Sinful Claim: A Surprise Pregnancy Mafia Romance, page 1
SINFUL CLAIM
A SURPRISE PREGNANCY MAFIA ROMANCE
BELLA KING
AFTER MIDNIGHT
Copyright © 2023 by Bella King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Blurb
Chapter 1
Faye
Chapter 2
Aleksander
Chapter 3
Faye
Chapter 4
Aleksander
Chapter 5
Faye
Chapter 6
Faye
Chapter 7
Aleksander
Chapter 8
Faye
Chapter 9
Aleksander
Chapter 10
Faye
Chapter 11
Aleksander
Chapter 12
Faye
Chapter 13
Faye
Chapter 14
Aleksander
Chapter 15
Faye
Chapter 16
Aleksander
Chapter 17
Faye
Chapter 18
Aleksander
Chapter 19
Faye
Chapter 20
Aleksander
Chapter 21
Faye
Chapter 22
Aleksander
Chapter 23
Faye
Chapter 24
Faye
Chapter 25
Faye
Chapter 26
Faye
Chapter 27
Aleksander
Chapter 28
Faye
Chapter 29
Faye
Chapter 30
Aleksander
Chapter 31
Faye
Chapter 32
Aleksander
Chapter 33
Faye
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
Preview of The Bratva’s Baby Obsession
BLURB
When a gorgeous billionaire snatched me up from a Vegas casino and tossed me into his private jet, I thought I had hit the jackpot…
But then I ended up with my face on a wanted poster,
Discovered a shocking secret about my possessive captor,
And ended up pregnant with his baby.
Let’s just say that what happened in Vegas absolutely did not stay in Vegas,
And trying to run from it means risking everything.
Because my new lover is completely obsessed with me,
And he will do anything to keep me rolling the dice…
1
Faye
“I’m sorry, did you order this with or without lime?” asks a frazzled young bartender with a histrionic glaze in her eyes. She hands me my beer, her desperation and exhaustion cutting through me as she waits for my response.
I take it from her, sliding it awkwardly over to my side of the bar. “Um, without, thank you,” I reply, handing her two dollars as a tip. I had ordered it with a lime, but I’m convinced that she would fall to pieces if I had implied a mistake on her part.
She smiles with relief, snatching the dollars I’d left as she sprints to the other side of the bar to tend to a group of bloated, red-faced old men. They’ve been badgering her for the past twenty minutes or so, and even I can see that they’re just doing it for a power trip.
I’ve been watching all the old eccentric men at this bar, and so far, none of them have had anything of interest to contribute to my people-watching experience. I suppose rich men don’t need to be interesting, intelligent, or fun to be around when they have money, but goddamn, does that seem like a waste!
There have been a few bachelorette parties. Contrary to the banal and insipid nature of the rich men, I’m fairly certain that I’ve watched some women ruin their entire lives tonight. I’ve seen some lose thousands on the slot machines, kiss men who were clearly not their husbands, and slap each other when they start to get out of control. I would never approach them, and I would certainly not want to be friends with them, but I can appreciate what they bring to the scene of messy, broken people in a Las Vegas casino.
The casino is just as chaotic as I could have expected it to be, but I hadn’t thought that it would be quite this hellish. I’m shocked that there isn’t a warning posted somewhere for patrons who suffer from seizures – even I’m growing nauseated by the nonstop flickering and strobing emanating from every square foot of the game floor.
When I planned this trip, I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the more expensive, all-inclusive resorts for the entire stay, so I decided to splurge on this one night. It would be a crime not to try to absorb the full Vegas experience while I’m here, even if I can’t actually have it. It feels like such a poor-person thing to do – going on vacation when I clearly can’t afford it, spending all of my savings and maxing out at least one credit card just to pretend that my life is worth living.
The fact that I chose to come here at all, given my lack of funds and disinterest in gambling, is a mystery to me. After I had broken up with Cody, all of my friends had told me that the best way to get over a relationship is to find myself by traveling. At first, the prospect of a solo trip seemed cool and exciting, and I spent days musing over the possibilities. I planned little vacations in my head, bouncing from France to Italy to Thailand and everywhere in between.
When I looked at my budget, it was obvious that I was living in a fantasy.
When I was a teenager, I had been under the impression that being an adult would be all about backpacking across Europe, collecting tattoos in foreign countries, and being in fulfilling and passionate relationships with musicians. As I got older, I became disillusioned by the fact that anything worth buying costs an arm and a leg, and you can get fined for parking for three minutes too long by the sidewalk downtown.
And now I’m here.
Vegas wasn’t even my idea. My friend Lenora had suggested it, and I could see a look in her eye that told me she was prepared to live vicariously through me if I chose to go. Given my budget and the provocative nature of the city, it was the obvious choice. I knew Cody would be fuming at the idea of me living it up in Vegas while he picked up the pieces of his joyless, pathetic life, so I was instantly sold.
Vegas is the place where people go to party, not to mourn or find themselves, so I could go by myself without feeling like I was letting Cody win. Besides, I had always wanted to go on a trip with him, and the fact that I’m taking a vacation right after the breakup can at least show him that I’m over his shit.
I walk another short lap around the casino area, glancing in every direction as I search for something uncomplicated to participate in. I know absolutely nothing about gambling, and I feel a little silly running around without anything to do. If someone has been watching me for the past hour, they might be convinced that I’m a robot or an alien who is just barely able to play the part of a human if nobody is paying attention.
That’s also how I feel.
I’m making my rounds past the same group of men that had been harassing the bartender when I notice a briefcase that has been left on a blackjack table about twenty feet away from me.
Though I admittedly don’t have any real idea of what a briefcase would be doing in a place like this, I’ve seen enough movies to make something up. That alone is enough to keep me invested in finding out, and if I can remain inconspicuous long enough, I might just be able to.
Twenty minutes go by, and I don’t see a single person even approach the briefcase once. It must not be of any importance, because if it had been full of cash, someone would have swiped it by now. But still, what could possibly be the purpose?
Am I overthinking things because I’m hopelessly bored?
I’ve been here long enough to know that this place has nothing for me. I’m ready to head back to my room to sit in the dark in defeat with a pizza and a bottle of horrifically overpriced Merlot. The last thing I can think to do to make this little excursion to the casino worth it is to turn in the briefcase to the front desk in case someone truly did just leave it behind. What are really the odds that it’s the target of an organized crime syndicate? Even in a place like this, it’s possible to let my imagination run away with me.
My beer is almost gone, and I’m sweating under the lights as I contemplate my next move. Would it really be this easy for me to walk over and take it from off the table? Why am I letting myself get so worked up over this?
It’s getting late anyway, and if I take my sleeping pill soon enough, I won’t have to worry about being woken up by drunken rambling next door or squirrelly kids running up and down the hallway. How exciting!
I glance over to the briefcase one last time before I decide to say fuck it.
Before I begin to walk over, I put my shoulders back and lift my head a bit to give any onlookers the impression that I’m supposed to be there fetching the case. If I look skittish and uncertain of myself, I’ll more than likely get stopped by someone, and I’m not sure that I have the energy or the patience to endure that right now.
Still, the rush
My heels tap mutedly along the carpet as I approach the Blackjack table that holds my strange little prize. I’ve kept my expression as neutral as possible, but my cheeks are hot from the anticipation and embarrassment that I’ve forced myself to feel for no reason at all.
While I doubt I’ll be able to open the case, I’m curious beyond words as to what could be inside of it. Even if it were nothing, I’m certain that it belongs to someone important. It just has that look to it. Far too expensive and well-maintained to belong to a member of the Great Unwashed like myself.
But, again, I could just be extrapolating.
Just as I’m merely feet away, I notice a pair of deep-set, piercing grey eyes staring at me from directly behind the Blackjack table.
Oh shit. I’ve really done it now.
The eyes belong to a haggard-looking old man with a golfer’s cap and a red sports jacket, sipping a tumbler of brown liquid that likely costs more than my manicure. I stop hard in my tracks, waiting for something in his gaze to shift. I naively want to assume that he’s looking at someone behind me, but I can feel his eyes on me now.
His stare grows in intensity, and he beckons me over to his table without blinking.
My knees begin to quiver as I change my course, and I nearly fall as my left ankle collapses from my nerves as I walk.
Just as I’m within speaking distance of this foreboding old man, a smile breaks on his face. “I don’t see many ladies around here who look like you anymore,” he says.
I can smell bourbon on his breath, and the red haze in his sclera only emphasizes the bright, intense grey that punctuates his eyes.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry?” I reply, dumbfounded. Was this man really staring me down like that just to flirt with me? Does he give a shit about the briefcase at all?
“It’s just that the women at these places are always so loose, so out of their prime. Did you come here with your husband? Please tell me there’s no husband. I’d hate to be the man who breaks up a marriage,” he continues, his words slurring into each other like they’re driving on fresh snow.
My whole face turns red, and I take a step back from his table. “Oh, sir, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea, I–”
“Shh, you don’t need to explain yourself. Girls with that sexy red hair are always troublemakers, aren’t you?” he asks.
My stomach twists, my once-ambivalent expression now a twist of mild disgust. “I’m going to go now, sorry.”
“Oh yeah? Well fuck you then, slut,” he growls, slamming his glass on the table just a little too hard.
The clatter of glass draws the attention of the people around us, but not long enough to keep their hungry eyes from the screens in front of them. I’m convinced that he could pick me up and carry me away without so much as a single soul caring at all.
With this revelation in mind, I briskly step back in the direction of the briefcase. Snatching it from the shiny wood tabletop, I carry it on with as much confidence as I have left from my previous unpleasant exchange.
It’s lighter than I would have expected, which disappoints me more than it has any right to do so. I suppose I had been hoping to unveil a secret or maybe come into millions by sheer luck, but I should have known better. What kind of millionaire leaves a briefcase full of money in the middle of a highly populated area filled with other money hungry people?
Once I reach the glass doors that connect into the lobby, I take a moment to breathe as I collect myself. The lobby isn’t exactly serene, but it might as well be a zen garden in comparison to the poultry farm of insanity that I’ve just wandered out of.
I step into a short line that has formed in front of the service desk. The concierge is just as frazzled as the bartender, choosing her words very carefully as she re-explains the lack of vacancy to a family of five very weary travelers. One of the children is hanging off her mother’s belt loops, practically melting into the pearlescent floor tiles as she stifles her own angry little sobs.
As I wait for the family to either leave or burst into flames, I reposition myself to carry the briefcase as if I’ve arrived with it myself. It feels strangely sophisticated, just standing here with a glorified container in my favorite dress and pointiest heels. I wish I had chosen a more prestigious career, like a lawyer or an investment banker. Being a sound engineer allows for quite a bit of personal freedom, but it would feel great to project this kind of importance in my day-to-day life.
“Hi, can I help you?” chirps the concierge, sporting the same glassy, deranged expression as her cocktail-slinging counterpart.
I snap out of my daydream, forgetting my fantasy as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh! Right, I just wanted to turn this in. It was left on one of the Blackjack tables for a little while.”
She takes the case from me as I slide it across the counter. “Alright, I’ll make sure to tag it in case someone comes through looking for it. Good on you for doing the right thing. A lot of people would be tempted to crack it open. You never know what you can find in a place like this.”
I chuckle a little. “It was a little light, but I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.”
Her expression shifts, and her smile is tight and curt. “Okay, well, thank you anyway.”
It’s probably best to stay out of this woman’s way for now, so I walk over to the glass elevator on the other end of the lobby, my heels clicking against the tiles. Now that I’ve been both harassed and scolded in a half-hour time period, I’m embarrassed by the attention my shoes are bringing me.
When I enter my room, I nearly collapse into my bed as soon as I close the door behind me. The silence of the surrounding space is deafening compared to that of the casino, and my ears are buzzing nonstop.
Now that I’m out of the chaos, my inner thought life is ready to take back over with full force. All I want to do is curl up and fall asleep, allowing the world outside to continue on without me for a bit.
2
Aleksander
I should have known this was a bad idea.
After carefully planning this trip around the prospect of a new product, I’ve been let down once again.
There’s nobody on my end worth blaming, at least not at this point. Since I’ve taken over the Bratva, I’ve come to anticipate stupid fuck-ups like this on a regular basis. However, this is much further than I’ve traveled for such a disappointment in the past, and it’s only a matter of time before I lose more than just a few thousand dollars.
The location of this casino should have been a big enough indication that I was about to waste my time. It’s close enough to the airport to allow for my alleged business partners to vanish instantly if things were to go south, and they must have pulled out of the operation before they even had the chance to make a mistake.
