Pregnant by my father's enemy

The war's edge

I crouched behind a marble pillar in the foyer, my heart hammering, my bruised cheek throbbing from Papa’s slap. Volkov’s note, the warehouse attack, the three capos’ severed fingers, haunted me, each imagining a knife in my gut. My hand clutched my stomach, shielding my unborn child—his child—as fear choked me, my breath shallow.

Volkov, the monster who killed my mother, had stormed our estate uninvited, his audacity spitting in Papa’s honor. I’d slipped from my room, drawn to the chaos, needing to know his next move, my pulse racing like a war drum.

“Stronzo!” Papa’s voice thundered from the study, doors flung wide as he faced Volkov, his gun gleaming in his hand. “You crashed my gates, defiled my house after butchering my men? I’ll gut you where you stand!”

Volkov’s smirk was ice, his ice-blue eyes scanning Papa, Luca, Marco, Matteo, and the capos bristling with guns, their faces tight with rage. “Paolo’s blood was a warning, Romano,” he said, voice low, lethal, each word a blade. “You cage what’s mine. Emilia. My child grows in her. Hand her over, or I will paint this estate red.”

My breath seized, body trembling, a sob catching in my throat. That night, my fury at Matteo’s betrayal chained me to this devil, and I hated myself for it. How did he know about my child? My hands shook, fear drowning me, his cold gaze seeming to pierce the shadows where I hid, like he could sense my heartbeat.

“Hand her over?” Papa laughed, a snarl, stepping closer, gun trained on Volkov’s heart. “You raped my daughter, murdered my Sofia, and now you demand her? Vaffanculo, Volkov! I’ll burn your Bratva to ash before I let you touch her!”

Volkov didn’t blink, his voice a blade, dripping with menace. “Your Sofia was a pawn, caught in your pathetic war. Your men butchered my daughter Katya, Anya’s twin, my blood, in revenge. Emilia’s child is mine, and I take what’s mine, Romano. Think your little family can stand against me? My Bratva will crush you like roaches.”

“You dare threaten me?” Papa roared, his gun shaking, capos cocking weapons, the room a spark of chaos. “You’re a dead man, Volkov! You’ll never touch my daughter!”

Volkov’s eyes narrowed, his voice as cold as a grave. “I don’t ask, Romano. I’m taking Emilia, with or without your blessing. Defy me, and I unleash hell. Your sons, your capos, your legacy—gone. I’ll drag Emilia from your ashes myself.”

My heart seized, hand clutching my stomach, his threat a noose tightening. His Bratva’s power was legend, unmatched even by the strongest Italian families. Mama’s death, his doing, fueled my hatred, but his words shook me—war would kill them all. His voice echoed that night—“You’re mine, krasavitsa,”—and my knees nearly buckled.

“You’re a butcher, Volkov!” Matteo bellowed, lunging, fist raised, his face red with rage, but Marco yanked him back, cursing. “You ruined her, you figlio di puttana! She’s mine!”

Volkov’s gaze flicked to Matteo, a sneer curling his lip.

“Yours? You drove her to my bed, DeSantis. You’re a worm, not a man. Step up, and I snap your neck like a twig.”

“Try it!” Matteo spat, struggling against Marco, his voice a growl. “I’ll kill you for touching her!”

“Enough!” Papa shouted, his voice a whip, gun steady on Volkov, his eyes blazing. “You want Emilia? You’ll choke on your own blood first! We fight, every last man, for our honor!”

Volkov’s laugh was low, chilling, his soldiers tensing, guns raised, their eyes cold. “Honor? You’re a dying breed, Romano. One week. Deliver Emilia to me, or I will erase your name from this earth.” He turned, coat swirling, his men backing away, eyes never leaving us.

The doors slammed, his convoy roaring into the night, leaving dread thick in the air.

I stumbled back, breathing ragged. Volkov’s cold eyes burned into my mind, his threat a weight I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t let my family face that war. My child, my mistake, brought this hell. I had to act, or we’d all be dead.

The study was a storm, Papa at the desk, his face a furnace, capos and family—Luca, Marco, Matteo, and others—packed tight, their voices a roar.

I hovered at the door, my gown torn from yesterday’s chaos, hand on my stomach, fear and resolve warring in my chest, my heart pounding.

“Volkov’s declared war!” Papa bellowed, slamming his fist, glasses rattling on the desk. “He demanded Emilia, claims her bastardo child! We don’t kneel to that dog! Arm every man, fortify the estate. We fight to the last!”

“Fight?” Marco snapped, voice sharp, stepping forward. “The Bratva’s a f*cking tidal wave, Don! They outgun us, outman us! Paolo’s dead because of her!” He jabbed a finger toward the door, missing me, hidden behind it.

“Then we die for la famiglia!” Papa roared, eyes blazing, his voice shaking the room. “He killed Sofia, Mia Moglie! Giving him Emilia is betraying her blood, betraying everything we are!”

Matteo’s voice was poison, fists clenched, his face twisted. “She’s a traditore! She f*cked that stronzo, brought this curse on us! Let him take her, let them both rot for their sins!” (traitor).

“Enough!” Luca growled, shoving Matteo hard, his voice fierce. “That’s my sister you’re talking about! We don’t throw out family. We shield them, Matteo, you bastard!”

“Shield?” Matteo laughed, venomously, stepping into Luca’s face. “She’s his puttana now! You think she’ll fight for us when she’s warming her bed?”

Matteo’s “puttana” broke my silence, rage igniting. I stormed in, voice trembling but fierce, my hands shaking. “Stop it, all of you!”

The room froze, Papa’s glare lethal, his hand twitching for his gun, his eyes boring into me. “You dare, daughter?” he hissed, stepping close, voice low, deadly. “After your shame? Speak, or it’s your life, Emilia.”

“I heard Volkov,” I said, voice shaking, hands clutching my stomach, tears burning. His threat, his demand. I won’t let you die for my mistake. I’ll go to him… I’ll marry him.”

Gasps erupted, Matteo’s face twisting, his eyes wild.

“Pazza!” he shouted, lunging, Luca blocking him, fists ready. “You want that monster?"I knew you were a fucking slut, Emilia!”

“Shut up, Matteo!” I screamed, tears streaming, my body trembling, my voice raw. I hate him! That night was a mistake, my worst sin! He killed Mama, and I’ll make him bleed for it, I swear!”

“Bleed?” Papa roared, grabbing my arm, yanking me close, his voice a snarl, breath hot. “You think you can face that devil? He’ll see through you, rip you apart till you’re nothing!”

“I know he’s a beast, Papa!” I cried, wrenching freely, my voice raw, my chest heaving. “That’s why I’ll do this. Let me marry him, infiltrate his Bratva. I’ll earn his trust, gut his empire from within. For Mama. Per la famiglia, Papa, please!”

“Stupid!” Papa spat, face crimson, gun waving. “Volkov’s a serpent! You’ll die, and we’ll still burn for your foolishness!”

“She’s got a point,” Luca said, stepping forward, voice steady, eyes on Papa, his jaw tight. “We can’t win a war, Papa. Not against the Bratva. Emilia’s plan is our best shot. She’s a Romano, she’s sharp. We have to trust her.”

I looked at Luca, appreciating him. He was the only one who would understand where I was coming from. The rest were blinded by their hatred for the bratvas. But, it was obvious that we had no chance here. The bratvas were too strong, they outnumbered us in weapons, men and knowledge.

It was a dead end.

“Sharp?” Matteo sneered, shoving Luca, his voice dripping with hate. "She’s a traitor! She’ll spread her legs for him again and doom us all!”

“Enough, Matteo!” I shouted, hands shaking, facing him, my voice a blade. “I’m saving us! I hate Volkov, more than you’ll ever know. That night was your fault, your betrayal! I’ll destroy him, and I’ll come back to fix this.”

“You’ll fail,” Papa said, voice low, deadly, eyes piercing mine, gun still in hand. “Volkov’s no fool. You’ll be his toy, and we’ll pay for your weakness.”

“Then let me try,” I pleaded, tears falling, my voice fierce, my heart pounding. "Give me a chance to end this. I’ll make him trust me, I’ll tear him down. For Mama’s memory, for my child.”

Silence gripped the room, capos shifting, Luca nodding, his eyes steady. Marco’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue, his gaze dark. Matteo’s eyes burned into me, his voice a hiss. “You’re his pawn, but you’ll crawl back to me, Emilia.”

“I’m not,” I said, my voice hard as steel, my hand on my stomach, meeting his glare. “I’m a Romano. I’ll hate him every breath, and I’ll win.”

Papa stared, face unreadable, then spoke, voice ice, gun lowering. “One year, Emilia. You have one year to crush Volkov. Fail, and you’re dead. Don’t you dare love that bastard. You’re still Matteo’s.”

“I won’t,” I vowed, trembling but firm, my voice steady despite the fear. “I’ll never love that monster. I’ll end him, and I’ll return.”

Matteo spat on the floor, his voice low, vicious. “You’ll fall for him. You’re weak, Emilia, always were.”

“F*ck you,” I snapped, stepping into his face, my hands shaking. “I’m stronger than you’ll ever be. Watch me prove it.”

Luca’s hand gripped my shoulder, voice low, steady. “You’re brave, sorella. We’ll stand by you. Make him suffer, Em. Don’t go easy.”

Papa nodded, eyes hard, his voice final. “One year to make that bastard pay for our blood. You leave tomorrow. Prepare.”

My heart pounded, body trembling as I left the study, hand on my stomach, my resolve like iron. Volkov thought he could own me, but I’d turn his strength against him. I’d enter his world, play his game, and burn his empire to the ground. For my child, for Mama, per la famiglia.

But as I stepped into the dark, Volkov’s cold voice echoed in my mind, fear whispering that I might not survive his shadow.