Pampered By The Rival Mafia Boss

Ava POV

I spent the night feeding the incinerator.

The toxic herbs hissed and popped within the flames, turning from lethal dried leaves into grey, unrecognizable ash. I watched the fire dance, mesmerized. It felt symbolic. I was burning my blind loyalty, watching it disintegrate just like the trust I had placed in Ethan Reed.

The smoke smelled bitter. It stung my eyes, or maybe I was just crying. I couldn't tell anymore.

By morning, the lab was clinical, cold, and spotless. I had scrubbed every surface with bleach, the harsh chemical scent masking the lingering acrid tang of burning herbs. I was exhausted, my bones aching with a weariness that sleep couldn't touch.

The door swung open without a knock. Ethan walked in, bringing the scent of expensive cologne and fresh coffee with him. He looked rested. Happy, even.

"She slept like a baby," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "That tonic works miracles, Ava."

I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt like stretching old rubber. "I'm glad."

"She's been through a lot," he continued, striding over to my workstation. He didn't look at me; he looked at the equipment, touching a microscope with idle curiosity. "She needs stability. We need to make her feel welcome."

"We?" I asked, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

He finally looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly as if my confusion was an inconvenience. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black card. He slid it across the stainless steel table. It stopped inches from my hand.

"Buy yourself something," he said. "You've been working hard. A vacation, maybe. Get away for a few days."

I stared at the plastic rectangle. It wasn't a gift. It was a dismissal. He was paying me off. He was buying my silence and my compliance. He wanted me out of the house so he could play happy family with Chloe.

"Is this my bonus?" I asked, my voice flat. "For not poisoning her?"

His eyes darkened. "Don't be dramatic, Ava. It's a gesture. Take it."

I picked up the card. It felt cold against my skin. "Thank you, Ethan."

"Good." He checked his watch. "I have to go. Family business downtown. I might be late."

He turned and left without another word. No kiss. No 'I'll see you later.' Just the back of his suit jacket disappearing down the hall.

I waited until his footsteps faded before I threw the card into the trash bin.

That evening, my burner phone vibrated against the metal table. It was the report from Marco.

I sat on the floor of the lab, scrolling through the encrypted file. The blue light of the screen illuminated the horror dawning on my face.

Chloe hadn't been "fragile." She hadn't been suffering.

For ten years, she had been living in Vegas, hopping from one high-roller to another. There were photos of her hanging off the arms of low-level mobsters, card sharps, and hustlers. She had racked up massive gambling debts.

But the last page was the one that made my blood run cold.

In the last three months, she had been visiting a clandestine clinic in the Bronx. A place known for "specialized" treatments. The report didn't say what she was doing there, but it noted she met with a man named Russo-a known poisoner for the Moretti family, our rivals.

She wasn't back for love. She was back for sanctuary. Or worse, she was a plant.

I needed to tell Ethan. I stood up, gripping the phone, ready to run to him. He had to know.

My phone rang. It was him.

"Ethan, I need to-"

"I can't talk," he cut me off, his voice breathless. "Something came up. A shipment got hit at the docks. I won't be home tonight."

"Ethan, listen to me, it's about Chloe-"

"Ava, not now!" he snapped. "Handle things at the house. Make sure she takes her medicine."

The line clicked dead.

He chose her. Even when he wasn't there, he chose her comfort over my voice.

I stood there, the silence of the lab pressing in on me. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me, so strong I had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. I swallowed it down, thinking it was just stress. But then the pain started.

It began as a dull ache in my lower abdomen and quickly escalated into a sharp, twisting cramp that brought me to my knees.

"Oh god," I gasped, clutching my stomach.

It felt like something was tearing inside me.

I crawled to the cabinet where I kept emergency supplies. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open the latch. I needed pain meds. I needed...

I looked down. A dark stain was spreading on my white lab coat. Blood.

My heart stopped.

I wasn't just sick. I was losing it.

I had suspected I might be pregnant. Ethan and I had a slip-up two months ago, a night of desperate passion after a close call with a rival gang. I hadn't told him. I wanted to be sure. I wanted it to be a happy surprise.

Now, it was a tragedy happening on the cold tile floor.

I dragged myself to my phone and dialed the only number I could trust. Not Ethan. He was "busy."

"Ben," I gasped when he answered. "I need you. Now."

"Ava? What's wrong?" Ben Carter's voice was filled with alarm. He was the family doctor, a man who had stitched up Ethan more times than I could count.

"Just come," I whispered. "Please."

The next hour was a blur of agony and silence. I didn't scream. I couldn't let the guards hear. I couldn't let Chloe hear. I birthed my grief in silence, cleaning up the blood with paper towels, flushing the remains of my future away.

By the time Ben arrived, I was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, shivering uncontrollably. The room smelled of bleach and iron.

Ben took one look at me and the trash bin full of bloody towels, and his face went pale. He didn't ask stupid questions. He went to work. He checked my vitals, gave me a shot for the pain, and started an IV.

"Ava," he said softly, his hand on my shoulder. "You lost it."

"I know," I said. My eyes were dry. I had no tears left. "Don't tell him."

"Ethan has a right to know."

"He's not here, is he?" I looked at Ben, my eyes hollow. "He's out dealing with 'business.' He doesn't care, Ben. He never cared."

Ben looked away, conflict warring in his eyes. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid.

"This will help with the infection risk," he said. Then he paused. He looked at the vial, then at me. "Ava, this wasn't... natural."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"The rate of blood loss, the cramping intensity... it looks induced." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Like you ingested an abortifacient."

My mind flashed back to the "calming tea" Chloe had insisted on making for me yesterday afternoon. To thank you for being so welcoming, she had said.

I stared at Ben, the horror dawning on me.

"Rest," Ben said, handing me a sedative. "We can't prove anything yet. But be careful. Some things in this house are toxic."

I took the pill. It felt heavy in my hand.

I lay back on the cot, the cold plastic of the IV line against my arm. I had lost my child. Ethan was gone. And the woman sleeping in his bed had likely murdered my baby.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I didn't pray for Ethan's safety. I prayed for the strength to burn this entire house to the ground.