I Ran Away With His Child, the Don Begged Me Back

At a family banquet, I slept with Grayson Moretti, the Don of the most powerful mafia family on the East Coast. The next morning, he put out a citywide bounty hunting the woman who'd disappeared from his bed.

I forced myself to look calm and clapped him on the shoulder.

"What if she's carrying your kid?"

I watched his closed eyes.

Grayson lifted his lids.

His irises were the deepest ice blue, the fireplace flames dancing in them.

"Bastard or not, she's done." He tipped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with whiskey. "I want this woman erased from New York."

The glass hit the oak table with a dull thud.

"Cheap perfume. Trash. Not worth my time."

He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his mouth.

"Sloppy work. Has to be one of Fontaine's pawns. They actually think climbing into my bed gets them the South Side docks?"

My fingers curled against my belly, nails digging into my palm. "Maybe she wasn't after the docks."

Grayson sneered.

"If it's not the docks, it's money. Anyone who tries to play me pays for it."

He stared at the surveillance still, disgust in his eyes.

"Anyone stupid enough to pull this shit under my nose ends up in the East River."

My stomach turned over.

Acid rose in my throat, and I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed it back down. My esophagus burned.

"What's wrong?"

"My stomach's off."

I turned my head away.

Grayson stood up, took the suit jacket off the back of his chair, and draped it over my shoulders.

His shirt had torn open at two of the buttons from his earlier irritation, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight stretch of fabric over his cut abs.

I couldn't help swallowing hard, throat suddenly dry, as my eyes dropped lower—to the heavy bulge straining against his pants.

How could something be that big?

I couldn't help but think back to that night. Grayson lost all control, pinning me flat to the mattress with those powerful arms, his massive cock ramming into my soaked pussy again and again.

He fucked me like a man possessed, thick shaft stretching me obscenely wide, pounding deep and relentless until I was sobbing and coming around him over and over.

Even completely feral, he felt fucking incredible.

I bit down hard and shook the image out of my head.

Survival first.

The nausea passed.

I clutched the edge of his suit jacket.

His gaze traveled down my face and stopped at my feet.

The back of my right heel had been rubbed raw by my shoe, and blood was seeping into the leather.

Grayson pulled out his phone and called Ryan, his right-hand.

"Bring a pair of size five flats to the parlor. Soft soles. Three minutes."

A warmth bloomed in my chest. Was he worried about me?

He hung up and dialed another number.

"Mia, come pick her up. Take her to the family doctor for a stomach workup. Give her two weeks paid leave. I don't want to see her face for a while."

Mia's voice came through faintly, asking what was going on.

"She looks sick. It's annoying me."

Right. I needed to lock in what I already knew about this man: he was cold-blooded, and he didn't go soft for any woman. Ever.

Grayson hung up.

Ryan came in carrying a shoebox and set the flats by my feet.

"Grayson, the shoes are here. Tech says the Meridian footage needs three more days to restore."

"Keep at it. Turn the city upside down. Find her."

Ryan stepped out.

Grayson walked over and kicked my heels under the coffee table.

"You're this fragile? The Morettis don't feed you?"

He watched me change shoes and stand up.

"If they don't fit, don't wear them. No one's forcing you."

I looked at the side of his face, his jaw tight.

He was good to me.

For as long as I could remember, the number of women who got to stay close to him could be counted on one hand. I was the one he was most generous with — money, patience, all of it.

But if he ever found out that I was the trash he was talking about, the pawn who'd played him, I knew he'd drag me to the family's execution ground himself and put a bullet in my head.

I folded the suit jacket and laid it on the couch.

"I'm heading back."

Grayson turned, his eyes settling on my waist.

"Quinn."

"Why do you keep touching your stomach lately?"