The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Mocks and Cuts the Pregnant Maid’s Hair—Then Regrets It Instantly

When Nadia opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was not the familiar, peeling wallpaper of the servant’s quarters, nor the damp chill of the Falcone estate's lower levels.

Instead, she woke to the gentle, diffused warmth of morning sunlight streaming through sheer silk curtains, pooling across a massive, king-sized bed covered in imported Egyptian cotton sheets. The scent of fresh white lilies and roasted coffee drifted softly on the air.

She sat up abruptly, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her hand flew instinctively to her hair, her fingers brushing against the soft, professional bandage placed over the jagged cut near her temple by the doctor the night before.

"Easy, Nadia. Don't strain yourself."

She whipped her head toward the sound of the voice.

Lucas sat in an oversized leather armchair by the fireplace, dressed casually in a dark grey cashmere sweater and tailored trousers. He looked tired—dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his striking gray eyes, as if he hadn't slept a wink—but there was a profound, quiet gentleness in his expression that she had never seen before. He was holding a small porcelain teacup, though he hadn't touched it.

Nadia pulled the thick duvet up to her chin, her heart fluttering with a complex storm of emotions—fear, lingering resentment, confusion, and a deep, undeniable warmth that she hated herself for feeling.

"Where... where am I?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"You're in my room, Nadia," Lucas answered softly, setting the teacup down on the side table. He stood up, walking toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a few feet away as if afraid to startle a wounded animal. "The master suite. Our room, if you'll have it."

Nadia’s jaw tightened. She looked away, staring out the vast window that overlooked the sprawling, immaculate gardens of the estate. "Your room? And what am I supposed to be here, Lucas? Your prisoner? Your pet project? You abandoned me for five years. You let me believe you were dead. And then I come here, desperate, working as a maid to pay off a debt I didn't even owe, and I find out you're the monster everyone in this city fears."

"I know," Lucas said, his voice thick with remorse. He sank slowly to the edge of the mattress, careful not to crowd her. "I deserve every harsh word you want to throw at me. I deserve your anger, your hatred, your disgust." He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek before gently resting against the curve of her jawline. His touch was warm, impossibly tender. "When I lost my memory five years ago, I was broken. When my memories returned, I was a caged beast fighting for survival. I thought staying away from you was the only way to keep you alive. I was wrong. Every single day I spent without you was a slow execution."

Nadia looked back at him, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You don't know what it was like, Lucas. Struggling alone in that village. Wondering if I meant anything to you at all. And then Tomas... Tomas was kind to me. He gave me a home when the world turned its back on me. And now he's dead. Murdered because of this mafia life you lead."

"I know," Lucas whispered, his thumb wiping away a single tear that slipped down her cheek. "And I have already settled that debt. Donald Rossi is gone. The men responsible for Tomas’s death have paid with their lives. The Rossi family no longer exists in Providence. You and our child will never have to look over your shoulders again."

Nadia placed her hand over her seven-month belly instinctively, feeling a reassuring kick from the baby within. She looked at Lucas, seeing not the ruthless king of the waterfront, but the man she had loved in the seaside cabin—the man who had held her hand under the stars and promised her a lifetime.

"Can we really have that?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Can we really be a family, after all this blood?"