Wealthy Madam Boss She Doesn't Need You novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24 

And it all clicks into place. 

He’s Russian. 

He’s insanely wealthy. 

He’s all sorts of crazy–possessive and overprotective. 

He’s surrounded by men who look like they enjoy a good gangland murder every bit as much as a good 

bruschetta. 

“Shit.” I slump in my own chair. “Holy… shit. You are totally a mob boss.” Pasha has the gall to smirk. 

That’s all the answer I need. 

I press a hand to my stomach. “Shit. Shit shit shit. Shiiiiiiiiit. This is your baby. I’m pregnant with your 

baby.” 

“So now, you understand why I need to keep you safe. You and our baby. As much as I’m working on making friends with the government, I have plenty more enemies who wouldn’t lose sleep over harming you so long as it harms me.” 

His words sound garbled in my ears. I’m trying to just draw in the next breath, exhale, and repeat. 

I’m pregnant. With a Russian mob boss’s baby. 

I fucked a mob boss. A criminal. 

An insanely hot criminal, but this is not the time to split hairs. “I just… I just got my new apartment!” 

I don’t mean to yell and I hope it’s not actually coming out as yelling. The last thing we need is every eye in the restaurant on Don Corleone here or whatever the Russian version is. 

But I’m panicking. I’m panicking and struggling to maintain a grasp on whatever shred of control over my life I have left. “I paid a deposit and everything! Do you know how cutthroat the real estate industry is in this city?” 

Oh my God, he’s actually laughing at me. This man has the balls to laugh at me. 

Pasha waves at me to sit back down when I move to stand up and march the hell out of here. I don’t obey because I want to–I obey because I’m surrounded by, like, twenty–plus armed men who take their marching orders from him. 

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Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets 

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napter 24 

Shit. 

Fuck. 

My baby. My baby’s gonna be a mob boss one day. 

Better that than a debutante, right? 

And that momentary thought is how I’m suddenly snorting up and coughing on my raspberry sweet tea. Now, Pasha’s the one being waved back down because no, I do not need his help; I just need a moment. 

Come to think of it, I don’t want his help. 

“Thanks, Pasha, really.” I offer him my most magnanimous smile so he knows there’s no hard feelings. “For everything. You’ve been wonderful, and you’re absolutely right–this food is too amazing to skip for salad. So again, thank you.” 

He casually lofts a brow. “But…?” 

“But I don’t need your help. Or your money. Or your protection.” The other brow joins his hairline. “Oh, 

really?” 

Why do I have this sinking feeling that he’s not taking me seriously? “Really really. I’m a big girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything. I’ve got a great job with great employers, and a solid paycheck-” 

“I will provide for my child. And you.” 

The tone of his voice brooks no argument. He’s not raising his voice or expressing any anger, but the muscle in his jaw is ticking and I think–I think–I’m actually starting to irritate him. 

“With respect,” I offer, “I am grateful to you for your generosity. And your willingness to be part of my baby’s life. However-” 

“Our baby.” 

“Yes. Well. I have no desire to become a kept woman. I sure as shit have no desire to bow to some archaic, misogynistic notion of being barefoot and pregnant while the father of my children goes out and does… whatever the hell it is you do.” 

“Weapons dealing, mostly.” 

“Weapons dealing. Fantastic. Truly the stuff role models are made of.” I tap my finger on the table the same time my leg starts shaking; it’s a nervous tic I developed after a certain traumatic event occurred to make me hate guns with every fiber of my being. “So tell me, Pasha, what exactly are your plans for our child? Raise them up to be your… what? Heir? Prince–in- waiting? Take over the family business someday?” 

Chapter 24 

Ills gaze doesn’t leave mine as he nods. “That’s the general iden.” 

“Cool. Great. No thanks.” This time, I shove my chair back hard. I’m done, Out of here. 

“Sit down.” “Tuck off” 

I turn to march straight the hell out of here, but I’m blocked by the slow rise of three of his men. They only look at me to silently suggest I listen to the boss man and play nice, but otherwise, they wait respectfully for his orders, 

“I realize this is difficult to understand.” Pasha’s voice moves with him as he rises and steps up behind me. Once his hands rest on my arms, his men step back and give us plenty of space. “So here are the notes: yes, I am a mob boss. These are my men, from my Bratva, and I am their pakhan. They do as I say Everyone in my household does as I say. And since you, moya plamya, are carrying, my child, you are now part of my household. Which means you do, in fact, need to do as I say.” 

Tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want them to see me cry, 

I just want to go home and hide under the covers until all this blows over. Until he forgets about me. Until I no longer matter to him. 

But what then? Will he take my baby? 

“You should have told me.” It’s the only thing I can manage through the lump in my throat. 

Pasha turns me around and wipes my fallen tear away with his thumb. “You’re right; I should have. But I cared too much. I didn’t want to ruin your life with mine.” 

He… cares about me? 

No. Don’t. Don’t let him love–bomb you and railroad everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve. 

That’s the same shit Conrad did. 

“I… I just don’t need the stress. Not right now. It’s bad for the baby.” 

He genuinely seems to take that into consideration. “Of course. Speaking of which: I’m coming to your 

next appointment.” 

“I don’t…” My cheeks heat. “I don’t have one scheduled yet.” 

He sucks in a breath that sounds like the tail end of his patience. “I will arrange for-” 

“No, thank you. I can manage.” 

His face shifts like he’s putting in a ton of effort not to steamroll me into whatever it is he wants instead. 

Chapter 24 

“Then you’ll let me know when and where to be.” 

I nod even as I swallow past the huge knot in my throat. “I’ll text you.” 

“See that you do. And Daphne…” Pasha’s face hardens. “I’m not heartless. But I am a man who has no choice when it comes to protecting my own. As of now, that includes you.” 

I don’t acknowledge his words with my own, or even a nod. I’m too scared that, if I do, I’ll be entering into some Faustian bargain I’ll never be able to escape without groveling at his feet for crumbs. 

“I just want to go home, please.” 

I hear him sigh again. But he nods and signals for his men to let us through, and they part without 

hesitation. 

Against everything in my self–preserving instincts, I find myself enjoying his arm around me as we wind our way toward the exit. The way he helps me dodge a chair here, a table corner there. He’s not a happy camper, but he’s still showing a great deal of care and consideration for me. 

My heart squeezes.