Pregnant And Running From The Mafia Don

Anastasia POV

The metallic tang of copper assaulted my mouth instantly.

I didn't hesitate. I bit down harder.

Pain exploded in my jaw, sharp and blinding. I tasted the warmth of my own blood as it welled up, spilling over my lips and dripping onto the delicate black lace of my dress.

Harrison recoiled, his face twisting in revulsion. "What the hell? She's crazy!"

I didn't stop. I locked my eyes on Courtland’s.

*See me,* I screamed silently. *See what you made me.*

Desperation clawed at my chest. I grabbed a heavy silver steak knife from the sideboard.

Harrison lunged for me, but I was faster. I pressed the serrated edge against the pulse point of my neck.

"Don't touch me," I choked out, blood spraying with the words.

Courtland was out of his chair before the knife even broke the skin.

The chair clattered to the floor.

"Anastasia!"

Harrison tried to grab the knife. "You stupid bitch—"

Courtland hit him.

It wasn't a warning tap. It was a brutal execution of force.

His fist connected with Harrison’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The heavy man crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

Courtland didn't look at him. He spun on me, his chest heaving. His eyes were wild, the pupils dilated with a rage so dark it eclipsed everything else.

He grabbed my wrist, twisting it until my fingers went numb and the knife clattered to the floor.

"Are you insane?" he roared.

He gripped my face, his thumbs wiping away the blood that was pouring from my mouth.

"You do not get to die!" he shouted, shaking me. "You do not get to leave me! You belong to me!"

It wasn't love. It was possession. It was a child screaming because someone tried to break his favorite toy.

I spat blood onto his pristine white shirt.

"Let me go," I choked out, my tongue swelling. "Divorce me. Let me take Aspen and leave. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again."

He froze.

The air in the room turned to ice.

"Divorce?" he whispered. The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

He looked down at me, his expression hardening into something terrifying.

"No one leaves the Family, Anastasia. The only way out is in a box."

He shoved me away. I stumbled, hitting my hip against the heavy oak table.

"Clean her up," he barked at the empty room, knowing the guards were listening. "And get Harrison out of here. The deal is off."

*

I spent three days in the hospital wing of the Estate.

Dr. Manning told me my kidneys were failing. Malnutrition, stress, the poison—my body was shutting down.

"You're dying, Mrs. Johnson," he said, adjusting my IV with clinical detachment. "Slowly. But surely."

I didn't care. Dying meant leaving.

When I was discharged, Courtland didn't send me back to the servant’s quarters. He put me to work.

"Idle hands make for devil's work," Eleanor had said.

So I was on my knees in the main hallway, scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush. It was the same punishment I had endured in rehab. Courtland lacked imagination.

My hands were raw, the skin peeling from the harsh chemicals.

Two maids were dusting the vases nearby. They didn't see me crouching behind the pedestal.

"Is it true?" one whispered.

"Yes," the other replied, checking over her shoulder. "The Don received the call this morning. She's landing tomorrow."

"I thought she was dead. For five years, we thought she was dead."

"It was a cover. Witness protection or something. But she's coming back."

My heart stopped.

"Who?" the first maid asked.

"Kinsley," the second one whispered. "Kinsley Alexander is alive."

The toothbrush slipped from my fingers.

The world went silent.

Kinsley.

Alive.

Five years.

Five years of torture. Five years of being branded a murderer. Five years of losing my mind, my body, my soul.

For a murder that never happened.

She wasn't dead. She had faked it. She had framed me. She had let Courtland destroy me while she watched from somewhere safe.

A scream built in my chest, so large it threatened to shatter my ribs.

I stood up. The bucket of soapy water tipped over, soaking my shoes.

The maids turned, their eyes widening in horror when they saw me.

"Mrs. Johnson..."

I didn't hear them.

I ran.

I ran for the heavy front doors. I pushed them open and stumbled out into the pouring rain.

I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I had to find him. I had to find Courtland.

I had to tell him.

I ran toward the family cemetery at the edge of the estate. The rain lashed against my face, mixing with the tears I didn't know I was crying.

I saw them through the mist.

Two figures standing by the empty grave.

One was Courtland, his black umbrella shielding him from the storm.

The other was a woman.

She turned as I approached, hearing my footsteps splashing in the mud.

Blonde hair. Perfect skin. Blue eyes that held a malice so deep it felt like drowning.

Kinsley.

She smiled.

"Hello, sister," she said.

My legs gave out. I collapsed into the mud, the rain pounding against my back.

She was real.

And Courtland was standing right next to her, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back.