25 years ago the Brazilian mafia had a daughter who was claimed to be dead
But was she ever really dead?
Dimitri Petrov never had a real family his mother ran out on them causing his father to spiral
Erina on the other hand never had a family to s...
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"Shit—the door!" I hiss, trying to shove Dimitri's naked body off mine. "Get off me, gilipollas!"
He groans dramatically, flopping to the other side of the bed. "But we're not done," he mumbles, his hands finding my waist again.
"Come on, don't you want another baby?" he murmurs into my neck, kissing down my collarbone.
"Not if they come out with your huge head again," I giggle, gasping as he kisses lower.
"I promise this one'll be tiny," he smirks, his lips finding mine again—warm, persuasive.
I kiss him back, ready to cave completely... Ding-dong.
"Ugh. Be right back," I whisper against his lips.
He flops back with a dramatic sigh. "Fineeee."
After dropping the twins off at school, we came home and took a nap—Dimitri woke me up saying he'd drawn a bath for me, which was sweet... Until he ended up taking me in it. Which was... also nice.
Anyway, I throw on my robe and head downstairs to answer the door. The porch is empty—except for a cardboard box. I step outside, frowning, and spot a folded note taped to the top.
⸻
Dear Jero, I know you probably don't remember me—we slept together about a year ago. You didn't wear a condom (thanks for that), and surprise! You're a dad. She was born on October 24th. No conditions, no diseases. Keep her. Don't keep her. Don't care. She's yours now. Sincerely, Baby Mama #200
⸻
I stare at the note.
What the actual hell. Jero doesn't even live here. Slimy bastard.
I peel the top open. Inside, a tiny baby girl, no more than a few weeks old, stares up at me—fast asleep, her onesie soaked through.
And I swear to God, she is Jero's clone. If he asks for a DNA test, I'm calling him a coward and sending this picture with a "get real" caption.
"Aww, poor baby," I whisper, carefully lifting her into my arms. She barely stirs, just snuggles into my chest. My heart aches at how cold and damp her clothes are.
I bring her upstairs, gently rocking her as I go. When I push the bedroom door open, I see Dimitri—still naked—handcuffing a pair of fuzzy cuffs to the bedpost.
"Now she can't escape," he mutters like some deranged seducer.
"Small problem there," I announce.
He turns around with a cocky grin... which immediately drops when he sees the baby in my arms.
"Uh... you might wanna put on some pants," I say, shielding her tiny face.
"She's a newborn, love. What's she gonna remember?" he mutters, but grabs his sweats anyway.
