be my wife, sooner or later. I’m all-in now.
Fate has played its hand. I have the cards to beat it.
“A bonus, extra maternal leave. What do you need, Stephie?”
She stares at me for so long, her face showing a flickering of emotion that I can’t read, it’s so fast and varied.
“You really want to act as my baby’s father?” she asks tentatively.
I long to be her husband as well, but after four months away, I can afford to take it gradually. Not scare her.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Stephie.” And she’s observed that over years.
“But you…” She pauses, and looks conflicted, then squares her shoulders, as though making a decision. She tilts her chin up. “Okay. Thank you.”
My smile is inward, but no less triumphant for being unseen. “That’s settled then. You’ll move in with me.”