Pregnant by the Ruthless Mafia Devil

Chapter 4: Steel and Silk

The heavy oak doors of the private elevator chimed softly, sliding open to reveal the subterranean parking garage of the Aethelgard Medical Center.

A sleek, bulletproof black Maybach sat idling beneath the fluorescent lights, flanked by two armed operatives in charcoal suits who snapped to attention the second Leonardo stepped out of the cabin.

Celia was still slung over his broad shoulder like a sack of grain, her fists hammering furiously against his back.

"Put me down, you arrogant lunatic!" she screeched, her voice echoing off the concrete pillars as her bare legs kicked the air. "I have a midterm exam in macroeconomics tomorrow morning, and I am not spending the night in a mafia dungeon!"

Leonardo did not utter a single word. He marched straight to the rear door of the Maybach, wrenched it open with one hand, and deposited her onto the plush leather seats with infuriating ease.

Before she could scramble across the interior and dive out the opposite door, Leonardo slid in beside her, trapping her against the far window. He slammed the heavy armored door shut, plunging the cabin into a hushed silence that smelled faintly of expensive cigar smoke and crisp rain.

Marco slid into the front passenger seat, signaling the driver to pull away from the curb.

Celia pressed herself into the corner of the leather seat, clutching his heavy cashmere overcoat tightly around her shoulders like a shield. Her green eyes flashed with venom as she glared at the man sitting beside her in the dim cabin light.

"You are breaking the law," Celia said, her voice dropping to a trembling, furious whisper. "Kidnapping is a federal offense, even if your rich criminal friends protect you. The moment I get near a phone, I am calling the authorities."

Leonardo crossed one long leg over the other, resting his arm casually along the back of the leather seat behind her head. He did not touch her, yet his imposing physical presence dominated the entire space.

"Let us get one thing clear, Celia," Leonardo murmured, his deep voice carrying a quiet, lethal authority that made the hairs on her neck stand up. "You are not locked in a dungeon. You are residing in my home under twenty-four-hour medical observation. The moment you tried to walk out of that clinic, you made your choice. That child growing inside you is a Moretti. He will not be born in a drafty dorm room or raised by a runaway girl who eats instant noodles off a coffee table."

"I am not a runaway girl!" Celia snapped, her chest heaving as her temper flared past the breaking point. "I am an adult, and my life belongs to me! You stole my body while I was unconscious! You and your quack doctors violated every boundary I have, and now you expect me to sit quietly in your mansion like your pet trophy?"

"You think you are a victim," Leonardo said, his carved lips curving into a cold smile. "You think some tragic accident brought you to that table. But the world does not work on accidents, little bird. Someone wanted my heir destroyed, and someone chose your body to hide him. Until I find out which of my enemies used you as a pawn, you are safer inside my walls than anywhere else on earth."

"I don't care about your enemies!" Celia shouted, her patience snapping completely. She lunged forward, grabbing the lapels of his tailored suit jacket and shaking him with all her might. "I want my freedom back! I want my normal life back!"

Leonardo did not flinch. His cold gray eyes locked onto her tear-bright green eyes. Slowly, his large gloved hand reached up and caught her small wrists, uncurling her fingers from his jacket with effortless strength before pinning both of her hands against the leather seat between them.

His face dipped down until his lips hovered a fraction of an inch from her ear.

"You can scream until your throat bleeds, and you can tear up a dozen five-million-dollar checks," Leonardo whispered softly, his hot breath brushing her jaw. "The answer is no. You belong to me now."

Celia froze, trapped beneath the immovable weight of his body and the terrifying intensity in his gaze. For a second, the anger in her chest flickered, replaced by a sudden shiver of raw awareness that terrified her even more than his threats. She hated him. She despised everything he stood for. So why did her pulse hammer against his fingers whenever he came this close?

The Maybach sped through the rain-slicked city streets, turning onto a private, gated road that wound up into the wooded hills overlooking the skyline.

Through the tinted window, Celia watched as massive wrought-iron gates swung open automatically, revealing a winding gravel drive flanked by stone pillars and armed guards standing beneath the downpour. At the end of the drive loomed a sprawling dark stone estate.

The car glided to a halt beneath a grand portico.

Before the driver could step out, Leonardo released her wrists, pushed the door open, and stepped into the cold night air. He turned back to grab her arm, but Celia jerked away from his touch, scrambling across the seat and climbing out of the opposite door under her own power.

She stood on the wet stone driveway wrapped up to her chin in his oversized cashmere coat, her bare feet shivering against the freezing pavement.

Marco hurried up the steps with a leather duffel bag in his hand. "Don Moretti, the men just returned from her campus dorm. They packed her clothes, textbooks, and laptop as requested."

"Good," Leonardo said, his eyes never leaving Celia's defiant face. "Take her belongings to the master suite on the third floor. Draw a hot bath and have the house physician waiting in the parlor."

"I am not sleeping in your bedroom!" Celia yelled, stamping her bare foot against the stone.

"You will sleep wherever I tell you to sleep," Leonardo retorted smoothly, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

Before she could dart away into the dark, he scooped her up into his arms once again, ignoring her gasps as he carried her up the marble steps and through the massive double doors into the grand foyer.

Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over vaulted ceilings and sweeping staircases. Yet Celia did not care about the luxury. She was too busy twisting in his arms, trying to push him away.

"Put me down this instant!" she demanded, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I swear to God, Leonardo, if you don't let me walk, I will bite your shoulder!"

A low, dark chuckle rumbled deep inside Leonardo's chest. "Try it, little wildcat. See what happens."

He carried her up two flights of stairs, ignoring the startled glances of the staff in the hallways, and strode down a corridor lined with oil paintings. Pushing open a heavy double door with his shoulder, he stepped into a massive master suite decorated in tones of charcoal, silver, and midnight blue.

A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room, flanked by tall windows looking out over the valley and the city lights below.

Leonardo walked straight to the adjoining bathroom, where a marble soaking tub was already filling with steaming water scented with lavender and cedar. Without warning, he dropped her feet to the tiled floor, keeping one hand braced against the doorframe to block her exit.

"Your clothes and books are in the bedroom," Leonardo said, his tone crisp and uncompromising. "Soak in that hot water, put on the silk pajamas my housekeeper left on the counter, and be downstairs in the parlor in twenty minutes. The doctor needs to run a prenatal checkup before you sleep."

Celia crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at him. "And if I refuse?"

Leonardo stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the bedroom. He reached out with one finger, gently tucking a damp curl behind her ear. His touch was light, yet the current of electricity that shot down her spine made her breath hitch.

"If you refuse, I will come back in twenty minutes and carry you down there myself," Leonardo murmured, his gray eyes darkening as they traced the flush on her cheeks. "Do not test me, Celia. I have infinite patience for disobedience, and very creative ways of enforcing my rules."

Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel, walked out, and pulled the heavy outer bedroom door shut behind him, leaving the click of the lock echoing in the quiet air.

Celia stood frozen for a moment, her hands curling into tight fists. He thought he had won. He thought he could cage a Kensington and break her spirit with threats and luxury.

She walked over to the steaming marble tub, reached down, and pulled the silver drain plug. As the water began to swirl down the drain with a loud gurgle, a fierce smile spread across her lips.

Shrugging out of his cashmere coat, she tossed it onto the tiles and marched back into the master bedroom to inspect her prison. Her canvas dorm bag sat at the foot of his black silk bed.

She unzipped the bag and dug to the bottom, her fingers closing around her laptop and pencil case. As she pulled them out, she noticed right away what was missing.

Her smartphone was gone. So was her wallet, her student ID, and her spare change.

"Thieving bastards," she muttered, kicking the side of the mattress with her bare toes.

She crossed the carpet to the windows and pressed her palms against the cold glass. Three stories below, rain hammered against the stone terrace. Four men patrolled the perimeter with rifles slung across their chests, while two German shepherds paced beside the iron gates. Even if she tied silk bedsheets together, she would break her neck on the rocks or get caught before she reached the driveway.

Celia turned away from the window and eyed the black silk pajamas folded neatly on the velvet armchair. Naturally, she left them right where they were.

Instead, she pulled on her oldest oversized gray college sweatshirt, worn cotton shorts, and thick wool socks. If Don Moretti wanted to play warden, he was going to look at state university laundry all night.

Next, she turned her attention to the double oak doors leading to the corridor. Locked from the outside, just as she expected.

Celia glanced around until her eyes landed on the stone fireplace along the eastern wall. Beside the hearth stood a rack of heavy cast-iron tools. She walked over, picked up the solid iron poker, and tested its weight in her palm.

"Twenty minutes, huh?" she whispered to the empty room.

She dragged the heavy velvet armchair across the floor, wedging the high backrest tightly beneath the brass door handles, and sat down on the edge of the bed with her macroeconomics textbook open on her lap and the iron poker resting beside her thigh.

Let the devil come up here and try to carry her downstairs.