Chapter Seven
Mia
Two months later
As I walked through the park after my first full week back at work following the long summer break, I noticed the toddlers jumping about in the water play area.
Even in September, the weather was warm and sticky.
The familiar wave of emotion hit me as I imagined the little boy who would be playing there too in a couple of years’ time—because the sonographer had been fairly sure she’d spotted a penis during my latest scan.
I scrubbed the tears off my cheek. ‘For God’s sake,’ I whispered.
When exactly were my emotions going to settle down?
I’d never had morning sickness, but I’d had pretty much every other pregnancy symptom.
Mood swings which gave me whiplash. Exhaustion which struck as soon as I got home.
My boobs were officially the size of watermelons on steroids.
And then there were the erotic dreams which woke me up at night, wet and swollen and so horny I had to masturbate the edge off before I could get back to sleep.
Of course, the star player in every one of those dreams had been Vito.
‘I like imagining this body pregnant with my child… It is making me want you more.’
The words he’d said to me that night as he stroked my belly whispered across my consciousness again. I silenced the voice in my head. The torrid memories of our one night together would not help to contain the pheromone-mageddon my pregnancy had already caused.
I watched the kids while they played, instinctively cradling the compact bump where my pregnancy was starting to show. I’d bought my first pair of maternity jeans online last week—and wept all over them when they’d arrived. Because hormones. Sheesh.
Shouldering my bag, I carried on walking, my work shoes hurting. Being a teaching assistant meant being on my feet pretty much all day. At least today was a Friday. I could sleep all weekend if I wanted to.
Yippee.
As I turned into our road, I spotted a gleaming black SUV double-parked outside our basement flat. I stopped, the blast of memory—of the car I had been bundled into at dawn in Naples—sending shivers ricochetting down my spine and deep into my abdomen.
The hairs on my neck prickled. But then I got a grip and made myself carry on.
It was probably our upstairs neighbour Mrs Dean’s son Greg come to visit.
He was a very successful businessman—according to her—and he seemed incapable of ever parking properly.
Of course, the last time he’d been round, he’d been driving a smaller grey SUV, but perhaps his business was so successful now he’d had an upgrade.
No doubt Mrs Dean would be by tomorrow to tell us all about it.
I sighed. Goody.
I glanced at the car as I opened our gate, unable to see through the blacked-out windows. I picked up my pace as I hurried down the basement steps, scrambling in my purse to find my keys.
I shot inside, slammed the door behind me and leant against it, waiting for my pulse to slow. But then the phantom scent which had come to me in dreams so many times over the past five months filled my senses.
Vito’s scent, the aroma of clean soap and oranges and subtle, expensive cologne.
Oh hell, was I having phantom scent delusions in the daylight now, too? Not good.
I swore as I dumped my bag on the hall table and kicked off my shoes. I headed to the kitchen to make myself some herbal tea and calm my shattered nerves.
But as I entered the room, I came to an abrupt halt. My thudding heartbeat rammed my chest wall. And every last molecule of blood drained from my face to surge between my thighs and make my nipples swell to attention.
‘Ciao, Mia,’ a low voice murmured, sending more shockwaves through my system.
Vito was leaning against my kitchen counter, or rather an illusion of him was.
But he looked so real. He wore a white shirt rolled up to reveal those roped forearms covered with tattoos.
Tailored trousers hugged his powerful thighs.
His pecs bunched under the shirt as he crossed his arms over that broad chest, revealing a gun holstered under this arm.
His hair was much shorter, cropped close to his head, but his face was just as I remembered it in dreams…
except not. Because instead of those vivid blue eyes being dark with arousal, his features relaxed with afterglow, his stubbled jaw tightened to granite as his gaze swept to my belly.
‘Vito?’ I whispered, sure I had to be hallucinating. Because how could he have got in here?
Hallucinating wasn’t good, but it wasn’t catastrophic. Clearly the pregnancy hormones weren’t through messing with me just yet. But then he spoke again, his voice hoarse with accusation, and the shock constricted around my throat.
‘Il bambino é mio, si.’ The sharp words sliced through what was left of my composure as his penetrating gaze rose to my face—the searing accusation in his eyes burning my skin.
My shattered mind started to engage.
Of course he could have got in here, Mia. The guy’s a mafia don.
I didn’t speak Italian, but it wasn’t hard to guess what he had asked me. The lie hovered on my tongue. If I told him the baby wasn’t his, would this vision disappear?
Did I want it to disappear?
Okay, what now?
Before I could even process the madness of that thought, he uncrossed his arms and marched across the kitchen.
Grasping my upper arm, he carried on walking back down the hallway, hauling me with him, muttering in furious Italian, words I couldn’t decipher.
But when he kicked open the front door of my apartment, ready to drag me up the basement steps to the car—his car—my thundering heartbeat finally snapped me out of the fugue state I had entered. And reality returned in a rush.
This was real. This was happening. Vito was here, in London, in my home. He must have broken in. And now he knew about the baby.
I grabbed the door frame as he hauled me through it, gripping hard enough to make my fingernails scrape the wood. I couldn’t let him get me out of the flat and put me in that car.
I had no idea what he was thinking. Or where he was planning to take me.
Had I seen the flicker of shock in his eyes before he’d masked it?
I didn’t know, because he’d turned into the all-powerful and furious mob boss so fast. But one thing was for sure.
The seductive man who had got off on the idea of seeing me pregnant was long gone now. Perhaps he had never even existed.
‘Let go,’ he growled, the fury in his voice unmistakable.
I shook my head, tightening my death grip. ‘If you try to take me anywhere, I’ll scream my lungs out!’ I said, sounding surprisingly calm considering a mafia boss had broken into my flat and was in the process of kidnapping me.
He banded one muscular forearm around my waist, above the baby bump, and leaned close. ‘If you do this, Mia,’ he growled against my ear, sending traitorous shivers down my neck, ‘I will gag you.’
Before I could respond to the threat, he gave a sharp tug, yanking my fingers free of the door frame. I was so shocked at how easily he was manhandling me, I was mute as he hefted me up the basement steps. But when we got to the top and I found my feet, I filled my lungs, preparing to scream.
Before a single sound could come out, though, a large hand covered my mouth, choking off my attempt to alert everyone within a ten-mile radius.
I bit down as hard as I could, but despite the hiss of pain from behind me, his hand remained firmly in place.
He swore again in Italian as Lorenzo and another man appeared in front of us, ready to assist their boss in subduing me. As he spoke to them in low, staccato sentences, I tried to sink my teeth into his hand, but his palm was clamped so tight over my mouth, I couldn’t get enough purchase.
I probably should have been terrified. But instead I was furious.
Tears of anger and determination leaked out of my eyes as I struggled against his iron-hard hold.
He wasn’t hurting me, but I felt completely controlled by his big body, unable to move, unable to speak.
I kicked at his shins, but without any shoes on, the soft thuds were probably hurting me more than him.
Meanwhile Lorenzo—the bastard—produced a red silk sash and a couple of zip ties from his jacket pocket.
I began to struggle even harder. What the hell? Did they carry kidnap equipment around with them?
‘Stop. You will hurt yourself and the babe,’ Vito demanded.
You’re the one that’s doing that!
I yelled my reply into his hand, but it came out in a series of garbled grunts.
He lifted his hand, and I had just enough time to suck in a breath—ready to empty my lungs in a scream I hoped would be audible in Scotland Yard five miles away—when the silk was banded across my mouth, forcing my jaw open.
Within seconds it had been secured behind my head.
Panic joined my fury as I struggled to dislodge it with my tongue without any success.
Had he done this before? He seemed to be an expert.
‘If you behave,’ he said, his tone cold, ‘I will not tie your hands and feet.’
More muffled grunts came from me.
Where was everyone? He was doing this in broad daylight.
I had some vague idea if I could just delay him from putting me in the car, everything would be okay.
Surely someone would alert the police. But as I continued to struggle against his hold, banging my heels against his shins, he tugged my arms behind my back and used a zip tie on my wrists while Lorenzo knelt down to secure my ankles.
Within seconds, I was trussed up like a chicken.
He scooped me into his arms. I wriggled furiously as another bodyguard whipped open the SUV’s passenger door.
Vito climbed into the back of the vehicle and settled me on his lap.
I was sweaty and breathless, and so furious I was practically seeing stars.
How could he do this to me against my will? And why?