The Consequential Bride Of the Mafia Lord

Marcelina~

Dom Vitali was going to be the man to give me my baby.

The thought landed in my head fully formed and terrifying, like a diagnosis you do not want but already understand. It did not come with emotions like lust or desire. It came with certainty, and that scared me more than guilt ever could.

I glanced at the tablet in my hand, even though I've already memorized every line of his report. This appointment was a follow-up, and unfortunately, it was the last.

The foundation was laid during the first meeting weeks ago, involving baseline scans, cognitive testing, and reaction time assessments amongst many others. Today was supposed to be another routine.

But it wasn't.

"Let's continue," I said, tapping my tablet to wake the screen. "Have the headaches increased since our last session?"

"Same,"

"Frequency?"

"Does it matter?"

There we go again.

I forced my face into something neutral and looked up at him. "Yes,"

"Then no,"

I made a note anyway. He always did that. Like this was just a waste of time and not his sixth neurological evaluation in three weeks.

By the third evaluation, I already knew Dom Vitali's body better than I knew most people in my life. I knew his resting heart rate, the rhythm of his heartbeat under stress, the way his pupil reacted a fraction of a second slower after intense exertion.

I knew the scans and the reports. The numbers said he was fine, but his body insisted otherwise. And still, he sat across from me like a locked door.

Adjusting my tablet, I continued. "Any dizziness?"

"No,"

"Blackouts?"

Silence.

I lifted my eyes. He was looking at me with that same unreadable stare. Dark, assessing, like he wasn't listening to my words but weighing my intent. I suddenly wondered what he would do if he discovered what I was planning.

"No," he said at last.

The answer came easily, but the look did not. It made my stomach tighten even more.

Shifting in my chair, I suddenly felt hot under his gaze. The air conditioning hummed softly above us, but heat crawled under my skin anyway.

"Nightmares?"

Another pause.

Just long enough to feel deliberate.

"Define nightmare."

I ignored the way my pulse jumped. "Recurring dreams that disrupt sleep."

"I sleep fine."

I noted it down even though I didn't believe him. "Disorientation?"

"No,"

"Memory gaps?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned back in his seat and pinned me where I sat with those dark gray eyes of his. With his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw tight, he looked bored and irritated.

"You ask that every time."

"And I'll keep asking,"

"Why?"

"Because it's my job, Mr. Vitali," I replied, keeping a neutral face. "And today happens to be the last day of your evaluation,"

The accident was the reason he sat across from me in a Brioni suit that probably cost more than my annual rent and salary combined. It was the only reason a man like him was required to answer my questions. And I knew he hated every second of it.

On paper, he was untouchable. He was a billionaire, founder of Vitali Group, and owner of the most exclusive clubs in Milan, New York, Ibiza, and Dubai. He was also big on real estate, private investments, and owned a motorsport racing team.

And that-that is where the accident occurred.

According to the reports, his sports car had collided with a concrete barrier at high speed. That kind of impact should've killed him or at least left permanent damage. Instead, Dom Vitali walked out of the wreckage with nothing but internal bruising and a loss of consciousness that lasted exactly four minutes.

Four minutes that no one could explain.

His private physicians had cleared him, but they wanted an external neurological and psychological evaluation before signing off on his return to full activity.

That was where I came in.

And that was where all the wrong ideas about obtaining my baby from him started forming in my brain. I knew it was wrong. But my reasons were right.

Dom Vitali was genetically clean.

And I needed that more than I needed forgiveness for what I was about to do.

"You're staring,"

I forced my eyes away from him and smiled even though my pulse betrayed me. "Just looking at a man who should've died a month ago,"

He leaned further into his seat and laced his fingers together over his stomach. The movement pulled the suit tight across his chest and I hated that my eyes followed it. I hated that my body noticed things my brain refused to acknowledge.

"Tell me about it, Doc,"

Heat curled low in my stomach and I shifted in my chair, hyper-aware of what his attention was doing to me.

"From the reports, your car flipped twice before hitting the concrete. It's a miracle you're still alive, which brings us back to my last question."

"I don't usually forget things," He replied, "If that's what you're asking,"

"People don't usually notice when they do,"

"I would,"

The confidence in his voice made my stomach tighten. If I eventually succeeded with my plan, he wouldn't forget. But that shouldn't matter, should it? It wasn't like he remembered all the women he slept with.

Shaking the thought off my mind, I crossed my legs. But then, his eyes followed the movement, slowly tracing every inch of my long legs until they climbed back to my face.

Our eyes met.

My hazel ones and his dark gray ones.

He was beautiful in a dangerous way and sinfully hot. The kind of man women impulsively dropped their panties for. And I hated that I noticed. Because attraction was a variable I did not allow.

Not now, not ever.

Clearing my throat, I forced my attention back to the professional line between us.

Everything about him checks out.

Physically exceptional, neurologically steady, no degenerative markers, no genetic red flags-a man without a condition I feared. And yet... Something was missing.

"There's still no family medical history on record," I said as if it didn't matter. But it did to me.

"I told you," his gaze met mine, and his expression closed instantly, like it always does whenever I bring up the subject. "I don't have one,"

Everyone has one.

"Parents?" I continued like he hadn't spoken. "Siblings? Relatives?"

His jaw flexed. "Drop it."

I sighed and looked up at him, "I need complete information,"

"You already have what you need,"

Under his intense gaze, I suddenly felt hot all over again. I could feel my blouse sticking to my back and my fingers going damp around the tablet. Reaching up, I unbuttoned the top of my blouse in an attempt to get enough air. And once again, his eyes followed the movement, making it a lot worse.

The heat that spread through me was immediate and unwanted.

Forcing my hand back down, I straightened and pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered for a second too long. The thought that he was fully aware of my body did something it shouldn't have to me.

"You're uncomfortable," he noted.

"I'm fine," I replied too quickly.

I knew it was a bad idea to hold this last session in his office. But the part of me, curious to know what a faction of this man's world felt like, had immediately agreed.

"I've seen better liars, Dr. Owens," He said, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. "And you're not one of them,"

My heart started beating heavily. I had the sudden, rational fear that if he kept looking at me like that, he would know. That he would see straight through the calm surface I worked so hard to maintain. And he would see what I wanted.

What I needed.

A child.

One that would be mine alone.

"It's like I said before, Mr. Vitali," I said, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. "The accident happened due to loss of consciousness while you were racing. Overall, your condition hasn't changed. The symptoms are consistent with post-traumatic neurological injury and nothing suggests progression."

"Hmm," He hummed, walking over to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of gin and swirled it once before taking a sip.

"And since there's no record about your past or family medical records..."

"I can return to full activity," He said, cutting me off.

That's not what I wanted to say. But I knew it was his way of shutting me down. He didn't like being asked about his past or his family. And he had made it clear over the last three weeks.

"Yes," I replied. "With monitoring."

The ice in his glass clinked softly as he swirled it once. "Figures,"

I should end the appointment here. I should pack my stuff and leave.

Instead, my gaze dropped briefly, unintentionally, to the way his trousers fit him. The way the fabric hugged his thighs was perfect, as if it had been made just for him.

I don't usually notice things like that.

I was always too busy, too focused, and too married to my work to care about anything else. Adding to that, I didn't date or socialize. My life existed between labs, clinics, and conference halls.

And I was slowly running out of time.

"You're cleared," I said, forcing my eyes away and ignoring the heat that crawled up my neck, "My work is done here,"

I did not know why my chest tightened the moment the words left my mouth. I only knew it hurt more than I expected. This was not just the end of the session. It was the end of any chance I had.

Because once I walked out that door, I would lose the one thing I needed from him. And there would be no way to ask for it.

"Is it?" He asked, and my heart skipped a beat.

His eyes met mine over the rim of his glass, but I looked away almost immediately. "Yes, Mr. Vitali. It was a pleasure,"

I wanted to cry.

The tears were already burning behind my eyes as I grabbed my bag and walked towards the door. Just as my hand was about to touch the handle, his deep voice broke the silence.

"You ever gonna tell me what you're really looking for, Doc?"

My pulse stuttered.

This was my chance.

I could easily turn around, smile, and bat my lashes or whatever it was women did when they wanted something from a man like him. But that was the problem. I had no idea how to do any of that. I was terrible at pretending, terrible at seduction, and terrible at anything else that wasn't my job.

So I ruined it, if it even was a chance.

"When I find it," I replied evenly. "you'll be the first to know."

With that, I pushed the door open and walked out before he could say another word.

Fuck me.

Marcelina~

The moment the door closed behind me, I broke. Thankfully, the hallway was empty and quiet, but I barely noticed anything else as I walked down fast, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand like that would fix it.

But it didn't. And the tears didn't stop either.

"Get it together, Marcel," I muttered under my breath, swiping angrily at my face again.

My chest felt too tight, like I had been holding my breath for weeks without realizing it. And I hated myself for it. I hated that I had just lost one chance I had allowed myself to imagine.

I wasn't like this.

I didn't fall apart in hallways or cry at all-not anymore. But here I was, stopping right in the middle of the hallway because I couldn't bring myself to walk anymore.

Pressing my palm against the cool wall, I bent my head and drew in a slow breath. Then another. I counted them like I always did years ago.

"Four in, hold, four out." And just like that, I was sixteen again.

My mother had been brilliant.

That was the word everyone used.

She didn't just fill rooms with her mind, she taught in colleges, published award-winning medical journals, and debated men twice her age. I grew up watching people lean forward when she spoke and thought that was what power looked like.

But that changed when she began forgetting words.

There were small things at first-names, appointments, misplacing objects she had just held. She laughed it off as stress and overwork, we all did. But then, we started noticing the pause. The way her eyes went blank for a second too long.

Her diagnosis came later, but this was after the fear had already settled in our bones.

The condition did not kill quickly; it dismantled her piece by piece, slowly stripping her of her memory, better judgment, and independence. She forgot how to cook, then how to drive, and eventually forgot how to be alone.

The woman who once needed no one became someone who needed help dressing, eating, and remembering her own husband and child. I became her caretaker before I even finished high school.

I reminded her who people were and learned how to smile even when my small heart was breaking. I loved her more than anything, but loving her did not make it easier to watch her disappear.

She hated it.

And that was the worst part. Because she knew she was fading.

"Don't let me become a burden, Marcel," She would look at me and say.

Sometimes, it was Julia or Hannah... Any other name that wasn't mine. And that broke my heart every time, just as that sentence never left me.

My fear was never dying.

It was becoming someone who needed care. Loving someone, depending on them, and then losing myself while they watched, helpless, the way I had watched her.

The condition was neurodegenerative, genetic, and autosomal dominant. If you carried it, you had a fifty percent chance of passing it on to your offspring. There was no cure and no reversal either. Only delay and wait until you take your final breath.

I had built my life around control and became a neurologist because of it. But control has limits. And lately, the world around me has started to look... familiar.

The earliest markers of the disorder were slowly appearing in my mentors, senior colleagues, and then dangerously close to my own age group.

I saw it in the way most of them paused too long in the middle of a sentence, searching for a word they used to wield effortlessly. I saw it in the way they walked into a room, forgetting why they'd step in in the first place. The quiet retirements no one questioned, the sudden "sabbaticals".

They were fading at the edges and I recognized it. Not just because I had lived it, but because fear was very good at recognizing itself.

I wasn't imagining it, I was running out of time.

That was why Dom Vitali mattered.

Not because he was so hot and attractive. And certainly not because his eyes made my skin feel too warm.

I needed him because he was clean. There were no markers for neurological decline, no genetic red flags waiting to ambush a child I loved, and no inherited decay that could combine with mine to amplify the damage.

With careful selection, the probability dropped low enough to hope. Low enough that it would give my child time to grow, to remember me whole, and not need me when I could no longer be enough.

My child wouldn't carry the same terror I had lived with since I was a teenager. If I faded, it would be later. When they were older.

I wasn't dramatic enough to pretend I woke up one morning desperate for a baby. I was still whole-for now. And I wanted a child before that changed.

I wanted to experience motherhood while my mind was still mine. While I could choose, while I could remember every first word, and every little laugh.

Before my fertility window closed up on me.

Pushing off the wall, I took a deep breath and lifted my chin. I was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. I was not going to pass on this condition.

It was better to have my child knowing I gambled with life and tried to control every variable I could just to keep him or her safe, rather than risking nothing.

"Let's get this over with, Marcel,"

Without second thoughts, I turned around and walked back down the hallway.

My heels clicked sharply against the floor while my heart pounded so loud till it felt like it was chasing me. But I didn't slow down or think. Because if I stopped, fear would catch up with me and I would talk myself out of it.

Now was not a good time for any of those, so I pushed the door open without knocking and walked into his office.

Dom Vitali was still there.

Still standing where I had left him with one hand in his trouser pocket and the other, holding his glass of gin. It was like he hadn't moved at all. Like he had waited for me.

Our eyes clashed and something dark and unreadable passed through his gaze. Surprise, maybe, or something far worse. But he didn't speak. He only watched me with those sharp, predatory eyes as he lifted the glass and finished what little gin was left inside it.

I did not give him time to think. I could already feel my nerves slipping, fear and doubt clawing their way back up my spine.

So I moved.

I let my bag slide off my shoulder and drop to the floor at the same moment he placed the empty glass on the table. That was it. There were no more exits. This was the moment where you either walked away and lived with regret, or you jumped and accepted whatever waited below.

Go hard or go home, they said.

Ignoring the way my heart slammed so hard against my chest, I took a step towards him, then another. His dark and burning eyes followed me, tracking every inch like a predator that had already decided the outcome.

When I reached him, I didn't hesitate. I jumped into his arms and crashed my mouth into his. For half a second, I thought he might push me away. But then his hands came up, gripping my waist before kissing me back just as hard.

The world tilted.

Not because I was dizzy. But because everything I had been holding tight inside me suddenly slipped loose. Fear. Want. Desperation. Need.

Unwanted heat rushed through me fast, curling low in my stomach as his grip tightened, fingers digging into my back and the back of my neck.

The kiss deepened, turned rougher, and I felt it everywhere. In my chest, in my thighs, in the sharp hitch of my breath when his mouth moved against mine like he already knew how badly this would undo me.

I forgot how to think or why I was doing this in the first place. All I knew was the way his body felt solid and perfect against mine. The way I was pressed so close there was no space left for doubt or second thoughts.

This was supposed to be simple. Quick and clean with no emotions attached, but it wasn't. Not when my pulse was everywhere, loud in my ears, between my legs, and under my skin.

Before I could pull away or say something smart or ruin it, his lips slowed just enough to make it worse, dragging against mine deliberately, like he was taking his time memorizing me.

I hated how easily my body betrayed me and how much I wanted him to keep holding me like this. How his dark and unreadable eyes burned into me like he was already three steps ahead of wherever this was going.

Neither of us spoke.

But then, his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Took you long enough," He murmured.

Marcelina~

The sound of his voice sent a shiver through me. It was low and rough, like a warning wrapped in temptation, like something that knew exactly how much damage it could do and didn't care.

"You say that like you were expecting me."

"I was," he replied simply.

That should have scared me. It did scare me. But it also sent a slow shiver through my spine especially when he turned us smoothly, guiding me backward until the edge of the table pressed into my lower back.

He stepped in close, his body blocking every exit. With one hand braced on the table beside my hip, the other rested at my waist like a warning.

"No one walks into my office without an appointment, Doc," he said quietly, dangerously. "And no one barges in like you just did."

My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could feel it. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, and my hands hanging uselessly at my sides.

I should have thought this through. I should have known this would not unfold like the movies, where everything flows and people somehow know what to do next. I had kissed him, crossed a line I could never uncross, and now my back was pressed to his desk with my heart racing and no script to follow.

Now what?

The question echoed loudly in my head.

I had spent weeks calculating risks, probabilities, and outcomes. I had planned everything except this part. The part where he was real and warm and looking at me like he knew I was improvising.

For a split second, I almost laughed at myself. How a brilliant neurologist, respected worldwide, lay here completely unprepared for this.

His dark gaze dropped to my mouth, then lifted again. "I know you didn't come back to continue the evaluation."

On hearing that, my heart slammed against my ribs.

"So I'll ask you once," He said, leaning in until his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. "What. The. Fuck. Are you looking for?"

Heat rolled through me, and my breathing came out uneven. I should have lied. I should have climbed down from the desk, smoothed my clothes, and pretended this was a mistake.

But I did neither.

"You," I said.

Something dark flickered across his face. Something slower, dangerous as his hand tightened slowly at my waist.

"Careful what you wish for, Doc,"

I swallowed, my pulse racing.

"I didn't come back to be careful."

His eyes darkened with a flicker of amusement, then slowly drifted downward to where my skirt had ridden up my thighs, tracing the curve before returning to meet mine. The corner of his mouth twitched with something that didn't quite look like a smile.

"Tempting," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "But you're very much too overdressed for me,"

Before he could turn away, I wrapped my legs around his waist, lifted myself off the desk, and crashed my mouth against his, while fumbling to unbutton my blouse in a desperate rush.

The moment my fingers grazed his belt, his hand shot up, seizing both of mine. I groaned, frustrated and disappointed.

"Bold, are we?" He asked with a smirk, holding my hands firmly against his body. My pulse raced, heat pooling in places I'd rather not admit.

At this point, I didn't care about caution or consequences or what he said. I wanted him so badly I trembled... No, fuck that, what I really wanted was my baby. I had no business with lust or pleasure.

"I need you now," I breathed, my voice unsteady. "Inside me,"

He didn't say a word. He just stared at me with those dark, unreadable eyes sending shivers straight through me. Then, as if deciding I meant every word, he let go of my hands.

"Take what you want, Doc," He murmured.

My stomach flipped, nerves swimming wild. That... that had to mean he meant the baby, didn't it? It was like he was giving me permission, telling me-without saying it outright and without knowing it-that what I was doing wasn't as wrong as I had feared.

"I give you the opportunity and you can't fûcking take it anymore?" He asked, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I looked up, startled, and found his head tilted slightly. He must've noticed the hesitation and thought I was backing out already.

Too late.

I moved instantly, working on his belt buckle before my brain could catch up. My fingers were shaking badly, partly from nerves and urgency, and mostly from the weight of the moment itself. The moment I had imagined and dreamed about for years.

"You're shaking," he noted with dry amusement laced in his voice,

"I know,"

He didn't help me. He didn't try to stop me when I took too long either. He just watched with his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on my hands. If he sensed how much this mattered to me, he gave no sign.

And I didn't give him one either.

After successfully working on the buckle, I pulled him out and almost gasped when I saw his length. He was hot and heavy in my hand, and so hard I couldn't resist pumping him in my fist.

But he had to ruin the moment.

"Got a condom?"

My brain did a full stop.

A condom?

I stared at him for half a second too long, my fingers still curled around his cøck, before my thoughts started tripping over each other. Of all the things I had planned for, how had I forgotten the most obvious part?

Surely, a man like Dom Vitali wouldn't fûck around without a condom. He wasn't that reckless. But then again, I didn't need a condom for this. I couldn't use one. That tiny, harmless-looking piece of rubber couldn't be a wall between me and the only thing I had come here for.

As if reading the response from my face, he arched one dark brow slightly, his mouth twisting in something between amusement and mockery.

"Don't tell me you came all this way unprepared,"

I lifted my eyes to his, forcing my face to stay neutral while my pulse thundered in my ears. I couldn't tell him the truth. I wouldn't. If I did, everything would end right here. He would shut this down, throw me out, and ask the board to assign him a new neurologist.

One that wasn't as selfish as I was.

"I'm on birth control," I said instead, the lie slipping out smoother than I expected.

He studied me like he was deciding whether to believe me or call it bluff. The silence stretched just long enough that I thought he might push me away after all.

But then, his hands settled firmly on my hips. Before I could think, he drew me closer until the edge of the desk pressed into the backs of my thighs. I could only tighten my grip on the table for balance as he widened my legs just enough to make my pulse spike.

"Fûcking white," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like I had just confirmed something he already knew. "I knew it,"

"Knew what?"

He slipped his hand between my thighs and traced the line of my undies, making every nerve in my body light up. The deliberate slowness was cruel and I knew he was enjoying every bit of this.

"That your panties are as white as your fucking lab coats," Hooking his fingers underneath, he ripped the fabric in a swift motion, making me gasp. "And you'd still be reckless enough to come back here so I could ruin it,"

That was the last thing I heard before he gripped my hips and slammed into me until his length was halfway into my pûssy.

I gasped, almost choking on my breath.

It hurt. It really hurt.

It had been too long for me, and he was well-endowed. Panting slightly, my thighs quivered as I tried to adjust. I could feel every inch of him, every single length he tried to make me take.

"Crying already?" He asked, tightening his grip on my hips.

I couldn't speak, so I rested my right hand on his shoulder to try to stop him from shoving all the way in. I shook my head, as if I'd done my best but it wasn't going to work out in the end.

"All of it, Doc," he commanded.

The feeling of him inside me was so intense that my entire body trembled. The backs of my eyes burned, and I pressed my face into his neck. Luckily, he didn't force me to take him. He let me adjust on my own till I took in every inch of him.

"You might wanna grab something," He said before pulling out and slamming back in, stealing the air from my lungs.

There was no time to recover my lost breath as he rammed into me, over and over again, his thrusts deep, hard, and fast, hitting a spot that made everything in the world fade away.

At some point, he gripped my hips, pulled us chest-to-chest, and bounced me on his erection. Hard. Up and down, not giving me a single break from the assault.

When I finally climaxed, my moans and incoherent whimpers trembled in my throat. I came so hard spots flew behind my eyes. The fire inside me burst, spreading a warm, tingling sensation throughout my body.

Now, I had to wait for the most important thing I had come for-my baby. I couldn't afford mistakes so I became painfully aware of every thrust, every breath, and every moment slipping forward.

I was in my most fertile time of the month which meant my body was ready in the one way that mattered most. If this was ever going to work, it would be now.

"Just give me this," I held onto the silent plea, repeating it over and over in my head. "Give me my child."

Moments later, as if listening to my heart's desire, he finished inside me with a punishing last thrust. With my legs wrapped tightly around him, I made sure my pussy milked him dry, wringing out every last drop until I was full of him.