Page 70 of Forced Mafia Bride

There’s no Katherine. There’s no lover. There’s no other fucking woman.

Those were the words he’d spoken into my ears months ago, and I’d held onto them like they were life itself. But I couldn’t shrug off the prickly claws of doubt.

He wasn’t the one that had carried a child for nine months. His body had changed, yes. But he only looked hotter and way sexier than the first time we met each other. Nikolai could walk into a room full of women, and they’d all stand in a line if guaranteed to have the opportunity to say hi to him.How much more joining him in bed?

I tried not to think it, but the thought crept in regardless. Maybe he didn’t like me anymore. Maybe having a baby had made me less appealing to him. My body wasn’t what it used to be, and my attitude had shifted too. I was tired all the time, snapping at him when he did manage to come home.

How could he still want me like this?

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the sleeping baby. I wiped them away quickly, frustrated with myself. I should be stronger than this. I should be able to handle things. But every time I looked around and realized I was doing it all on my own, the loneliness swallowed me whole.

I rose from the bed, taking Cian to his crib in an adjoined room with ours, and then I moved to draw the curtains. At some point, after Cian was born, Nikolai used to be by my side, our bond strong enough to be unbreakable. Now, it felt like there was a canyon between us, and no matter how much I reached out, he was always too far away.

I wanted to talk to him, but every time I tried, the words got stuck in my throat. What if I was right? What if he was pulling away because of me?

I knew what would happen: My heart would break into a million pieces, never to be mended again.

Cian stirred again, and I hurried to his side, patting his back to soothe him, wishing I had Niko’s hand on my back now, rubbing and massaging until all the aches disappeared.

I’ve got you. We’re going to do this together.

I needed him. I needed Nikolai to be here, to remind me that we were still a team, that I wasn’t going through this alone. But he was always busy, always working. And I was left here, night after night, wondering if I was enough anymore.

Walking away from the crib, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I was fine. The hours had slipped by, one after the other, and I completely gave up on any hope that he was coming home tonight. But even when you expect disappointment, it doesn’t hurt any less when it comes.

The blankets felt heavier tonight, pressing down on me as if they could smother the frustration bubbling in my chest. I could hear the rain pour outside through the muffled windows, but inside, everything was still.

Picking my phone, I glanced at the time: 2:03 A.M.

I let out a breath.

The anger had burned out hours ago, leaving behind something colder, something quieter.

If he wasn’t going to bother, why should I?

Just as I was about to close my eyes and force myself to sleep, I heard the lock turn and the front door creak open.

The sound jolted me awake. My heart leaped for a second, but I quickly reminded myself not to care. Not to let this change anything.

I listened carefully as his footsteps padded through the house, soft but unmistakable. Keys jingled, and he dropped something on the floor, muttering a curse when it made noise.

He was trying not to make noise, probably assuming I was asleep. The thought only deepened the knot in my chest. How easy it was for him to come and go, slipping into the quiet of our home as if nothing was wrong.

I stayed still, my back to the door, feigning sleep as he approached. He came into the bedroom slowly, his movements careful, like he didn’t want to wake me.

He smelled like rain, and my heart clenched. If a woman’s scent was on him, the rain would have dampened it.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, his weight pulling at the covers. I felt his hand brush against my shoulder—tentative at first, then firmer, as if testing the waters.

“Rosa,” he whispered.

I didn’t respond. I kept my breathing steady, eyes shut, willing myself to stay silent.Let him sit in this.Let him wonder what’s wrong for once.

He sat there for a while, waiting, maybe hoping I would turn over and say something. But I didn’t. I just kept my face buried in the pillow, the silence thickening between us. He shifted after a while, the mattress creaking under him, and finally, he sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the dark.

That’s when I felt it. All the anger I had swallowed down all night, all the hurt I had pushed away, came rushing back. My eyes snapped open, and I turned to face him, my words sharp and cutting before I could stop myself.