Wrong Number. Right Don. (Sinful Mafia Daddies, #3)

by Natasha L. Black

Hey, asshole. Did you seriously just leave while I was in the bathroom? I stand on the side of the road, arms crossed over my chest, glaring at my phone like it personally betrayed me. The chilly night air bites at my exposed skin, as my little black dress offers zero protection against the elements. But I’m too pissed to care. I can’t believe this actually happened to me. My date freaking bailed in the middle of dinner. I don’t expect an immediate reply. Honestly, I don’t expect a reply at all. So when my phone vibrates in my hand a second later, my heart gives a stupid little lurch. Maybe there’s a logical explanation. Maybe his mom called with an emergency. I’m a nurse, so I could understand that. I’m not remotely prepared for the lame-ass excuse that pops up. Who’s this? I blink at the screen. What the actual hell? First he bails, now he’s playing dumb? I’m poised to unleash several choice words when a horrific thought hits me. I double-check the number I saved from the dating app, and a chill washes over me. Shit. I transposed two numbers. Uh, I think I have the wrong number. Ignore me. I move to lock my phone and hail a taxi, but another message comes through. Too late. I’m intrigued. A shiver runs down my spine, and this time, it has nothing to do with the cold. I chew my lip, considering. I have no idea who this person is, whether they’re even a man or a woman. But I’m still wired from the adrenaline rush of being abandoned mid-date, and a little conversation won’t...

What exactly did you win? I won the chance to prove to you that not all men are spineless idiots. I can’t deny the man has game. I have a decision now. I could keep up the flirtation with some random, faceless stranger, or block this number, go home, and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine. I shift in the back seat and feel a surge of boldness I haven’t tasted in ages. Flirty texting it is. Bold assumption. Maybe I was only looking for a one-night stand. So you want a spineless asshole sleeping in your bed tonight? My stomach tightens as embarrassment washes over me. Who is this stranger to question what kind of man I take home? I’m tempted again to just block his number and call it a night, but I can’t help but fire back. Who’s to say I would want a guy like you sleeping in my bed? If I were in your bed, there wouldn’t be much sleeping happening. And I happen to have a very sturdy spine. I bite my lip, grinning at the screen. Who is this guy? When the cab stops, the driver barely glances up as I pay and slip out. Phone in hand, I walk toward my apartment. A smooth talker, eh? That only works on me if you look good doing it. A photo comes through, and even though it shows only half his face and the broad planes of his chest, it does wicked things to me. Does that work for you? My breath catches. Holy hell. Cocky and hot? My night just took a sharp turn for the better. Yet a cautious voice whispers that I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t even know this man. But he’s leaps ...

I’m home. I wait with staggered breath as I watch him type. Good. Get comfortable. Your night deserves a happy ending. He sends another picture of him winking at me. That single icy-blue eye spears straight to my core, and damn it, the top half of his face is every bit as hot as the lower. Heat pulses through me, my mind full of his smooth words and that lethal body. I drop onto the bed, fingers tightening around my phone as I imagine him here with me. I imagine the weight of his body, the hard planes of his back, the heat of his breath at my neck—those blue eyes pinning me in place beneath him. A phantom grip cinches my waist, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. I hesitate, biting my lip, but the pulsing ache between my thighs makes the decision for me. My free hand dips under the waistband of my panties, tracing a slow, teasing path lower. You’re dangerous. And you like it. My breath hitches as I press my fingers against my aching heat, a moan slipping from my lips. I conjure the sound of his voice. It’s gravelly and commanding, murmuring in my ear, telling me exactly how he’d touch me, exactly how he’d ruin me. I let the fantasy take over, hips arching into my own touch. My phone slides off the bed, forgotten, as I sink deeper into the sensation. In my mind, it’s the stranger’s hands trailing over my skin, his body pressing me into the mattress, his teeth grazing my throat. I feel the phantom weight of him between my thighs, the scorch of his breath at my neck. Hi...

that was an accident. The text, I mean. I should leave it at that. Close the chat, toss the phone on the nightstand, and crash. But I don’t. Instead, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, stomach tight with anticipation. His reply pops up a few seconds later. No such thing as accidents, malyshka. And just like that, the ache stirs all over again. If I had meant to text you, I would’ve led with something classier. So you’re saying you don’t normally send angry texts to strange men in the middle of the night? Believe it or not, no. I actually have standards. Then why were you on a date with a guy who didn’t? Oof. That one stings. The truth is, I knew better. I’d pegged him as a waste of my time the moment he spent more energy scrolling his phone than looking at me. I should’ve walked out then, but I didn’t, because it’s been months since I put myself out there, and I was sick of feeling alone. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. A woman like you shouldn’t have to. My breath catches in my throat. And what kind of woman am I? The kind that deserves better. It’s such a simple thing to say, but something about it leaves me speechless. It’s been a long time since I’ve let a man get under my skin. The last time I dipped a toe back into dating, it spiraled into months of wasted time, empty promises, and me sitting alone at a two-top while my ex ghosted me for the final time. I swore I wasn’t going to do that to myself again. I swore I was going to focus on work, on myself,...

I consider something mindless—flipping on the TV and zoning out to some inane late-night drama—when my phone buzzes. My eyes flick toward the phone, a slow pulse of dread already curling in my gut. My men call more than they text. It could be Mom needing something downstairs. She would use the penthouse intercom, though. I lift the phone, the screen lighting my face, and frown at the message. I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of the words. Then I read it again. I read it three times, in fact. Plenty of people might call me an asshole, but I sure as hell didn’t ditch anyone at dinner. I don’t recognize the number. The area code is local, but that means nothing to me. What the fuck is this? I start to set the phone down, about to ignore it, but something stops me. Whoever it is—probably a woman—sounds angry and hurt. She clearly has no problem speaking her mind, and that intrigues me. Despite myself, I’m curious to know more about this person calling me an asshole. I hesitate all of three seconds before my thumbs fly across the keyboard. I suddenly want to know more about her. Maybe it’s boredom or the eerie quiet of the night. Still, I spend the next hour sucked into her world, wishing I could see her. I even send a couple of photos for encouragement, but she keeps things playful. I don’t even get her name. Yet, I’m drawn to her in a way I don’t fully understand. I lock down a date for tomorrow night before the moment cools. I imagine I tortured her well over text...

The next evening I sit in the farthest corner of an overpriced restaurant with my back to the wall, whiskey in hand, and eyes trained on the entrance. I’m waiting for this mystery woman with no idea what to expect. She texted to confirm she wouldn’t stand me up and said she’d be wearing red. She’s late. Not by much, but enough to tell me she’s not rushing to impress me. Another point in her favor. Then I see a woman in a red dress walk in. And fuck me, I wasn’t prepared for this. She’s petite, yet nothing about her is fragile. She walks in like she owns the place, exuding an easy confidence. She’s commanding in her aura, something her texts hinted at last night. The dark-red silk hugs every ample curve, and my knees threaten to buckle. Already I’m picturing that dress ripped and puddled on my bedroom floor. I curl my fingers around the glass and drink deep, forcing myself to focus. She doesn’t notice me at first, her eyes scanning the restaurant. I stay still, curious whether she’ll find me on instinct or recognize me from the photos I sent. It takes her exactly three seconds. Her gaze locks on mine; her lips part, her breath catching. I’m mesmerized. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before making her way to my table. I stand as she approaches, pulling out her chair. She arches a brow. “He doesn’t stand me up and he’s a gentleman,” she says by way of greeting, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Nicole.” Her voice is smooth, sensual, and her sarcasm isn’t a shield. Sh...

I order us a bottle of wine before she has a chance to protest. She watches me, interested yet not entirely impressed. “I don’t remember agreeing to wine,” she teases. I lean back, smirking. “It wouldn’t be a proper dinner without decent wine,” I point out. She scoffs, amusement sparking in her eyes. “You’re very confident.” I tilt my head. “Shouldn’t I be?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and fuck, I’m already too invested. I forget the conversation entirely until the wine arrives. I watch as she takes a sip, her lashes fluttering as she tastes it. My cock twitches painfully at the sight. This woman is going to be a problem.

Even in all the hubbub of activity, the only thing I can focus on is her. She’s magnetic, sharp and bold. I spend an hour cataloging every smirk, every glance, and every flick of her tongue as she eats. I wonder if she does it on purpose. If she knows what it does to me. If she did, she would know how badly I want her, how I’m barely restraining myself from hauling her into my lap and devouring that teasing smile. Nor would she be sitting so damn comfortably. She’d probably run. Then again, maybe she’d drag me off instead, desperate for a private corner where our desires could run wild. She did blush when I asked if she’d gotten her happy ending last night. I swirl the whiskey in my glass, letting the ice clink against the sides, but I don’t take another sip. I drum my fingers on the table, watching candlelight stroke the curve of her throat, the soft rise and fall of her chest. She’s effortlessly beautiful. She’s not draped in excess, the way so many other patrons at this restaurant are. She’s comfortable in her own skin. Her green eyes glint with amusement as she catches me looking. “You’re staring,” she says, lifting her glass to her lips. I smirk. “And you like it.” She hums, tilting her head. “I don’t dislike it.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to make her pulse flutter at her throat. “You’re teasing me, malyshka.” She mirrors my movement, resting her chin on her palm, her smirk widening. “And you can handle it, can’t you?” ...

As we step outside, the cool night air does nothing to dull the heat between us. We linger outside, neither of us making a move to leave. The sounds of the city filter around us, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. I watch her lips as she makes some comment about the night, but I don’t really hear her. My entire focus narrows to one singular thought. I need to taste her. Now. I grab her hand and pull her with me. She gasps but doesn’t resist. Her fingers curl around mine as I lead her down a shadowed alleyway, my steps quick and purposeful. The moment we’re hidden from view, I turn, pressing her back against the cool brick wall. Her breath stutters, her green eyes wide, locked onto mine. “Sergei—” I don’t let her finish. I close the distance, my mouth crashing into hers with desperate hunger. Fireworks detonate behind my eyes. She moans against my lips, her fingers twisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, needing more. I growl, deep in my throat, dragging my lips down her jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She shivers, arching into me. “I want every inch of you,” I murmur against her skin. She tilts her head, breathing unevenly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then take me.” I grip her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, malyshka.” Her eyes flash with challenge. “Then show me.” And just like that, my control shatters.

The second the door clicks shut, Sergei grabs me, spins me around, and presses me against the wall, his body searing into mine. I barely have time to think before he captures my lips, his mouth hot and wet. His body cages me in, his scent thick and intoxicating. I could get drunk off of it. My pulse hammers, desperate for more. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” he mutters, his voice low, deep, edged with hunger. His lips hover over mine before he pulls back slightly, his eyes smoldering. I smirk, tilting my chin up. “You can’t take a little teasing?” I challenge. He looks like a man possessed, ravenous with desire. My whole body shivers under his gaze. “You think this is a game, princess?” he murmurs. One of his hands drags down my body, slow, deliberate, his touch featherlight until it’s not. Everywhere he touches burns with desire, tingles with anticipation. Then his fingers are at the hem of my dress, slipping underneath until they’re teasing the space between my thighs. His fingers dig into my flesh, spreading me wider. “I think the fun’s just begun,” I say on a stuttered breath, already so desperate for him I can barely think.

His fingers brush lightly against the lace of my panties, teasing, then groping. A sharp pulse of heat shoots through me, making my legs weak. His mouth crashes onto mine again, hungry and demanding. His tongue sweeps in, taking exactly what it wants. His kiss is rough and possessive, like he’s staking a claim. I would never dare admit it, but with what he’s doing with just his mouth alone… I would definitely let him call me his. I moan into his mouth, my hands gripping his shirt, but before I can take control, he grabs my wrists and slams them above my head, pinning me there with one hand. He yanks up my dress completely, his fingers sliding underneath the lace of my panties until I can feel the warmth of his fingers sliding deep inside of me. I nearly collapse, held up only by his hand. His chuckle is pure sin. “Already soaked for me,” he murmurs, his tone full of dark amusement. I suck in a breath, grinding against his hand. “I wasn’t the only one doing the teasing,” I somehow manage, trying not to give away how utterly needy I feel.

a sudden absence, a loss as he removes his fingers from me. I nearly scream in frustration. I’m about to protest, when, in one swift motion, he rips my panties clean off. The sound of lace tearing barely registers before his fingers thrust inside me, stretching me open, filling me in one devastating stroke. “Sergei,” I cry, pleasure ripping through me. “Shh.” His fingers pump—slow, ruthless—while his thumb circles my clit just lightly enough to drive me insane. “You want to be fucked by a real man, don’t you?” I whimper and nod rapidly, my hips arching, my entire body desperate. Then he pulls his fingers out. I nearly scream at the loss. His hand grips my jaw, tilting my face up gently until I’m staring into his eyes. His expression is dark, smug, completely in control. “On your knees.” My knees hit the floor instantly. The carpet burns against my skin, but I don’t care. My fingers fumble with his belt, yank it open, draw his zipper down. My breathing turns ragged as I finally free him. Fuck. He’s thick, hard, and huge. I lick my lips, flicking my gaze up. “Do you want me to beg?” His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. “No,” he answers with a wicked grin. “I have other ideas for t...

Somewhere along the way, we lose what clothes we have left, so that we’re both completely bare by the time we reach the bed. I climb onto the mattress and turn to face him, his powerful, inked body making my breath hitch. He grabs my thighs, yanking me down the bed, spreading me wide for him. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he plunges into me with one brutal, glorious thrust. A choked moan tears from my throat, the sudden stretch almost too much, but I don’t want him to stop. My back arches off the mattress, pulling him even closer. I claw at the bedspread, searching for anything to keep me anchored. He pounds into me, fast and deep. “Sergei,” I gasp. “Fuck!” “Is this what you wanted, malyshka?” His voice is dark silk; his thrusts, punishing. “To be fucked. To be ruined?” I can’t even form words. I just whimper, nodding frantically. He snaps his hips harder, his cock pushing deeper, hitting that perfect spot that makes me see stars. I hear the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust as my moans turn to screams. “Too loud,” he growls, though his smirk says he’s pleased. I claw at his back, dragging him closer, desperate to pull him even deeper. “Then shut me up,” I gasp. His mouth covers my own, muffling my desperate cries as he pounds into me, faster, harder, until pleasure bursts through me, so sharp and blinding. I shatter around him, my entire body breaking apart beneath him. Sergei breaks the kiss and curses, his thrusts turning wild, franti...

Later, the room is quiet except for the sound of my own breathing. The heat between us has settled, the urgency of our lovemaking replaced by something calmer. But my body is still thrumming, still tingling with the aftershocks of Sergei’s touch. I’m exhausted and satisfied, but something unsettling stirs in my chest.

my pulse slowly returning to normal as I listen to the faint rustling of fabric. Sergei is already getting dressed. I don’t know why that surprises me. I didn’t walk into this thinking he’d be anything more than a one-night stand. The best fucking one-night stand I’ve ever had, but nothing deeper than that. Our entire dinner was basically foreplay. I don’t even remember if he told me his last name. The point is, we never made any promises to each other. I might become a nun after this. No one else will ever remotely compare to the way he thoroughly pleasured me. Still, as I roll onto my side and watch him pull on his shirt, a strange feeling twists in my stomach. He moves with ease, like this is routine for him. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. Maybe he has. Maybe he thinks I’m the kind of girl who does this all the time too. The truth is much more pathetic than that. I shouldn’t care that he’s leaving, yet an ache blooms in my chest anyway. Sergei catches me watching him and smirks, running a hand through his tousled hair. “That good, eh?” I snort, reaching for the sheet and pulling it up over my chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I quip. “I’ve had better.” His grin deepens, those ice-blue eyes flickering with amusement. He smirks. “If you say so.” His eyes sparkle; he knows he just shifted my entire world. I shake my head but don’t argue; we both know he’s right. It was that good. Singular, unrepeatable. But I’m not about to stroke his ego. Not when it’s already...

He turns to me, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Well, malyshka, I hope I’ve proved that not all men are spineless idiots,” he jokes, recalling our earlier text exchange from last night. I force a smile, though I feel the tell-tale signs of sadness forming in the pit of my stomach. “You definitely proved what a strong spine you have.” I wink at him. His lips twitch, and for a second I think he’ll say something else. But instead, he steps closer, leaning down until his mouth brushes against mine. It’s soft, fleeting, barely even a kiss. It’s goodbye. Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and just like that, the heat, the presence, the intensity of him all evaporate, like the air has been sucked out of the room. In its place I’m left alone only with my thoughts. I stare up at the ceiling, my heart still pounding even though the reason for it is gone. I don’t know how long I lie there, tangled in the sheets, Sergei’s scent still lingering on my skin. What the hell just happened? I don’t do this. I don’t bring strangers home. I don’t let myself get carried away by impulse. I don’t lose my head over a guy I met less than twenty-four hours ago. I didn’t even sleep w...

Two days pass, and I manage to keep the entire encounter to myself. I bury myself in work and keep my head down. Unfortunately, the secret has to come out today. Because there’s no way my best friend Mia will let me escape our weekly lunch without spilling everything.

“Let’s take it from the top. Fill me in on the date.” I exhale slowly, grateful I can at least put that embarrassment behind me for good once I tell her. “So I get to the restaurant: candlelight, wine, the whole nine yards.” Mia sips her coffee, nodding. “Romantic. Promising. Continue.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but the vibe lasts all of five minutes. The moment I sit down, he spends more time scrolling his phone than looking at me. I swear I could’ve walked out and he wouldn’t have noticed until dessert.” “Oof. That bad?” she winces. “Oh, worse. He barely asked me anything about myself. When I tried to start a real conversation, he gave one-word answers. And get this: when the waitress comes over, he flirts with her.” “Men are an actual disease.” She mock gags. “Right?” I throw up my hands.

“I thought maybe I was imagining it, but no. Full-on charming the waitress while I sat there like an idiot.” Mia shakes her head. “Please tell me you ditched him.” I sigh. “I should have. But instead, I made the mistake of thinking, ‘hey, maybe if I freshen up, I can salvage the night.’” Mia groans, already understanding. “Yeah. I went to the bathroom, took my time, reapplied my lip gloss⁠—” “Like the queen you are.” “Exactly. And when I come back?” I pause and gesture toward the now-empty table. Mia’s eyes widen. “No.” “Oh, yes.” I let out a humorless laugh. “The man was gone.” Mia slaps the table. “Shut. Up.” “He just disappeared. Like a fucking magician. Poof. Vanished. Gone.” She stares at me for a long second, then bursts out laughing. I cross my arms, glaring. “I fail to see what’s funny.” Mia wheezes. “Oh, come on. That’s so bad it’s almost impressive. Like, how do you sneak out in the middle of a date without a word?” I groan, shaking my head. “I don’t know! I was so pissed.” “So, what did you do?” she asks, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. I smirk. “Oh, I sent him a very angry text.” “Good. Drag his ass.” She claps. “Yeah.” I pause dramatically. “Except, uh, I had the wrong number.” Mia stares blankly, like a deer in headlights, then leans forward so fast her coffee almost spills. “I’m sorry, what?” I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling warm. Mia narrows her eyes. “Nicole. Who did you text?” I clear my throat. “A stranger.” Her jaw drops. “Oh my God! Wait, w...

Mia keeps talking—something about living more, overthinking less, and maybe letting go of my chronic need for control. She’s probably right, but I’m not listening. Something outside the café catches my attention. I don’t know why I notice them at first. New York City is full of people, full of men like them. Spotting a group of well-dressed men who look like they belong in a Sylvester Stallone movie isn’t uncommon. Still, this group stands out. It’s the way they hold themselves—the controlled, effortless power as they linger on the sidewalk, completely unfazed by the city’s chaos swirling around them. It’s the way they’re dressed in perfectly tailored suits, dark and expensive. They exude a kind of power and old money that seems out of place outside of a period piece. A few of them are smoking cigars, their movements slow, unbothered. “Nicole?” Mia snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Helloooo? Where’d you just go?” “I…” I shake my head, trying to brush off the sudden unease creeping over me. “Sorry, I just…” My voice dies in my throat. When I glance back at the group, I swear I see Sergei. The man definitely has the same sharp jaw, the same ice-blue eyes. He looks younger, t...

What the hell is going on?” I exhale shakily. “It’s just bad nausea. It’s been happening for a couple of days.” “A couple of days?” She pulls back to look at me. “Nicole, you’re a nurse—you know full well that’s not normal.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, forcing myself to sit back on my heels. The nausea is fading, but I still feel off. “It’s probably a stomach bug,” I mutter. Mia gives me a look. “But you don’t feel sick otherwise?” I shake my head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be at work risking the health of our patients,” I mutter, almost annoyed. She knows me better than that. She hums, gears clearly turning, then goes utterly still. I frown. “What’s wrong?” She meets my gaze, dead serious. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?” The word rattles around my head like a curse. My body locks up, short-circuiting. Pregnant? No. There’s no way. Right? I swallow hard, my mind racing. “No,” I answer immediately, more out of shock than anything. “There’s no way.” I do the math, counting back the weeks in my head. Then I realize that I don’t remember when my last period was. My cycle’s always been a little inconsistent, so being late rarely fazes me. Of course, I don’t usually have hot, wild sex with a stranger. Mia must see the panic in my face because she gently grips my arm, keeping me anchored. “Hey. Deep breaths.” I take one. Then another. But my heart is racing. Pregnant? No. There’s no way. I feel dizzy. Mia steadies me, helping me stand. She leads me to the sink, her firm...

She hands me the bag and shoos me into a stall, where I have to actually take the damn test. My hands shake as I pull it from the box and hold it underneath me. I pace while I wait for the results. My sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor with every step, my arms wrapped around my middle like I’m physically holding myself together. Mia sits on the sink edge, elbows braced on her knees, chin resting on her palm. She’s not pacing. She’s not freaking out. She’s just watching the pregnancy test with the patience of a Buddhist monk, waiting for the results to become clear. I swallow hard, blood rushing in my ears, drowning out everything else. I should be thinking about what I’m going to do. I should be preparing myself for either answer. But all I can think about is Sergei. The way he touched me. The way he left. The way I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Mia’s phone vibrates against the sink. The timer is up. I freeze mid-step. My breath catches in my throat. For a second, neither of us move. Then Mia straightens, inhaling slowly. “You want me to look first?” I nod so fast it makes me dizzy. “Please.” Mia reaches for the test. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is it. This is the moment my life changes forever. I hear Mia’s breath hitch. She flips the stick around. And I force my eyes open. Two lines. The air punches out of my lungs in a sharp, shattering exhale. “Fuck.” The word hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Mia doesn’t say anything. I stare at t...

She crouches in front of me, placing her hands on my knees. “Hey. Look at me.” I do. My eyes burn. I don’t know if I’m about to cry or pass out. Maybe both. Mia squeezes my knees gently. “Breathe.” I inhale, but it’s shaky. She nods. “Good. Again.” I do. It doesn’t help. “Mia,” I cry, swallowing hard. “What do I do?” She doesn’t answer right away, which is for the best. I know she doesn’t really have the answer to this problem. Even if she did, nothing she could say would feel right. “Well first, you process. You take a second to freak out. You let yourself feel whatever you need to feel.” I press my fingers to my temple. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling.” “That’s fine.” She shrugs, her voice irritatingly calm. “Let it be messy.” Messy? This whole situation is a fucking mess. I texted one wrong number and now I’m pregnant with that stranger’s baby. This isn’t who I am. “Seriously, take the rest of the day off. You’ve got to make some big decisions, and you can’t make them under duress,” she says sympathetically. “I can’t take the day off, Mia—I have patients,” I protest, hearing the petulance in my own voice. “Besides, I need to work. It will keep me from having a complete meltdown.” “Fine. Get back to work and try to compartmentalize for now,” she says, unfazed by my foul mood. I press a hand to my chest, feeling the weight of it all sink in. This is really happening to me. This isn’t a problem I can outthink or outwork. Somehow, some way I have to make a decision that...

Another entire week slips by, and I either face the news or pretend it doesn’t exist. For the most part, I ignore it. When stress hits, I fall back on old habits: I overwork and pretend nothing’s wrong. Unfortunately, the baby growing inside me doesn’t care about my coping mechanisms. It’s intent on wrecking my body, leaving me with all day nausea. Screw whoever called it morning sickness.

I’ve been on a solid diet of saltines, yogurt, and applesauce for the last seven days. I can’t keep down much else. If I pretend hard enough, it feels like a simple, noncontagious stomach bug. But it isn’t just the physical symptoms that have made this week hard. The weight of this presses against my chest every second of the day. Even when I try to ignore it, I can’t outrun the truth. Sometimes I burst into tears without warning, just thinking about what’s happening. None of this feels fair. The nights are the absolute worst. They’re too quiet and too empty. I should be exhausted after work, especially on days I pull a double, but I just can’t shut my mind off long enough to fall asleep. The moment my eyes close, my mind races with a thousand questions I can’t answer. Am I going to keep this baby? If I don’t keep it, can I live with that decision? If I do keep it, will I actually be a good mother? Should I bother telling Sergei about this?

I still don’t know what to do about him or if I should even do anything at all. He has my number, but he hasn’t reached out in six weeks. He’s obviously not thinking about me. Even after the casual way he left, some stupid part of me hoped he would want to see me again. He doesn’t, and our time together clearly meant more to me than to him.

I groan, dropping my head into my hands as I sink into the hard plastic chair in the ER break area. I’m worn out, my entire body aching from hours on my feet. My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids gritty, but I know the second I get ho...

“I swear, if one more doctor talks down to me, I’m going to lose my shit. Don’t they know we work ten times harder than they do for a fraction of the pay?” She’s pissed, indignant. It’s a good distraction. “Rough shift?” I ask with a weak laugh. She huffs, tossing her ID badge onto the table between us. “Brutal. But enough about me.” She turns to me, her sharp gaze scanning my face. “How are you doing?” So much for the distraction. I could lie, but she’d see through it. So I give her the simple truth. “I haven’t been sleeping.” Mia frowns, shifting to face me fully. “Because of the nausea?” I shake my head. “Because of everything,” I say, gesturing vaguely. Her expression softens. “What’s been keeping you up the most?” I let out a breath, rubbing my hands over my thighs. “My brain won’t shut off,” I admit. “Every time I lie down, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly I’m thinking about everything. My job, my future, the fact that there’s this life growing inside of me. I haven’t even decided if I’m going to keep it, but if I do, I’ll probably be the shittiest mother in the entire world.” Mia tilts her head, her voice gentle. “Nicole, you’d be a great mom.” The words blindside me, and a lump rises in my throat. Before I can stop myself, my eyes burn with the threat of tears. I shake my head, blinking rapidly. “God, I hate hormones,” I mutter. Mia grins. “You can’t blame everything on the hormones,” she teases. “You’ve always been a big baby.” I let out a watery laugh. “Yea...

“You know what I think?” I glance at her, not sure I actually want to know. She smirks. “I think you need to let me help you.” “Mia—” I start, the protest at the tip of my tongue. “Nope,” she cuts me off, holding up a hand. “I know you. You’ll try to muscle through this alone like you did for the nursing boards. Lock yourself in a room for two weeks and hope for the best. But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to do this by yourself. You have me.” I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into my chest. She’s right, of course. I was planning to handle this alone. But I don’t have to. I’ve got people to support me. “Good.” Mia grins when she sees that I’ve thought it over. “Now, let’s start with the basics.” She starts counting on her fingers. “One, you need sleep.” “Easier said than done,” I groan. “Two, you need food that doesn’t make you want to hurl,” she goes on, ignoring me. “More than saltines and applesauce.” She’s pushy and stubborn, so I know my only option is to agree. “I’ll take it under advisement,” I quip. “And as your advisor, I know you will accept,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me. We sit in comfortable silence, too exhausted to say more.

Even though I know she’s stable now, that the doctors are confident she’ll recover, my hands still won’t stop shaking. I lean forward in the waiting room, elbows braced on my knees, dragging my hands down my face. I exhale, trying to ground myself, but my mind won’t shut the fuck up. I keep replaying the horrible scenes over and over again. Mom crumpled on the floor, the ambulance’s blinding lights, the antiseptic sting that hit me the moment I stepped into the ER. Then came the biggest shock to my system. The nurse working on my mother the moment she came in was Nicole. Mind-fucking good in bed Nicole. She probably told me she was a nurse, but I barely remember anything we discussed at that dinner. If I’d ever imagined running into her again, this scenario would be dead last on the list. Ideally, if I saw her again she’d be wearing some sexy piece of lingerie. No. I shake my head. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about that. It doesn’t matter how incredible our night together was. There’s only one thing I should be focusing on right now, and it’s finding out what’s going to happen with my mother. A nurse runs by and I can’t help but check to see if it’s Nicole. I wonder if she’s still with Mom or if she’s moved on to another patient. I shouldn’t expect any special treatment, of course. Still, part of me wishes that she would stay with Mom until I’m sure she’s fine. They won’t let me back there until they finish running tests, and it would be nice to know someone is stand...

My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of the tailspin. I glance at the screen, where Sasha’s name fills it. “Yeah, Sasha,” I say. “How is she?” he asks, his voice low and steady. “She’s stable,” I say, my voice still rough. “The doctors said it was a minor stroke. She’s got some recovery ahead of her, but she’ll be okay with the right care.” “Good.” He exhales, relief bleeding through the line. There’s a long pause. Neither of us quite knows what to say in a situation like this. When Papa died, we just downed a bottle of vodka and said hardly anything. We Volkov men aren’t really emotional creatures. Even so, emotion threads through his tone. “You staying with her?” He clears his throat. “Until we know more, yes,” I confirm. Another beat of silence. Then Sasha shifts to safer territory: business. “I’m handling the debt situation,” he says, unprompted. “The guy swore he’d have the money, but⁠—” “But he hasn’t delivered,” I cut him off. It’s a tale as old as time. “Not yet. But he will. I’m working on it.” Sasha chuckles, low and dark. I don’t doubt that. Sasha is the best person to handle people who don’t pay their dues. He doesn’t waste time on excuses or pleasantries, and he has zero patience for men who lie. And right now, I have no doubt he’s making sure the debt is paid one way or another. I drag a hand through my hair. “Don’t make a mess.” “No promises.” He laughs.

I hear footsteps approaching. I look up to find Nicole standing in front of me, patiently waiting for me to hang up. My stomach drops, and I’m not sure whether it’s worry for my mother or the sheer gravity of being back in Nicole’s orbit. My grip tightens on the phone. “Sasha,” I mutter, “I’ll call you later.” “Yeah, yeah. Take care of Ma.” I end the call and pocket my phone, giving Nicole my full attention. She studies me, eyes sweeping my face as though she’s wrestling with something unspoken. It unsettles me, and makes me desperately wish I could read her thoughts. Then, she shifts her weight and speaks in a professional, clipped voice. “Your mother is stable, and we’ve completed all the tests. You can see her now.” I nod once, but neither of us moves or looks away. The tension between us is electric, palpable. For a moment, we’re not in a hospital waiting room, but we’re back at that alley behind the restaurant, a breath away from touching. But the chaotic hospital sounds snap me back to the present, and the moment turns painfully awkward. I should thank her for taking care of my mother, for keeping her safe, for doing her job when I was too fucking paralyzed with fear to do anything but stand there and watch. Yet I struggle to form a single word. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at me, her expression loaded. “Sergei.” She says my name casually, but I’m suddenly remembering how she screamed it, how her whole body reacted when she did. I’m already ...

Nicole slips in, wary eyes flicking to me as she checks on my mother. “How’s she been?” she asks, not looking at me. “A ball of sunshine,” I mutter, immediately hating the bite in my tone. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night, and I still haven’t seen the doctor.” “I’ll page him for you,” she says kindly, no hint of irritation in her voice. “But it may take a while. We had a multi-car crash come in after her, and he’s slammed right now.” “Sure,” I mutter, my frustration rising. I can’t control any of it, I know. I can’t make any of this go away or get better, even if I threw money at it. An insane idea slams into me. “Nicole?” I stand and circle the bed until we’re toe-to-toe. “What?” The word slips out on a breath. “My mother needs full-time care,” I explain. “I’ve seen how you work tonight, and you’re the only person in this damn place who’s even bothered to speak to me. I want you to be the one to look after her while she recovers.” She blinks as though trying to process my words. “I’m happy to check in on her every now and then, and of course I can refer you to some great in-home aides.” “That isn’t what I mean,” I tell her firmly. “I want you to be the one to take care of her.” “Sergei, I have a job.” She gestures to the room. “I can’t just stop working so I can take care of one patient. It’s a flattering offer, but⁠—” “I’ll pay you,” I cut in. She stares at me, her expression shifting into something unreadable. “I figured as much,” she says, arching a brow. “But no amo...

I stare at Sergei, my mind a complete blank. My brain threatens to short-circuit. He barely knows me, and his offer makes me realize that I barely know him either, no matter how stuck I’ve been on him for the last few weeks. What kind of man offers that much cash? When we went to dinner, I figured he was probably well-off, but this is too much. I suddenly remember the men I saw on the street several weeks ago, and how unsettled they made me feel. They looked dangerous. Maybe Sergei is even more dangerous than I realized. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” I blurt out, my mouth moving faster than my brain. “Do you even know what you’re asking right now?” Sergei doesn’t so much as blink. “Yes. I’m asking you to take care of my mother, and to move in with me,” he says, calm as stone. “She’ll need round-the-clock care, and I need someone I can trust.” The room suddenly feels smaller, as though the walls are closing in around me. His mother’s monitor beeps rhythmically, and it’s all too much. I need to get out of here, to go somewhere I can think. I glance toward the hospital bed where his mother sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the insane conversation happening just a few feet away. She looks so small and frail, and I’ll do whatever I can to make her life easier while she’s in my care. But walking away from my life seems extreme. Sergei’s voice cuts through my racing thoughts. “You’ll have your own room, of course, and access to anything you need. I’ll make sure you’re complete...

if I’m being honest. It’s like the miracle I’ve been hoping for since the moment I found out I was pregnant. Maybe if it came from someone else, someone who wasn’t the father of this baby growing inside of me, I’d be a little less hesitant. But, it’s really all too much.

Sergei must see something shift in my expression because he steps closer, his presence impossible to ignore. “I want you there, Nicole.” His voice is low, firm. “You should be the one to take care of her. She deserves nothing but the best, and I truly believe you are the best.”

I have to tell him about the baby before this goes any further. “Can I think about it?” I whisper instead, taking the cowardly route. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I can tell he doesn’t like that answer. He wants a definitive yes or no right now, but I can’t give him that. Still, after a long pause, he gives me one sharp nod. “That’s fine,” he says sharply, but then his voice lowers. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m not known for my patience.” I nod numbly, my mind spinning as my heart pounds against my ribs. I’m struck again by how little I know about him, by the danger he radiates. He’s so different from how I remember, though I wasn’t exactly studying his personality that night. It’s startling, yet somehow exhilarating. Every instinct tells me to run, but there’s a small voice inside of me saying I should take his offer. I turn and leave, desperate to escape his orbit long enough to think.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and I groan, not ready for my sliver of peace to shatter. But when I see Mom flash across the screen, I don’t hesitate to answer. “Hey, Mama,” I answer, trying to infuse some cheer into my voice. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says with a sigh, and immediately I know something’s wrong. “Do you have a minute?” “Of course. What’s going on?” “It’s the roof,” she finally says after a long pause. “Your dad and I were up there this afternoon, patching the leak by the attic vent again. But there are more cracks now. The water’s starting to come through to the ceiling in the hallway.” I sit up straighter, anxiety curling tight in my gut. “Is it bad?” I ask, imagining their roof caving in on them. “It’s getting worse. We’ve been trying to manage it, but between the animals finding their way in and the mold smell in the upstairs bedrooms…” she trails off with another sigh. “It’s just going to cost a lot of money that we don’t have.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my knuckles. I don’t even have to ask how much. A roof replacement is expensive. Probably tens of thousands of dollars. I know they don’t have that kind of savings tucked away. “I just don’t know how we’re going to afford it,” she says softly, more to herself than me. My heart breaks a little at the tremble in her voice. My mom is the strongest woman I know, but the last few years have knocked her down. It’s been hard to see how much she and my dad have had to struggle when they’re so close t...

Am I really about to do this? I turn the TV off and don’t give myself a chance to overthink it. I scroll to Sergei’s number and hit call before I can lose my nerve. He answers on the second ring. “Nicole.” He sounds utterly at ease. So he did keep my number. “Hey,” I breathe. “Is now a bad time?” “No,” he replies quickly. “Not at all. Have you thought more about my offer?” “Yes,” I answer breathlessly. There’s a charged silence on the line. “Yes?” he asks, and I realize my yes can be misinterpreted. “When can I start?” I ask, casting out all doubt. “I can make arrangements whenever you’re ready,” he says, confidence threading through every syllable. “We can get it all done by the end of the week if you can be ready that quickly.” “Okay,” I squeak, gripping the edge of the couch cushion, curling my fingers into the fabric. “I’m glad you said yes,” he murmurs, igniting a heat inside of me. That same dizzy swirl that sparked the first night we texted surges through me now. I nod, even though he can’t see me. As soon as the call ends, I sit there staring at the dark TV screen, my reflection staring back, wide-eyed and unsure. I’ve just agreed to move into a stranger’s home. A very rich, very intense, very enigmatic stranger, who also happens to be the father of my secret child. I keep stacking reckless life choices, one on top of the other.

After I agree to help Mrs. Volkova, things move fast. I apply for a leave of absence from the hospital, and it’s approved just two days later. I can’t help thinking Sergei had something to do with the lightning-fast approval. The timing aligns perfectly with his mother’s discharge. Between juggling shifts, tying up loose ends at work, and coordinating with Human Resources, I haven’t had much time to sit down and truly process what I’m about to do. I’ve been keeping myself busy so I don’t spiral. Even now, rifling through my closet and deciding what to pack for my temporary home, I focus on the task so I won’t overthink the rest.

“I still can’t believe you’re really doing this.” Mia sighs from my bed. She’s been lounging there for the last half hour while I’ve packed. “Why are you leaving me?” I pause, sweatshirt in hand, and glance at her, my heart aching at the thought. What am I going to do without my daily dose of Mia? “It’s just temporary,” I remind her. “As soon as Mrs. Volkova is back on her feet, I’ll be back and it’ll be like I was never gone.” Something in my voice must give me away, because she sets her phone on her stomach and studies me, brows knitting. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The question hangs between us while I search for an honest answer. I can’t lie to my best friend, but the truth is I don’t know if I’m okay. So much is up in the air. I’ve been dissociating, cramming each worry into its own compartment so I don’t have to face any of them. I sit on the edge of the bed and wipe a damp palm down my thigh. “I’m pretty nervous,” I admit. There’s no hiding it from her, she’s fluent in Nicole. “About living with Sergei?” she asks, sitting up to meet my eyes. “It’s a lot to process at once.” I let out a slow breath. “This could change my life, or it could be a huge mistake. I have no idea which.” “Well, it’s a lot of fucking money,” she jokes. “I’d love to make that kind of mistake.” I grab a decorative pillow and hurl it at her. She shrieks, then bursts into laughter. “All right, all right. Just don’t forget us little people when you’re a legit millionaire.” “That money is going str...

“The chemistry when we first met was insane,” I say softly. “I’ve never felt anything like it, and I doubt I ever will again. It was intense, to say the least. But now I’ll be living in his home as his employee, caring for his mom. The dynamic has completely changed. It almost feels… tainted.” “Yeah, that’s a hell of a shift,” Mia agrees, sitting up a little straighter. “You don’t really know him, despite how hot the sex was. And it’s not like you trust him enough to open up about all the shit swirling inside you. He isn’t me, for Christ’s sake.” I can’t help but laugh. I can always count on Mia for that. “Exactly,” I agree. “And he’s clearly got so much going on with his mom. Would there ever be a good time to tell him?” “Maybe not right away.” Mia shrugs thoughtfully. “You’re not doing anything wrong by keeping it to yourself for now. You need time. Space. And maybe once you settle in, once you get a feel for who he really is, you’ll know when the right moment is.” “I just wish I knew what to expect,” I murmur. Mia snorts. “You’re moving in with a hot, enigmatic stranger who’s offered you enough money to buy a small island.” She laughs. “There’s no telling what to expect, but I think that’s half the thrill.” I collapse beside her on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t know that I need any more thrill in my life right now.” She grins and tosses a pillow at me. “Well, you could always let me take the job while you run away from Dr. Grabass all day,” she suggests ...

As I’m about to zip it shut, Mia tosses a small, sleek object inside. I fish it out and examine the unexpected addition. “What is this?” “It’s a taser,” she says nonchalantly, as if she hasn’t just thrown a literal weapon into my bag. “And this…” she says as she reaches into her oversized tote bag and pulls out a little canister, handing it to me, “is mace. Just in case you’re ever in a sticky situation.” I laugh uneasily, realizing it hasn’t even occurred to me that I could be in danger. Of all my anxieties, that possibility never crossed my mind, and now I question that oversight. “Do you really think I’ll need these?” Mia drops down onto the edge of my bed, elbows braced on her knees, watching me closely. “I think you’re stepping into an unfamiliar situation with no idea what to expect. Of course I hope you won’t need them. But I’d rather you have something and not need it than need it and not have it.” I zip the bag closed, pressing down as though I can pack away the nerves knotting in my stomach along with my clothes. “He’s not a serial killer,” I say quietly, more of a reassurance for my own nerves. “Probably not,” she agrees with a shrug. “But he is rich, secretive, intense, and hot in a really dangerous way.” I shoot her a look, but she just raises her eyebrows like she’s daring me to argue. I can’t. “I’m not in any way questioning your judgment about this. You’re neither stupid nor reckless. And I respect the hell out of your reasons for taking this job. You’re lo...