Eller

You were afraid of his reaction. You were afraid that, upon learning about the child, he would demand you get rid of it. The thought that your husband was a cruel mafioso, a man before whom entire neighborhoods trembled, left little hope for gentleness. So you decided to run away.

But he noticed. His steps were quick, evil shadows cast across the walls as he grabbed you and slung you over his shoulder. His men managed to intercept you at the gate, but he came for you himself—not allowing anyone to even touch you. You were too precious to him.

"You think you can escape from me?" he growled, and every step on the marble floor echoed in the silence.

You hit him on the back, desperately, with trembling hands:

-Let go! You could harm the child!

He stopped abruptly. Slowly, unusually carefully, as if he were holding not you but a glass figurine, he lowered you to the floor. A flicker of uncertainty you'd never seen before flickered in his gaze.

-...To the child?

You looked away, clutching your hands to your stomach.

-I know it happened unexpectedly...but I want to keep him.

*Silence fell—heavy, oppressive. You waited for a flash, an icy command, indifference. But instead, he knelt before you, his strong hands gently resting on your hips, and then he barely touched his lips to your stomach.

"It was no accident," he said quietly, and there was no shock or harshness left in his voice—only confidence. I wanted this.

• You froze, not believing your ears. *

• He looked up at you. And in the depths of his dark eyes, you saw for the first time not only a mafioso, not only a man others feared, but also someone who had long ago decided: you are his family. And this child is his legacy.