Sengue E Cenere: Blood and Ash

CHAPTER ONE: HEAVY

Seven Months Pregnant

Mia's back hurt.

Her feet were swollen. Her bladder was the size of a pea. And the baby—their daughter, according to the ultrasound—seemed to think 3 AM was the perfect time for gymnastics.

But none of that stopped her from putting a bullet between Marco Santini's eyes.

The caporegime dropped, blood pooling on the marble floor of his expensive townhouse. Mia lowered her suppressed pistol, breathing hard. At seven months pregnant, even simple kills were exhausting.

"Porca puttana," she muttered, pressing a hand to her lower back. f*****g hell.

"You good?" Luca asked from the doorway, his own weapon still raised.

"Fine. Just... give me a second."

She'd been hunting Marco for three weeks. He was one of Dante's own capos—or had been, until they discovered he'd been selling information to a rival family. Locations of safe houses. Names of soldiers. Details about their anti-trafficking operations.

The betrayal had cost them six men and nearly exposed one of their rescue operations in Prague.

Dante had wanted to handle it himself, but Mia had insisted. Marco was her kill. She'd earned it.

"We need to move," Luca said. "Neighbors might have heard."

Mia nodded, holstering her weapon. Moving was harder these days—her center of gravity was completely f****d, and her daughter seemed determined to use her bladder as a punching bag.

They were halfway to the car when the first shot rang out.

Luca went down hard, blood spraying from his shoulder. Mia dropped into a crouch—as much as she could crouch—and returned fire. Two shooters, rooftop across the street. Professional.

Fuck.

She dragged Luca behind a parked car, her heart pounding. Another shot sparked off the metal inches from her head.

"How bad?" she asked, checking his wound.

"Through and through. I'm good." He was already pulling his backup piece. "But you need to get out of here."

"Not leaving you."

"Mia—"

"Shut up and cover me."

She popped up, fired three rounds at the rooftop. One of the shooters dropped. The other returned fire, and she felt something hot graze her arm.

Shit.

The baby kicked hard, as if protesting the violence. Mia gritted her teeth and fired again. The second shooter went down.

Silence.

"Clear?" Luca asked.

"I think so." Mia's arm was bleeding, but it was superficial. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm pregnant, not crippled." She helped him up, and they made it to the car. Her hands were shaking as she started the engine.

That was too close. Way too f*****g close.

Dante was waiting when they got back to the estate, his face carved from stone.

"You were supposed to have backup," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"We had backup. Luca—"

"Luca got shot. You got shot. And you're seven months pregnant, Mia. Seven months."

"It's a graze."

"I don't give a f**k if it's a papercut!" His control snapped. "You could have been killed. Our daughter could have been killed. Do you understand that?"

"Of course I understand that!" She was shouting now too. "I'm the one who was there, Dante. I'm the one who—"

"You're the one who's supposed to be protecting our child, not putting her in danger!"

The words hit like a slap. Mia went very still.

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice dropped to something cold and deadly. "You think I don't feel her every time I move? Every time I breathe? You think I'm not terrified every single second that something will happen to her?"

"Then stop taking these risks—"

"I can't." The admission tore out of her. "I can't stop, Dante. Because if I stop, if I slow down, if I let myself be weak..." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Then I'm just a target. Just a pregnant woman waiting to be hurt. And I can't—I won't—be that again."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Mia—"

"I was helpless once. For ten years, I was helpless. And I swore I'd never be that way again." Tears were streaming down her face now. "But this baby... she makes me vulnerable. She makes me slow. She makes me weak. And I'm so f*****g scared, Dante. I'm scared that someone will use her against me. That they'll hurt her to get to me. That I won't be able to protect her."

He crossed to her in two strides, pulling her into his arms. "You're not weak. You're the strongest person I know."

"I don't feel strong. I feel like a whale with a target on my back."

He laughed despite himself. "A very beautiful, very deadly whale."

"Shut up." But she was smiling through her tears.

"Listen to me." He tilted her face up. "You're right that you're vulnerable. That our daughter makes you a target. But you're not alone, amore mio. You have me. You have the family. You have an army of soldiers who would die for you."

"I know—"

"So let us protect you. Let us handle the dangerous work until she's born. Please, Mia. I'm begging you."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to insist she could still do everything she'd done before. But the truth was, she was exhausted. Her body ached constantly. And tonight had been too close.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I'll... I'll step back. For now."

"Thank you." He kissed her forehead. "Now let me look at that arm."

Later, after the doctor had cleaned and bandaged her wound, they lay in bed together. Dante's hand rested on her swollen belly, feeling their daughter move.

"She's active tonight," he murmured.

"She's always active. I think she's training to be a kickboxer."

He smiled, pressing a kiss to Mia's shoulder. "She'll be strong. Like her mother."

"And ruthless. Like her father."

"God help anyone who crosses her."

Mia turned to face him, wincing at the movement. "Do you ever worry? About what kind of life we're bringing her into?"

"Every day." His honesty surprised her. "But I also know that she'll be loved. Protected. Taught to defend herself. She'll never be helpless, Mia. Never be a victim. We'll make sure of that."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He kissed her, slow and deep. "Now, how are you feeling? Really?"

"Tired. Sore. Horny."

He laughed. "Horny?"

"Pregnancy hormones are insane. I either want to kill someone or f**k you. Sometimes both."

"Well, you're benched from killing for now..." His hand slid down her body. "But I can definitely help with the other thing."

"Dante, I'm huge—"

"You're beautiful." He was already kissing down her neck. "You're carrying our daughter. You're f*****g glowing. And I want you so badly I can barely think straight."

"The doctor said—"

"The doctor said s*x is fine as long as you're comfortable." His hand found her breast, thumb circling her n****e through the silk nightgown. "Are you comfortable, amore mio?"

She was already arching into his touch. "Yes."

"Then let me take care of you."

He was gentle, careful of her belly, positioning her on her side. When he slid inside her from behind, they both groaned.

"f**k," he breathed. "You feel incredible."

"Harder," she demanded.

"Mia—"

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass. Harder."

He obliged, one hand gripping her hip while the other reached around to stroke her c**t. The angle was perfect, hitting spots that made her see stars.

"That's it," he murmured against her neck. "Take what you need, regina mia."

She came hard, biting down on the pillow to muffle her cries. Dante followed seconds later, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too. Both of you." His hand found her belly again. "We're going to be okay, Mia. All of us."

She wanted to believe him.

But something in her gut—some instinct honed by years of survival—told her the worst was yet to come.