The Mafia Bride Of The Police

Marcelina~

Dom Vitali was going to be the man to give me my baby.

The thought landed in my head fully formed and terrifying, like a diagnosis you do not want but already understand. It did not come with emotions like lust or desire. It came with certainty, and that scared me more than guilt ever could.

I glanced at the tablet in my hand, even though I've already memorized every line of his report. This appointment was a follow-up, and unfortunately, it was the last.

The foundation was laid during the first meeting weeks ago, involving baseline scans, cognitive testing, and reaction time assessments amongst many others. Today was supposed to be another routine.

But it wasn't.

"Let's continue," I said, tapping my tablet to wake the screen. "Have the headaches increased since our last session?"

"Same,"

"Frequency?"

"Does it matter?"

There we go again.

I forced my face into something neutral and looked up at him. "Yes,"

"Then no,"

I made a note anyway. He always did that. Like this was just a waste of time and not his sixth neurological evaluation in three weeks.

By the third evaluation, I already knew Dom Vitali's body better than I knew most people in my life. I knew his resting heart rate, the rhythm of his heartbeat under stress, the way his pupil reacted a fraction of a second slower after intense exertion.

I knew the scans and the reports. The numbers said he was fine, but his body insisted otherwise. And still, he sat across from me like a locked door.

Adjusting my tablet, I continued. "Any dizziness?"

"No,"

"Blackouts?"

Silence.

I lifted my eyes. He was looking at me with that same unreadable stare. Dark, assessing, like he wasn't listening to my words but weighing my intent. I suddenly wondered what he would do if he discovered what I was planning.

"No," he said at last.

The answer came easily, but the look did not. It made my stomach tighten even more.

Shifting in my chair, I suddenly felt hot under his gaze. The air conditioning hummed softly above us, but heat crawled under my skin anyway.

"Nightmares?"

Another pause.

Just long enough to feel deliberate.

"Define nightmare."

I ignored the way my pulse jumped. "Recurring dreams that disrupt sleep."

"I sleep fine."

I noted it down even though I didn't believe him. "Disorientation?"

"No,"

"Memory gaps?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned back in his seat and pinned me where I sat with those dark gray eyes of his. With his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw tight, he looked bored and irritated.

"You ask that every time."

"And I'll keep asking,"

"Why?"

"Because it's my job, Mr. Vitali," I replied, keeping a neutral face. "And today happens to be the last day of your evaluation,"

The accident was the reason he sat across from me in a Brioni suit that probably cost more than my annual rent and salary combined. It was the only reason a man like him was required to answer my questions. And I knew he hated every second of it.

On paper, he was untouchable. He was a billionaire, founder of Vitali Group, and owner of the most exclusive clubs in Milan, New York, Ibiza, and Dubai. He was also big on real estate, private investments, and owned a motorsport racing team.

And that-that is where the accident occurred.

According to the reports, his sports car had collided with a concrete barrier at high speed. That kind of impact should've killed him or at least left permanent damage. Instead, Dom Vitali walked out of the wreckage with nothing but internal bruising and a loss of consciousness that lasted exactly four minutes.

Four minutes that no one could explain.

His private physicians had cleared him, but they wanted an external neurological and psychological evaluation before signing off on his return to full activity.

That was where I came in.

And that was where all the wrong ideas about obtaining my baby from him started forming in my brain. I knew it was wrong. But my reasons were right.

Dom Vitali was genetically clean.

And I needed that more than I needed forgiveness for what I was about to do.

"You're staring,"

I forced my eyes away from him and smiled even though my pulse betrayed me. "Just looking at a man who should've died a month ago,"

He leaned further into his seat and laced his fingers together over his stomach. The movement pulled the suit tight across his chest and I hated that my eyes followed it. I hated that my body noticed things my brain refused to acknowledge.

"Tell me about it, Doc,"

Heat curled low in my stomach and I shifted in my chair, hyper-aware of what his attention was doing to me.

"From the reports, your car flipped twice before hitting the concrete. It's a miracle you're still alive, which brings us back to my last question."

"I don't usually forget things," He replied, "If that's what you're asking,"