The Don's Surprise Baby

THE DON'S SURPRISE BABY AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS MAFIA ROMANCE AMBER ROW Copyright © 2023 by Amber Row All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Chapter 26 27. Chapter 27 28. Chapter 28 29. Chapter 29 Epilogue About Author Chapter 1 The air was exhilarating. Foul, I must also add, because the five other players I unluckily decided to engage in a game of poker felt the need to indulge themselves in chicken with a sauce that had too much garlic – Fauxwood’s worst dish, in my opinion. The infamous gambler's song played in my head so loud it must've drowned the music reverberating in the room. 'You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em…’ I held the gaze of my opponent as I looked for his breaking point, the insecurity beneath his poker face as he raised his impeccable inquisitive French brow. He was the only unyielding one amongst his garlic-breathed brethren. I wished the game could end so I could waltz onto the dance floor and maybe find a date for the night if the garlic smell didn't rub off too much on me. He displayed his hands, and I eagerly displayed mine. "Ha!" I cackled after seeing that my array was higher than his. I scooped the entire pot and stood up, my mouth salivating at the seven hundred one-dollar bills. "Till next time, fellas." I tipped an invisible hat at them and began slinking off. 'Know when to walk away...' "Hey, Mademoiselle! We agreed on seven betting rounds! We've only done five," one of the men protested. 'And when to run… You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table. There'll be time enough for countin' when the deal is done.' The best thing about this place is the crowd. They can be sparse at dining halls and conference centers, but by midnight, the casino section is usually tighter than a bag full of pretzels. I used that to stow away from the enraged French men. They won't miss me. They seemed way richer than the seven hundred I admittedly defrauded them of. Happy with my spoil, I made my way to the bar to get my favorite shot of Bulleit Bourbon whiskey. I'd have two more if I felt up for it. The bar was in my field of vision now. I could see it clearly as I was advancing towards it, and then I couldn't. A tower blocked the eye candy of a bottle I had set my eyes on. A gigantic moving tower of flesh. One that seemed intent on keeping me from seeing my reward. Is that Dad? I asked myself, not comprehending what was going on. The six-foot-two Arabian man had his sturdy arms folded across his chest and his bushy brows knit in displeasure. "Dad! What are you doing here? This is no place for you. It's not safe!" I warned and took his arms, intent on leading him outside. He probably lost his way to the 24/7 pharmacy and wound up here. It must've been confusing. He yanked his hands away from me and whined. "Sienna! It's an hour past midnight and you're still here. It is completely unsafe," he drawled in his usual rich Arabic. He hardly ever spoke to me in English even though he was fluent in it. "Yes, Dad. And that's why I'm suggesting you go now before those Marquesses come looking for me." I tried tugging at his sleeve again. It was futile. The man didn't seem ready to budge. "Sienna, are you even listening to what I'm telling you?" He pulled his arms back effectively drawing me back as well because I still clung to his sleeve. I rolled my eyes and kept them away from his convincing ones. "It's not safe here. Besides, you can't keep living like this! You're twenty-three. You have younger cousins at home that already have kids," he kept talking in Arabic. "I don't want to be compared to others, Dad," I steamed from both ears. "I'm not comparing you. I'm just trying to get you to see the extent of your maturity. You should be doing better with your life." "And I am, Dad. I have a day job. This, you know, is just a Friday thing..." "And a Wednesday thing..." "Only occasionally, when I have something to celebrate," I countered. "Oh, for goodness' sake, who has anything to celebrate working at a checkout point in a superstore?" At this point, there were a few people who turned to look. Some turned their backs after a few seconds of observation and others decided that watching a man yell at his grown daughter was more interesting than the alluring open legs of a pole dancer. It would have been embarrassing for me and much worse if I didn't know how to deal with embarrassment, but luckily for me, I've had more than enough of my fair share of public humiliation. I kept my face away from his to avoid looking at the genuine concern in his eyes because, in the end, that's all there was. No hate, no embarrassment, not even displeasure. Just concerned. I knew he knew that I knew that he wanted me to be safe. Maybe even more. I’m constantly told to be 'responsible', but growing up in the settings I did, I don't know why he didn't see this