Pregnant by the Mafia Boss

19

L I L I A N A

A few hours had passed, and the yacht was moving smoothly through the darkening water.

I sat in my bedroom on the couch since the sun had set, the stars twinkled in the night sky which reflected into the sea.

The world felt so far away, like everything that had happened between me and Bianca was some cruel joke played on me, a hazy blur I couldn't escape.

I shouldn't have let it get to me. I knew that.

But when Bianca had called me a whore, when she'd looked me in the eye and told me to stay the hell away from her father, something inside of me snapped.

She was just a kid, a teenager who probably felt threatened by me, but her words, the venom in them, they stung.

And I think she was serious about ruining my relationship with her father, since the older man would never put me above his daughter.

The sting of jealousy, of insecurity, gnawed at me in a way I couldn't shake off.

I tried to ignore it, tried to wash away the stress of the situation, but the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became.

So, I did what I always did when I wanted to drown my emotions. I reached for the bottle of champagne I had stashed away in my bag, opened it, and poured myself a glass.

The bubbles tickle my throat, and as I took another sip, the warmth spread through my body, numbing the edges of the hurt, making it easier to breathe.

I'd been through so much in my career, through tabloids, through whispers behind my back, through cruel criticisms, and I even got married to my sister's boyfriend.

But this, this was something new.

It was personal. It was coming from someone I was supposed to be getting along with, Alessandro's daughter, who was the apple of his eye, and that made it worse.

Bianca was just a kid, but still, what if she did something awful? What if she went out her way to harm my sister?

I had grown up in a cold home, my childhood was a constant battle for survival, even if a child threatened me, I would feel alerted.

I couldn't tell Alessandro because the older man loves his daughter on another level, and I have no physical proof of her threat.

Fuck, I couldn't handle my life anymore, I needed something stronger than champagne.

The yacht's bar was just a few steps away from my bedroom, and I couldn't help myself.

I stepped out of my bedroom and went over to the bar.

My eyes were drawn to the bartender, a young guy probably my age, his messy brown hair falling into his dark eyes.

He was lean and muscular, clearly someone who spent time working out, and I notice the way his hands moved smoothly as he mixed drinks.

He flashed me a flirtatious grin, probably thinking he could charm me into a drink.

I walked over to him, my heels clicking on the polished wood of the deck.

I took a seat on one of the high stools and leaned against the counter.

"You're looking for something strong, I take it?" the bartender asked with a smirk, his voice low and smooth.

"I think I need something stronger than strong, something that will completely fuck me over," I said, trying to keep my composure, but the alcohol in my system was making it harder to care.