In some ways, I’d pictured her. I thought about what it would be like and I imagined how much I would love her and how protective of her I was already. I rubbed my stomach like I was trying to reach her, trying to feel what it would be like.
Those shoes, though—they were real and they were so tiny.
“She’s very real. She’s as real as you. And she’s going to be just as beautiful too.”
“Oh my God,” I practically sobbed and dropped my head to his shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re supposed to be a monster and an asshole.”
“I am,” he grumbled. “Sort of. Not exactly when it comes to her, though.” He brushed his fingers over my belly.
“Oh really?” I rolled my eyes, lifted my head from his chest, and smeared away the makeup that was probably running down my face. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m not my normal callous self about her either. I’ve been secretly reading all these damn studies to make sure I’m doing everything right.”
He nodded like that was completely normal. “Me too.”
“What?” I glared at him. “You didn’t tell me…”
“I’ve only brought you specific food-based recommendations. You’re on a multi-vitamin, but we need to make sure of other things too.”
“Like what?” I was curious to hear if he’d been reading the same stuff I had.
“Supposedly you can’t go in sandboxes or some shit.” He shrugged.
“Right? Oh my God. I was reading why. What the fuck is that about?”
“A damn parasite that comes from animals in there.”
“We’re going to turn into germaphobes after all this.”
He chuckled. “Finish opening your damn present, woman.”
“They’re both for me?” One side of my mouth went up. “I wonder what they could be.”
“Those two”—he eyed them carefully—“are weapons.”
I pulled back to look at him, my hands on his shoulders. “Huh?”
He grabbed one and set it on my lap as he sat down in front of me. He pulled out the combat boot first, a larger version of my future mini-me’s. He hit the bottom stud in the middle of where my Achilles tendon would be. Fast as lighting, two large blades on the side shot out.
“Shit,” I gasped out.
He did the same with the stilettos. Then he tapped my nose. “Weapons, Katalina, for the queen of the bratva.”
“I shouldn’t need those. I have security.”
“You have yourself first. Remember that. Don’t trust a single person except yourself if I’m not with you. Ivan’s made his intentions clear.”
“People build trust by exchanging it with one another, Rome. I have to trust these—”
“Never trust the bratva. Never trust a man that’s envious of your power. Every man beneath you is. The Armanellis, the Stonewoods, we’re on your level. They are not. I promise you that.”
21
Rome
Fireworks lit up the sky like it was the middle of the city of Chicago.
The shimmering of each firework reminded me how beautiful this place was, the potential in it, the life that was breathed into it by each driven person. The buildings had been made by hard workers, by CEOs busting their asses, and by our families ruling where we needed to.
This club’s opening was going off with a bang—quite literally—because the Stonewoods had backed our family time and time again. The elite members knew exactly why fireworks were going off, but the city thought it was the Stonewoods providing them a show, entertaining the city of Chicago. Those elite members, some of whom had paid millions already for access, smiled on their way in. A couple stopped to tell me that the fireworks were a nice touch.