Page 100 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

Reese’s eyes widen. “No shit. Really?”

“Not exactly. Just trying to move on.”

“Me too,” Sofia says, too loudly.

I groan. I knew it was a bad idea to let her get into the champagne early.

“Water for you,” Reese says flatly, leading Sofia over to a table filled with water bottles.

I walk over to grab myself a ginger ale from the bartender at the open bar. I’ve already slipped him a hundred to keep them coming in a champagne flute. No one will have any idea I’m not drinking.

I look down at my dress, hoping that my stomach hasn’t swelled. I was premature, almost two months, but weighed six pounds, so it isn’t so unusual. That’s what I’d claim to my future boyfriend or husband.

I want to shiver just thinking about it, just imagining hands on me that aren’t Dante’s. It seems wrong, somehow. Like I’m cheating on him just thinking about it.

My eyes scan the room for him. I find him at the top of the stairs, watching me, standing with his hands braced on the railing. This is made considerably harder by the way he’s staring at me, his blue eyes boring into my soul. But I have to ignore him.

I have to move on. Not just for me. For my baby.

“Samantha, was it?” The voice behind me makes me jump, and I splash a little ginger ale on my hand. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s me, Ethan. We met at a party a few months ago?”

Ethan. His face flits through my mind—handsome, young, all-American. I wonder how he got an invite.

“Oh. Fancy seeing you here,” I tease, trying to keep my voice as light as possible.

“Your father invited me. Didn’t mention you’d be here,” he murmurs.

I blink. “You know my father?”

He grins, showing a dimple in his left cheek. “I’m Ethan Moretti.”

My mouth drops open. “Cecil Moretti’s son.”

“One and the same.”

“Jesus,” I whisper. Cecil Moretti is one of my father’s closest allies, dating back to when their fathers weredons. “You look so…” I start, then trail off.

He laughs. “White? I know. Take after my mother.” He has dark hair. Blue eyes. Not the same ice-blue as Dante’s, but still.

Close enough.

“Do you want to dance, Ethan Moretti?” I ask, holding my hand out to him, and he grins wider, taking it. We sway out on the dance floor with a few other couples, including Sofia and Reese. She’s leaned against his chest, nearly crying against him. She’s still on the outs with Dmitri.

I can sympathize, but I can’t even think about how heartbroken I feel right now. I have to focus on my baby and the future.

“How do you feel about kids, Ethan?”

Ethan blinks before spinning me around once. “That’s a pretty deep question for a first dance, Miss Capetti.”

“Does that mean you won’t answer?”

“No. I’ll answer. I love kids. Have about a million cousins.”

“So you’re good with them?”

“Great. I want half a dozen,” he says easily, smiling at me. “Why? You like kids?”

“I do,” I say, and that at least is honest. Back when Mama was alive, sometimes we’d visit her side of the family, and I had a few cousins that were much younger.