Pregnant by My Ex's Mafia Godfather

Mia POV

"The recording proves Ethan used you as collateral for his debt," Gable said, sliding my phone back across his cluttered desk. "But it doesn't clear the embezzlement charge."

I grabbed the device, my knuckles tight.

Before arriving at the legal-aid office, I had canceled my follow-up, changed the password on my medical portal, and asked records to add extra identity verification to my chart. Serena’s threat meant she was hunting for proof of the pregnancy.

"The missing money moved through your login credentials," Gable explained, adjusting his glasses. "The bank sees your digital signature. Unless you secure the raw device logs, the yacht's security footage, or the Valenti family ledgers, you are still the prime suspect."

My phone buzzed in my palm.

"Mia, don't go back to the apartment tonight," my landlord said before I even finished saying hello.

"Why?"

"Someone called in an arson threat against the building and named your unit. Police are checking it now. I'm not trying to evict you, but I have six other tenants and I need you somewhere else until they clear the place."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen. Ethan and Serena did not need to drag me into an alley. They could keep squeezing my life—my job, my bank account, now my home—until signing their confession looked like the only way to breathe.

I didn't call Dante.

Instead, I took the bus to the marina management office.

"I need the passenger logs from eight weeks ago," I told the harbor manager, keeping my tone even. "A crime occurred on that deck."

"That vessel belongs to the Valenti corporation," the manager said, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "No civilian gets access to those tapes. Get a subpoena."

I walked out into the damp afternoon air.

Two men in dark jackets stood near the end of the pier. When I turned left, they turned left. They kept a strict fifty-foot distance, making no effort to hide their pursuit.

I sped up, ducking into a crowded corner pharmacy.

I wedged myself between a rack of magazines and the front window, dialing Gable's number. One of the men paused outside the glass doors, his hand resting inside his jacket pocket.

A matte-black sedan swerved to the curb, blocking the man's path.

The back door swung open.

Dante stepped onto the pavement.

Eight weeks had passed since the yacht. He wore a charcoal suit, his expression unreadable as he locked eyes with the man tailing me. The stalker immediately backed away, disappearing down the block.

Dante walked into the pharmacy.

He didn't ask about the text message. He didn't mention the night we spent together.

"I spent two months tracking the cash Ethan stole," Dante said, stopping a foot away from me. "Today, I confirmed the internal thief used your identity for a second layer of routing."

"Waking up in a godfather's bed doesn't mean I'm safe," I said, keeping my voice low.

He didn't argue.

Dante reached into his breast pocket and placed a heavy, encrypted hard drive on the magazine rack.

"This is the raw security footage from the yacht," he said. "Your strongest proof of innocence."

I stared at the silver metal.

"The tampered logistics records went through a department supervised by Rafael Bianchi," Dante continued.

"I don't know who that is," I said.

"Rafael is a high-ranking manager in my family," Dante replied, his tone flat. "Which means an insider is desperate to make you take the fall quickly."

"I want my lawyer to copy this drive before I go anywhere," I said. "Accepting your protection doesn't mean I owe you my compliance. I won't trade Ethan's cage for yours."

"You owe me nothing," Dante said. "You can walk away right now."

I nodded and pushed off the shelving unit.

A sharp wave of dizziness hit me. The lack of food over the last twenty-four hours caught up with my system. The pharmacy lights blurred, and my knees gave out.

Dante’s hands clamped onto my upper arms. His grip was rigid, hauling me upright before I hit the linoleum floor. The moment I steadied my footing, he released me, stepping back to leave empty space between us.

My canvas work tote slipped off my shoulder, hitting the ground.

The clasp popped open.

A white envelope slid halfway out onto the floor. The bold black ink on the top corner was impossible to miss.

8 Weeks.

Dante didn't rush to pick it up. He stared at the date, then lifted his dark eyes to my face. He waited in total silence as I crouched down, grabbed the report, and shoved it back into my bag.

I stood up.

"Is it mine?" Dante asked.

Lying would only give Serena more leverage. If the mafia boss didn't know the truth, the traitor in his ranks would use the secret to destroy me.

I looked straight at him.

"Yes," I said.

Dante went completely still. He didn't glance at my stomach. He didn't reach out. He took a half-step backward, giving me more room.

"What do you want me to do?" Dante asked.

"I want my name cleared," I said, my voice steadying. "I want my nursing job back, my tuition restored, and absolute control over every medical decision regarding this child. If you can't guarantee that, I will face Rafael Bianchi alone."

"Agreed," Dante said without hesitation.

He slipped his hands into his pockets.

"But this is no longer a simple protection detail," Dante warned, his jaw tightening. "Serena knows the child exists. That means Rafael knows. The traitor will use this baby as a bargaining chip to manipulate my decisions."

"I'm not hiding in a basement," I said.

"You aren't hiding anywhere," Dante said.

He turned his head and nodded toward the front door. A tall guard in a fitted suit stepped inside, holding a glowing smartphone.

"Nico," Dante said. "Show her."

Nico handed me the device.

A live video filled the screen. One of Nico's men stood in my apartment hallway with his phone angled through the splintered doorway while he waited for police. Inside, the two men who had followed me from the marina were tearing through my living room, ripping cushions apart and dumping drawers onto the floor.

One of them emptied my spare duffel bag onto the rug.

He found a folded paper, opened it, and held it under the lamp.

My copied prenatal appointment slip.

The intruder pulled out a phone. Even through the guard's microphone, I heard him clearly.

"We found it. Call Rafael. Tell him the pregnancy is confirmed."

Dante's face went still.

The threat was no longer outside his family. It had a name.