The Curvy Nanny Hid Her Pregnancy for Months—Until the Mafia Don Found the Ultrasound Norah Hayes had survived 5 months inside a cartel boss’s house without a scratch. She had believed the oversized thrift-store sweaters and the constant laundry duty were enough to conceal what was happening to her body. But hiding a second-trimester pregnancy from the most paranoid man in the city was always going to be a losing game.

Marcus stepped into the dim light of the library, the syringe catching the faint glow of the reading lamps.

He looked entirely relaxed. The underboss of the Russo family was a man who built his career on cleaning up messes, and to him, Norah was just a spill on an expensive rug.

“What is that?” Norah demanded, backing away until her spine hit the towering bookshelves.

“Oxytocin. A highly concentrated dose,” Marcus said casually, tapping the glass barrel. “It will induce labor within minutes. At twenty-one weeks, the fetus won’t survive. It will look like a stress-induced miscarriage. Dominic is already so angry, he’ll probably blame himself.”

Norah’s hands flew to her stomach, forming a protective shield. The terror was overwhelming, but underneath it, a fierce, primal rage ignited.

“Dominic will figure it out,” Norah spat. “He knows someone betrayed him five months ago.”

“Yes, he does,” Marcus smiled. “Which is why I placed this in your bedroom an hour ago.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and tossed it onto the mahogany desk.

Norah glanced at it. It was a printed bank statement. Her name was at the top. Below it was a wire transfer for two hundred thousand dollars from a shell company owned by the Moretti cartel.

“A perfect frame job,” Marcus explained. “The nanny took a payoff from the rival family. She got pregnant by a Moretti soldier to secure her position. When Dominic caught her, the stress caused a tragic loss of the child. I’ll comfort him through the betrayal, just like a loyal brother should.”

He took another step toward her, uncapping the needle.

“Hold out your arm, Norah. I can do this quietly, or I can break your jaw first. Your choice.”

Norah looked around the room. She was trapped. She had no weapon, no leverage, and a four-year-old hiding in the vent just a few feet away.

But she had one thing Marcus didn’t know about.

She tightened her fist around the silver lighter Lily had given her.

As Marcus lunged forward, grabbing her left wrist with bruising force, Norah didn’t pull away. Instead, she swung her right hand upward with everything she had.

The heavy, solid metal of the silver lighter connected squarely with Marcus’s temple.

A sickening crack echoed through the library.

Marcus groaned, his eyes rolling back as his grip loosened. He stumbled backward, dropping the syringe, and collapsed onto the Persian rug.

Norah didn’t wait to see if he was unconscious. She kicked the syringe under the heavy sofa, scooped up the forged bank statement from the desk, and ran to the vent.

“Stay here, Bug. Do not come out until I come back for you,” Norah whispered fiercely.

“Okay,” Lily squeaked from the darkness.

Norah sprinted to the door, unlocking it and slipping out into the hallway.

The compound was eerily quiet. Marcus must have cleared the guards from this wing to carry out his murder in peace.

She had to find Dominic. She had to show him the lighter and the forged document before Marcus woke up and sounded the alarm.

She rushed toward the west wing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain in her lower back flared, a sharp, twisting cramp that made her stumble against the wall.

Not now. Please, not now, she prayed, clutching her stomach.

She reached the heavy double doors of Dominic’s private office.

She threw them open.

Dominic was standing behind his desk, holding a glass of whiskey. But he wasn’t alone.

Three men in dark suits stood in front of him. Syndicate enforcers. The men who only showed up when a death warrant had been issued.

Dominic looked up at her, his expression unreadable.