Bought By The Mafia CEO

Mrs De-Luca

The photo was creased because Alessandro wouldn't stop holding it.

In the car, back to the penthouse, he had it in his left hand - his gun hand. His right hand was locked around Elena's. He kept looking down at the little black-and-white smudge with the flicker that was a heartbeat, then at her flat belly under his t-shirt, like he couldn't connect the two.

"Stop looking at it like it will disappear," Elena whispered. She was exhausted. Gel still sticky on her skin, bandaged feet throbbing, lip hurting when she smiled.

"It could," he said, blunt, cold CEO back for one second. "Moretti said first trimester is dangerous. Stress. You had stress. Glass. Warehouse."

He looked at Luca in the front seat. "From now, no one touches her. No one enters penthouse without my eyes on them. You understand?"

Luca nodded. "Already doubled, boss."

Elena touched his jaw. Stubble. He hadn't shaved. "Alessandro. I'm okay. We're okay."

That we're undid him. He pulled her into his lap in the back seat despite the seatbelt, despite his chest. He buried his face in her hair.

"Say it again."

"We're okay."

"No. The other part. Say we're."

She understood. She put her hand over his, over her belly.

"We're having a baby."

He closed his eyes. His breath hitched.



Her mother was awake when they got back.

Sofia Rossi sat in the guest bedroom that wasn't a guest bedroom anymore - it had a nurse, it had sunlight, it had no hospital smell. She was thin from chemo, but her eyes were clear because for the first time in three years, her bills were paid and her husband's name was not "thief" on the news.

When Elena walked in - barefoot, bandaged, in Alessandro's coat that swallowed her, with Alessandro behind her holding her elbow like she might break - Sofia knew.

"Mamma."

Sofia looked at the coat. At the split lip. At the way the tall, terrifying son-in-law she had only met twice held her daughter like she was oxygen.

"Oh, Elena," Sofia whispered in Italian.

Elena started crying before she could speak. She knelt - Alessandro instantly knelt with her, hand on her back - and put her head in her mother's lap.

"Mamma, I'm pregnant."

Silence. Then Sofia's hands - shaking, IV-bruised - tangled in Elena's hair.

Sofia looked up at Alessandro over her daughter's head. Grey eyes met tired brown ones.

"You did this?" Sofia asked, not unkind.

Alessandro's jaw tightened. He thought she meant the pregnancy. The contract. The blood.

"Yes," he said. "And I will do everything else for her. For the rest of my life."

Sofia stared at him for a long moment. At his bloody gauze showing under his black shirt. At his hand on her daughter's belly before there was even a bump.

"You love her," Sofia said. It wasn't a question.

Alessandro didn't look away. "More than my own blood."

Sofia nodded once, and pulled Elena closer, and looked at Alessandro again.

"Then be good to her, Alessandro De Luca. She has been alone a long time."

He knelt lower. Pressed his forehead to Sofia's knee for one second. Respect. Old way.

"I swear on my brother's grave, suocera. No one will ever make her feel alone again."

Sofia cried then.



Later, penthouse quiet again. Nurse took Sofia to sleep. Luca posted guards and left.

Elena was in their bed - his bed - with fresh bandages, clean t-shirt, hair damp from where Alessandro had washed it for her in the sink because she couldn't stand long.

He came out of bathroom shirtless, gauze fresh, black sweats low. The tattoo MATTEO stark. Four stitches angry red.

He slid in beside her, not touching at first, because Moretti had said 48 hours.

Elena turned to him. "Doctor said no stress, no s*x. He didn't say no touching."

His grey eyes darkened. "Elena..."

"I am your real wife tonight, you said. Contract burned. So touch your real wife."

That was all it took.

He rolled careful, caged her without weight, one forearm beside her head, other hand sliding under t-shirt, splaying over her bare belly where his child was.

"Real wife," he repeated, hoarse. He kissed her split lip, soft, then her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, like worship. Like he had promised.

"You bled barefoot for me. You held my gun. You carry my heir." His mouth against her belly, over skin. "Do you know what you are to me now, principessa?"

"What?"

"Untouchable. For anyone but me. If anyone looks at you wrong, I will burn their eyes. If anyone makes you cry, I will cut their hands. This is not CEO talking. This is husband. This is father."

He laid his head on her belly and listened, like he could hear that