Knocked Up by THE DON

KNOCKED UP BY THE DON LEXI LOVEJOY Copyright © 2022 by Lexi Lovejoy All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. MAILING LIST Sign up to my mailing list! Subscribers will receive exclusive offers, freebies, and giveaways. Click the link below to join. LEXI LOVEJOY MAILING LIST CONTENTS Introduction 1. Harlow 2. Arcangelo 3. Harlow 4. Arcangelo 5. Harlow 6. Arcangelo 7. Harlow 8. Arcangelo 9. Harlow 10. Arcangelo 11. Harlow 12. Arcangelo 13. Harlow 14. Arcangelo 15. Harlow 16. Arcangelo 17. Harlow 18. Arcangelo 19. Harlow EXTENDED EPILOGUE: ARCANGELO MAILING LIST KNOCKED UP BY THE DON I can't decide if I will murder her or marry her But one thing is certain, her life will never be the same. She's the witness too beautiful to kill. So I claimed her instead. Her obsession to discover my secrets, Made her the Mafia target. As a Don, my world is dangerous and dark. She’s too innocent to understand. Now I must protect her like an Angel, While I possess her like a Demon. I’ll show her that I am both. Especially now that she’s carrying my child and I’m the only one who can protect her 1 HARLOW “Watch it!” the fantastically slender model hisses at me as I accidentally prick the underside of her arm with a pin. “I have flesh, you know. I’m not made of plastic, and I’d like to keep some of my skin intact.” I don’t know about plastic, but her personality sure seems like it’s made of marble. I’ve never met a more stone-faced model in my life—then again, I’ve never had a chance to help out at Fashion Week in New York either. “Sorry,” I mumble with a handful of straight pins firmly pressed between my lips. If I drop any of them, a gaggle of barefooted runway models will start shrieking about the sanctity of their toes. I’m pretty sure they have every body part heavily insured. I do my best to pinch together the dress I’m trying to affix to this model without poking her again. It’s my first time working Fashion Week and intimidated is a gross understatement for how I feel. Coupled with excitement and awe that rivals that of meeting a superhero, my hands are quite literally shaking. As soon as I have her dress on, the tall blonde beauty strides away from me like a beautiful long-legged space alien that can cross the room in two swift steps. Almost instantly, my former boss Marguerite shoves another model in front of me to dress, as if this is a human assembly line. This time a male, he’s also ridiculously attractive, and entirely nude. It’s difficult not to look at what’s hanging between his legs, especially when it starts to swell in response to my touch as I begin to pin him into his pants. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be able to control that at runway shows?” I joke, trying to lighten the awkward moment. He grins at me with a devilish look in his eyes but doesn’t answer my question. “How old are you?” he asks. “Twenty-three, why?” “And which design firm do you work for?” “Is this Twenty Questions?” I retort. He chuckles, and even his laugh sounds sexy. I think these models are literally created to be tempting. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone who can’t stick a straight pin, and has never seen a swollen cock, wound up working at the most prestigious fashion event in the city,” he teases. Fair enough. “I don’t technically work for any design firm, at least not yet,” I explain. “I just graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology, and I’m still trying to figure out how to make a name for myself in the industry. My old internship boss needed some help this week, so she let me come along.” I finish up getting him dressed as quickly as possible, not saying anything else that might give away my lack of experience. This guy is much nicer than the female model who looked at me as if I belong outside on the street pandering for coins instead of backstage with her. I can’t help but notice some of the things going on around me in the bustle of preparation for the runway show. All of the heavy hitters are here, including designers from Racked, the most elite, profitable firm in the industry. They have a catalogue of high-profile clients that essentially strangles all the competition. I have my sights set on getting on board with a less cut-throat company in order to make a name for myself as a fashion designer—a firm that’s stable, but definitely lower on the food chain than Racked. I know better than to even think about trying to get my foot in the door at a firm like that. Even with my impressive internship recommendations, they’d laugh me straight back to the last century. There’s not a single newbie fashion designer in the entirety of the Garment District that would dream of applying there, including me. “You’re all set,” I say to the model with a smile. “Good luck on the runway.” He smooths his hands down the front of his pants, stalling at his crotch for a moment before winking at me. “I don’t need luck; I was born for this. Try not to ogle the other designers too much.” I feel my face flush with embarrassment. It’s not as if I could get a glimpse of anything the designers from Racked are working on anyway. They keep all their ideas under tight wrap until the show begins. It’s almost crazy how tight their security is; their models even get dressed behind opaque screens to keep anyone from sneaking a peek at their designs.