The Mafia Wife He Couldn't Keep

Chapter 1: Pregnancy — Natalia Volkova — I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand, unable to look away from the two visible lines. I am pregnant. The thought kept repeating in my head, but somehow, it still didn't feel real. I had spent the entire week feeling nauseous and dizzy, waking up with no appetite and barely making it through the day without feeling like the room was spinning. I had blamed it on stress. After all, my work had been demanding lately, and there was always something waiting for me at the office. Being a Volkova meant there was rarely such a thing as a quiet week. But now I knew the real reason. I was pregnant. I slowly closed my fingers around the test and slipped it into the pocket of my coat before turning toward the mirror. I washed my hands, dried them, and looked at my reflection for a long moment. Nothing looked different. I still had the same dark hair, the same pale skin, the same tired gray eyes. There was no visible sign that my life had just changed. I placed one hand over my stomach. What am I supposed to do now? The first person who came to mind was Ilya. Should I tell him? My heart began beating faster at the thought. Would he be happy? Would he even care? I quickly looked away from my reflection. Ilya Constantine had never been cruel to me. That was what made everything between us so difficult to explain. He had never shouted at me or deliberately humiliated me. He had never treated me badly in front anyone. He was simply... distant and cold. There was always a certain distance between us, no matter how hard I tried to close it. We had been married for almost a year, yet there were still days when I felt more like a guest in his home than his wife. I had tried, though. I had tried to make breakfast for him, waited for him when he came home late, asked about his day, and learned the things he liked even when he never asked about mine. I kept telling myself that marriage took time and that perhaps Ilya simply needed time to get used to me. Perhaps one day, he would look at me and see me as his woman. Maybe this child could change that. The thought came so naturally that I almost smiled. A baby. Our baby. I looked down at my stomach again. There was nothing to feel yet. The baby was still so small that there wasn't even a hint of movement. Still, knowing it was there made something warm spread through my chest. I had always wanted a family. Maybe that was why I had held on to this marriage for so long. I wanted a home where I could belong. I wanted someone who would wait for me at the end of the day. I wanted children who would never have to wonder whether they were wanted. My mother had given me that kind of love, even if I only had it for a few years. I wanted to give the same thing to my child. I took a slow breath and straightened my coat. I would tell Ilya tonight. I didn't know how he would react, but I couldn't hide this from him. Besides, he was the father. He deserved to know. I left the restroom and almost forgot that I was in one of the city's most exclusive clubs, the kind of place where politicians, businessmen, celebrities, and people whose names were never mentioned in newspapers came to drink and make deals. I had come here to meet a client. Somehow, that had become the least important thing on my mind. I had stopped at a pharmacy on the way and bought a pregnancy test, and now I couldn't seem to think about anything else. The small box felt impossibly heavy inside my coat pocket despite weighing almost nothing. I was so distracted that I barely noticed the people around me as I walked through the crowded hallway. That was my mistake. I turned a corner and accidentally bumped into someone. The woman stumbled a little, and I immediately stopped. "Sorry. My fault." I looked at her and gave her a polite nod, expecting the matter to end there. But it didn't. The woman slowly looked me up and down. Her gaze moved from my shoes to my coat, then back to my face. There was an unmistakable look of annoyance in her eyes, as though I had deliberately ruined her evening. "You bumped into me." "I know," I said calmly. "That's why I apologized." She stared at me. Then she scoffed. "Is that all you're going to say?" I frowned slightly. "What else should I say?" Her expression twisted. "You people really have no manners." I glanced around us. A few people had started looking in our direction. I sighed quietly. "I already apologized. If you're hurt, I'll have someone call the club's staff." Instead of calming down, she raised her voice. "Do you know who I am?" I almost smiled at the question. "No." She looked offended. "I'm the club owner’s woman." I blinked. The owner's woman? The way she said it, you'd think she had just announced that she owned the entire building. She stepped closer to me and crossed her arms. "Do you understand now?" "Not particularly." Her eyes widened. "You—" "I don't think there's any reason to make a scene over an accident." "An accident?" she snapped. "You walked into me and now you're acting like I'm the unreasonable one?" "I never said that." "You don't even look sorry." "I apologized." "That's not enough." I stared at her for a moment. She was beautiful, certainly, and dressed in a way that probably cost more than most people's monthly salaries. But none of that explained why she was acting as though the entire club belonged to her. Or why she seemed so determined to pick a fight with a stranger. "I have somewhere to be," I said. "If you'll excuse me." I stepped around her but she immediately moved in front of me. "Where do you think you're going?" I stopped. I looked at her, then at the woman standing behind her, who appeared to be one of her friends. "Home, eventually." "This isn't funny." "I'm not joking." She pointed toward me. "People like you come into places like this and think you can do whatever you want." I raised an eyebrow. "People like me?" She looked at my clothes again. "You know exactly what I mean." I almost laughed. "I'm sorry that you feel that way." Her face reddened. "You really think you can talk to me like that?" "I've been perfectly polite." "You should be careful." I studied her for a moment. "Is that a threat?" She hesitated. Then she lifted her chin. "You clearly don't know where you are." "I know exactly where I am." "This is a private club." "I'm aware." "My boyfriend owns this place." I glanced around. "Congratulations." Her mouth fell open. A few people nearby tried to hide their reactions. She clearly hadn't expected that answer. "Do you think I'm joking?" "No." "Then you should apologize properly." I sighed. "I bumped into you. I apologized. I'm willing to pay for anything I damaged, although from what I can see, nothing was damaged." She looked down at herself dramatically, as if inspecting her clothes for injuries. "You're unbelievable." "And you're wasting my time." Her eyes narrowed. "Who do you think you are?" That question made me pause. For a brief moment, I thought about telling her. Natalia Volkova. The only daughter of Viktor Volkov. The woman who would one day inherit everything her father had built. The woman whose name was enough to make most people in this city think twice before picking a fight. But I wasn't in the mood for this. Besides, I had more important things to worry about. I looked back at the woman. "Nobody important." She gave me a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with my answer. "That's what I thought," she said smugly. Before I could turn away, her hand suddenly shot toward me. Her fingers tangled in my hair and yanked hard. A gasp escaped me. The sharp pull made my scalp sting, but the sudden movement was worse. My stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea rolled through me so quickly that I had to force myself not to bend over. Seriously? I was already feeling sick enough. And now this woman had decided to make it worse. I reached for her wrist on instinct. My fingers closed tightly around it. She immediately cried out and released my hair. "You—! Let go of me!" I didn't. Instead, I tightened my grip and pulled her toward me. She stumbled forward, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in control. I was taller than her, so I bent slightly until my mouth was close to her ear. My voice was quiet. "Don't cross me." She went still. "I've been patient with you because I thought you were simply upset. Don't mistake that for weakness." I slowly released some of the pressure around her wrist, but I didn't let go. "I'm not someone you can treat however you please." I straightened and looked down at her. For the first time, the confidence in her expression disappeared. I let go of her wrist. She immediately rubbed it, glaring at me. "You crazy—" My hand moved before she could finish. The slap cracked through the hallway. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled back, one hand flying to her cheek. For a moment, the entire hallway went silent. I stared at her, my palm still tingling from the impact. I wasn't proud of hitting her. But I wasn't sorry, either. She had crossed a line. And I had already given her more patience than she deserved.