Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss: A Dark Mafia Secret Baby Romance (Possessive Mafia Kings Book 5)

Present day.

“Don’t go. Stay.”

His voice wakes me up, and when I find I’m alone, I’m reminded it was a dream. That night with Luca changed my life. It was amazing, beautiful, and by far the best birthday I’ve ever had.

And it was the last birthday I’ve ever celebrated.

The sound of something breaking has me getting out of bed and tying my robe together, rushing out of the bedroom to find the twins in the kitchen. They are standing on a seat, trying to clean the dishes, but one must have slipped from Oliver’s hands because not only is he a soapy mess, but the plate is shattered on the floor.

It’s too early for this.

“It was Olli’s idea,” Oliva tattletales quick, pointing at her brother.

“You agreed to it.” He splashes dirty dish water on her.

“Did not.”

“Did too!” he screams at her, sticking out his tongue.

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Okay, stop. It’s fine. It’s okay. What time is it?” I place my hands on my hips. “Olivia. Oliver. What time is it?”

“Five o’clock,” they mumble in unison.

“And what is the rule for you two?” I ask them, putting a slightly scolding tone to my voice.

“Not to get out of bed until seven,” they say, hanging their heads.

“Because?” I press.

“It’s important to get a good night’s rest,” Oliver explains as if he has heard this one hundred times.

He has.

Because we have this conversation every other day.

“That’s right. So why are you two up?” I pluck Oliver from the chair, swing him around, so he is away from the glass, and ease him to the floor. I do the same with Olivia, then scoot the chair back where it belongs.

There is soap, water, and shattered pieces of a plate everywhere.

“We got bored, Mommy,” Olivia explains. “We wokied up and wanted to help you.” Her big blue eyes fill with tears, the eyes she got from her father.

They look so much like him; it pangs my heart some days.

“It’s woke up. Wokied isn’t a word, baby.” I kiss her forehead and push her black curls behind her ear. “And you guys did all this for me?”

Oliver nods, pressing his cheek against my shoulder. “Yep. You do lots. We wanted to help.”

My heart melts as they look at me with their big eyes. Oliver has my eyes, deep brown with gold flakes. He definitely takes after me, while Olivia takes after Luca.

“You’re so sweet. I love you both so much.”

“More than the size of the moon?” Oliver asks in his adorable kid voice. They are still learning, and most of the time, the words don’t sound recognizable to others. I’m their mom, so I can speak their language.

“Are you kidding? More than all the moons, planets, and suns the galaxy holds.”

Like always, they gasp. “That’s so much!”

I boop their noses. “It sure is. Now, go back to bed, okay? Please? You can put on your show, but I’ll be in there to check on you to make sure. The last one there is a rotten egg!”

They squeal, racing one another down the hall; their laughter makes me smile. They’ll go back to sleep soon. This is pretty much the routine. I walk to the pantry and grab the broom, sweeping the broken plate off the floor and into the dust pan, and my eyes catch an envelope on the counter. It’s stamped in red.

Final notice.

All the bills are like that.

All of them are late. Every month I barely make it. Every penny gets pinched.

I wouldn’t trade my children for the world. When I found out I was pregnant, my entire world changed. I never planned on seeing Luca again after my birthday. I snuck out, and his security didn’t think twice about me leaving. I was another hookup for Luca, which was fine because that’s what I wanted, but God, that night still awakens me in the middle of the night.

I wake up sweaty, gasping for breath, and my hand on my clit.

He was my first sexual appearance, and he has been the last. I don’t have time to date, and I do not bring men to my apartment.

Not that any man could ever compete with Luca.

When I missed my period and took a pregnancy test, my first thought was to go to the club and find Luca. I never wanted to hide it from him. He deserved to know. I wondered how it happened in the first place and then remembered he didn’t wear a condom, and I wasn’t on birth control. I was a little tipsy, and the sexual tension was high, which isn’t an excuse, but I ended up pregnant with twins.

And I don’t regret it.

Olivia and Oliver are my entire world.

A thought my dad did not share.

I didn’t tell my dad right away. I waited. I was nervous and scared. I didn’t even go to the doctor at first to ensure everything was okay, but months passed, and I was bigger than usual.

I couldn’t hide my pregnancy anymore.

So when I finally did go to the doctor, of course, they were on my dad’s payroll somehow, which means my OB/GYN was probably a shady man.

He called my dad and told him I was pregnant.

So much for doctor/patient confidentiality. That didn’t exist when you were the daughter of a mafia boss.

When I got home, my bags were packed, and we fought.

He gave me money to get on my own two feet and drove me out of town until I was twelve hours away. He wanted nothing to do with me. He said I disgraced his name and acted like a whore.

“No daughter of mine is going to be pregnant without being married or knowing who the father is. You’ve disappointed me. You did this to yourself. You can deal with it yourself.”

So I did.

He left me with enough money to get an apartment and the first few months of bills. It gave me enough time to find an okay job with crap insurance, but it was better than nothing.

I haven’t heard anything from my dad since. He wanted me out of sight and out of mind. And telling Luca became a thing of the past. I’ve been too busy taking care of twins and surviving. He probably wants nothing to do with them, either. So why bother setting myself up for disappointment again?

I’ve tried calling my dad a few times, but with no answer; I stopped three years ago. If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, fine, but who wouldn’t want to get to their grandchildren?

Mom died when I was younger, but I bet she would have stayed with me if she were alive. She wouldn’t have left me alone with two kids. Eventually, she would have when I got on my feet.

How do I raise two kids alone?

I have an amazing next-door neighbor, Louisa. She’s retired and in her sixties. She has no children or husband of her own. She does whatever she wants, and for some reason, she loves watching the kids in exchange for some of my homemade baked goods.

I run a bakery from my tiny kitchen, and the wedding cake I’m putting the final touches on will be enough to pay the bills.

My dream is to have my own bakery shop and call it O-Squared Bakery.

For Oliver and Olivia.

Louisa watches them for a few hours every day while I’m in the middle of baking, and things are absolute chaos. I didn’t want them getting themselves hurt on the stove because I wasn’t paying attention to them, if I looked away for one second.

I’m lucky to have Louisa. Without her, I don’t know what I’d do. She says it takes a village to raise a child, but I don’t have a village. She’s my village.

My best friends Cora and Jasmine don’t even know where I am. My dad said if he found out I contacted them, he’d make it to where I couldn’t contact them again.

A threat.

He’d kill them for talking to me.

So I’ve stayed away. I haven’t checked my old email. My old phone number was disconnected. There was no way for them to find me.

He made sure I was isolated.

“You’re doing okay,” I tell myself as I clean the rest of the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. I grab a paper towel and dry off the counter. “You’re surviving. You’ll be okay.”

But some days I’m so tired. Some days, it takes all I have not to give up, but then I hear Olivia’s laugh or feel Oliver’s hand in mine, and I realize I can’t give up.

So I bust my ass every day to make my dream come true. I run my bakery through my small two-bedroom apartment and hope one day I save enough money to open my own store.

A knock at the door sounds, and I check the time.

Six in the morning.

Who the hell is here at six? The cake doesn’t have to be ready until three.

I rush to my kids’ room, and they are sleeping, so I close the door. An impatient knock sounds again, and I huff, tightening my robe.

“I’m coming,” I say as quietly as possible without yelling and waking my kids.

I unlock the door and open it just enough to see a man in a nice suit standing there.

“Ms. Thompson?” he asks.

I clutch my robe together. “I haven’t gone by that in years. How can I help you?”

“You’re Mr. Thompson’s daughter, correct?”

I grind my teeth together. “According to him, I’m not. What do you need? I haven’t broken any of the rules. What does he want? That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Mommy? Who is at the door?”

I turn my head and plaster on a smile. “One of my friends is asking for a last-minute order. Go back to bed, Ollie. Okay?”

He’s standing in the hallway, scrubbing his eyes, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. My children are too damn smart. “Okay,” he relents. “You do make the bestest cookies.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says.

“Are those his grandchildren?” the stranger asks, taking a step forward as if he is trying to get into my apartment.

I stand in front of him, blocking him from coming any closer. “You might work for Mr. Thompson and think you’re untouchable, but this is my house, and those kids are mine. You are not to come near them and invade their home. They don’t know you. I don’t know you. And they are not his grandchildren. He made sure of that. Don’t you dare think I won’t stop you if you take one more step.” It has been a while since I’ve used any self-defense that I’ve learned, but I’ll stop at nothing to protect my children.

He holds up his hand and takes a step back. “Apologies, Ms. Thompson. He’s requested to see you.”

I snort and step inside my apartment. “You can tell him to go to hell.”

“He’s dying. His last wish is to talk to you and meet his grandchildren.”

I should be sad. My heart should be crushed.

Instead, I feel anger. So much fucking anger. The audacity he has to want to see me, Ollie, and Olivia.

“He’ll talk to me, but he won’t meet his grandchildren. He made sure he ruined that opportunity. When do you need me there?”

“I’m to take you and the children to the airport now to fly on the private jet.”

“Well, I have business to do, so you’ll have to wait.”

He takes steps forward to come inside, and I block him.

“What are you doing?”

“You said I had to wait. I just thought—”

“—You thought wrong. I don’t allow strangers in my house, and I sure as hell don’t allow anyone who works for my dad in this house. You can wait in the car.” I slam the door in his face and lock the door, my heart beating so hard I can hear the pulse in my ears.

This can’t be happening. I hoped my dad would reach out to me for the first few years, but that bridge has burned.

I’m only going because if I don’t go voluntarily, I’ll be forced to go, and I’d rather see him on my terms.

And maybe I can tell him I’ll see him in hell after all.

***

The kids are asleep again by the time we land. It’s been a long day, and I’ve been quiet and crabby.

“You’re to stay—” the man who works for my father begins to say, and I hold up my hand to stop him.

“—I’m not staying in this house after tonight. I’m only here so the kids can rest. Where is he?” I ask, glancing at the watch on my wrist to see it’s nearing eight at night.

It feels like it’s been days, and I’ve only been home for ten minutes.

“I understand, Ms. Thompson.”

“Camilla. Please,” I correct him.

“Andrew,” he says, finally introducing himself to me.

I don’t say anything when we pull through the iron gate. I look out the window, running my fingers through Ollie’s and Olivia’s hair with each hand. Each of their heads are on my lap.

Everything looks the same. The yard is maintained. The flowers are perfect. The grass is clipped. The mansion looks just as big and scary as it did before. The red brick, black door with matching shutters, and shining large windows give the house an eerie appearance.

Nothing about it feels like a home, but more like a prison.

When we stop in front of the house, my stomach twists in knots. I won’t let him diminish me again. I’ve come too far in the last five years for him to think I’ll let him make me feel less or unworthy because I’ve become a mother.

Andrew opens the back door and bends down to take Olivia from me, and I slap his hand away.

“I promise, I’m only here to lend an extra hand. I’ll show you to your room. I won’t hurt her.”

“I’ll kill you if you do,” I say, looking directly into his eyes.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He slowly scoops her into his arms, and she sighs, burying her face in his shoulder.

Guilt eats away at me. Sometimes I wonder if the kids are missing out on having a good man in their lives. Not even a father, just someone who is…good.

Who would have thought even that would have been hard to find?

I slide out of the car next, then pick up Ollie, and plop him on my hip. He’s nearly too big to carry, but I will never stop trying.

I exhale a long breath when I climb up the steps; memories, the good kind, weigh me down, and the last thing I want is to step through these doors.

The one person I thought would always be there for me turned their back on me. Even in death, I’m not sure if I can forgive him.

Andrew opens the door, and when I step inside, I’m not sure what I expected, but I didn’t expect for nothing to change. Time has stood still. Everything is how I remember it.

Minus the photos of me on the wall.

He didn’t waste time taking those down.

“Follow me. I’ll take you to your room.” Andrew walks down the hall and takes a left to go down another, which isn’t near my old bedroom.

Good. I don’t want to see it.

When we get to the room, there’s a king-size bed in the middle with big pillows and a fluffy comforter. Andrew lies Olivia down, and I do the same with Ollie. I tuck them in, giving each of them a kiss.

“Mommy?” Olivia slurs with sleep. “Come back.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep, and I’ll snuggle you in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she exhales, falling asleep in the next second.

“They are adorable. You’ve done well.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about my kids. I don’t know what he’s told you, but—”

“—Nothing. He hasn’t said anything. I don’t know one detail about your situation.”

I nod, shutting the door behind me. “My father kicked me out and sent me twelve hours away because I got pregnant. I wasn’t married. He called me a disappointment, and he erased me from his life. That sums it up.”

Andrew swallows, clearly not expecting an honest answer.

“Where is he? I want to get this over with so I can move on.”

“He’s in his room. Bedridden.”

Muscle memory takes over, and my legs climb up the steps to his wing of the house. My hand rubs along the rail, and tears threaten again when I notice the blank space where my prom picture used to be.

God, this hurts.

I wish it didn’t.

I thought it wouldn’t matter when this moment came. I thought I had frozen my ability to feel anything for my dad, but I was wrong.

His door is open, and when I step inside, the marble floors shine. The window allows the beautiful night to come through, and I’d think nothing changed, but then I see Dad in the middle of the bed. He has on an oxygen mask, and I can hear the hiss from the door. He’s lost weight, his cheeks sunken in, and dark bags are under his eyes.

“Camilla,” he wheezes, reaching out his hand to me.

I don’t take it.

I sit on the edge of the bed and hold my chin high. “What’s killing you?”

“Karma,” he answers with a chuckle that turns into a nasty cough. “Lung cancer. I deserve it for how I treated you.”

“Let’s not get into that, please.”

“Are the children with you?”

“You don’t get to ask about them. Don’t you dare,” I whisper, holding in tears. “Why am I here?”

“I wanted to see you before I died.”

“Well, you died in my eyes a long time ago. You don’t get to meet them after tossing them away as if they were nothing, just like you did me.” I don’t raise my voice. I keep calm. “Just because you’re my father doesn’t mean you are off the hook for your actions and for the pain you cause. Being my father doesn’t give you automatic forgiveness. I’m not sure I can do that.”

“That’s okay. I’m happy you’re here. That’s…that’s enough for me.” He reaches for his nightstand and hands me an envelope. “This is for you and Oliver and Olivia.” He must see the surprise on my face and gives me a sad, regretful smile. “I always kept an eye on you. I regret so many things, Camilla. I was angry and thought I failed you, but I failed you the moment I sent you away. I don’t have long. I want to give you something. I want to know you and your children are taken care of, something I should have done years ago.” His eyes water and I have to look away from him to blink away my tears. I can’t lose it. Not now.

I open the envelope and notice the five-million-dollar check, then a set of keys fall into my hand.

“Those are to a bakery in town. It’s all set up. It just needs a name. It’s right next door to your friend, Cora too. She runs a coffee shop.”

“That will be a fun situation to fix,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry for that,” he says. “I’m sorry for so many things.”

“You really got me a shop? You can’t buy your way into my life.” I wipe my undereye when a tear breaks free.

“Your rent is listed in the contract. I knew you wouldn’t accept without you earning it yourself. I want you to be taken care of. Is…there a man in your life? Someone to watch over you?”

“No. It’s just me. I don’t have time for men. The twins are my focus. And I don’t want to talk about my dating life.” I stare at the contract, and while I’m excited, I hate to know it’s something my dad is trying to do to get in my good graces.

I’ll finally have my bakery, and I’ll pay him every month.

“How long do you have?” I ask him, tucking the check and keys away.

“Weeks. Months. It all depends.”

I don’t know why I say this, but I do.

“Maybe, maybe I’ll let you meet them. I’ll need to think about it, Dad. You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I know I don’t deserve to meet them.”

I want to be better than how he treated me when I needed him. It doesn’t mean I forgive him, but maybe I can find compassion even in my anger.

“I need to tell you something. You’re the only one who will know. My fortune, Camilla. You’re the only one I’m going to tell, but my enemies will come, and they will want it.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want to know.”

“I want you to.” He sits up with a grunt and whispers in my ear the location of hundreds of millions of dollars. “It’s enough to take care of you, your children, your children’s children, and so on. If you ever decide you want it.”

I don’t know if I do. It’s blood money. I’m still so mad at him for everything; the thought of taking one cent makes me feel guilty for all the promises I’ve made myself.

I swore I never needed my dad again, which adds to my turmoil.

Anger isn’t easy to forget, but if I’m not stronger than the rage, I’m no better than him.