Page 128 of Mafia Billionaire's Surprise Baby

I don’t need to get the rest. This one is obviously a pregnancy test. I turn it over in my hand, my fingers shaking.

One line is not pregnant.

Two lines… pregnant.

I shut my eyes.

I take a breath.

And when I open them, all I see are two narrow, pale, but undeniably pink, lines.

My stomach roils. I turn to throw up, but I can’t.

Gia’s pregnant.

Kidnapped. Possibly dead.

And…

Pregnant.

21

GIA

It’s the smell of fish that wakes me up.

I’ve never had such an aggressive reaction to it. One second, I’m out cold, the next, I feel like I’m being slapped in the face with enough fish to feed an entire aquarium.

When I get up, it’s not pretty.

Because I’m throwing up everywhere immediately.

“Jaysus,” I hear a distinctly Irish voice, making my stomach heave even more. “What’d you last eat, woman?”

“Fuck you,” I mutter.

But it’s hard to be tough and stoic, unfortunately, when you’re in the middle of expelling every molecule of food that you’ve ever eaten.

So, instead of my usual witty retort, all that comes out is a very soft ‘fuck you,’ a whole lot of grumbling, and sort of a sloshing, moaning sound.

“For fuck’s sake,” the Irish voice hisses. “Oi! Rowan! Come bring this fuckin’ bird a ginger ale, eh?”

“You sound like you’re an extra in Angela’s Ashes,” I whisper.

The voice chuckles. “Ah well. That’s the famous Gia Rossi if I’ve ever heard her.”

“I hate you.”

My eyes still haven’t opened yet. I think I might be lying in a puddle of my own puke. The thought makes me gag again, and I lean to the side, right as something plastic and round appears under my face.

“This’ll help,” the voice says confidently.

I don’t question it. I continue my incredibly disgusting evacuation, until there’s literally nothing left inside my body but air.

Even that hates the fish smell.

I tense, fighting another wave of nausea as it beats through me.