Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 88

Aria’s POV

Traditional approach.

The euphemism echoed in my mind, each repetition driving the reality deeper into my consciousness. I would have to sleep with Damian. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly until I conceived his child.

"I need some time to process this," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible over the thundering of my heart.

Dr. Ferretti nodded sympathetically. "Of course, Miss Rossi. This is quite a lot to take in. However, I should mention that timing will be crucial. We'll need to monitor your cycle closely, and when you're ovulating..." She let the sentence hang delicately in the air.

When I'm ovulating, I'll need to have sex with Damian Cavalieri.

The thought made my legs feel weak. I gripped the edge of the examination table, fighting a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness I didn't yet have.

"How often would..." I stopped, unable to finish the question that felt too intimate, too mortifying to voice aloud.

"Generally, every other day during your fertile window would be optimal," Dr. Ferretti replied matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. "We're looking at approximately a week each cycle where conception is most likely."

A week. Every month. Until it worked.

"Thank you," I said, though nothing about this revelation deserved gratitude. "I'll... I'll need to discuss this with Mr. Cavalieri."

The drive back to the estate passed in a blur of Tuscan countryside and mounting panic. Damian kept glancing at me in his peripheral vision, clearly sensing my distress, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. How did one even begin such a conversation?

By the way, we'll need to have sex regularly until I get pregnant. How do you feel about that?

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh—or cry. I wasn't sure which impulse was stronger.

Back in my rooms, I paced the length of the sitting area like a caged animal, my mind racing through implications I'd been too naive to consider fully when I'd first agreed to this arrangement. I'd been so focused on the money, on Jessica's treatment, on the clinical nature of IVF that I'd never truly contemplated what would happen if those procedures weren't possible.

The soft chime of my phone interrupted my spiraling thoughts. The screen displayed an unknown Italian number, but something about the formal way it rang made me answer despite my current state.

"Miss Rossi?" The voice was cultured, refined, with the kind of authority that immediately commanded attention.

"Yes?"

"This is Antonio Monterosso. I believe we've met briefly at social gatherings."

My breath caught.

"Mr. Monterosso," I said carefully, my voice steadier than I felt. "How can I help you?"

"Actually, my dear, I was hoping I might help you. I'm hosting a charity gala this weekend—a fundraiser for the children's hospital. I would be honored if you would attend as my guest."

His laugh was warm, almost paternal. "On the contrary, Miss Rossi. You would be perfect. In fact, I was hoping to make a special announcement at the gala. You saved my life that night—a debt I can never truly repay. I've been thinking... I would like to formally adopt you as my granddaughter. To offer you the protection and status of the Monterosso name."

The meaning behind his words hit me like ice water. Adoption. Into one of the most powerful crime families in Italy. Everything I'd been trying to avoid, every nightmare scenario I'd imagined about being trapped in this world forever.

"I want to give you a place in our family," he continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "You deserve so much more than the struggles you've endured. Let me provide for you properly."

"No," I said quickly, panic rising in my throat. "Mr. Monterosso, I appreciate your gratitude, but I can't. I can't be part of your world."

"My dear child—"

"I can't." The words came out sharper than intended. "If I become publicly connected to your family, I'll never have a normal life. I'll never be free of this world of violence and power games. I'll never just be... myself."

The silence on the other end of the line stretched for several heartbeats before he spoke again, his voice gentler now. "I understand your fears, child. But you've already saved my life once. Let me return that favor by giving you the security you deserve."

"I need time to think," I said, my voice cracking with the strain of holding back tears. "Too much has happened today. I need to process everything before I can make any decisions about the future."

"Of course. You have my number now. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here."

After ending the call, I sat in stunned silence, staring at my phone as if it might offer answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask. In the span of a few hours, my entire world had shifted beneath my feet. The clinical arrangement I'd thought I could handle emotionally had become intensely personal. And now Antonio Monterosso wanted to pull me deeper into this dangerous world by making me officially part of his family.

And underneath it all, the central problem remained: I would have to discuss sex with Damian Cavalieri.

When would it happen? How would it happen? Would he expect me to simply... submit whenever it was medically optimal? Would there be any tenderness, any consideration for my feelings, or would it be purely functional?

I needed to find him. This conversation couldn't be delayed any longer, no matter how mortifying it would be. Whatever arrangement we came to, it had to be clearly understood by both parties. I couldn't afford any more surprises or assumptions.

Steeling myself with a deep breath, I left my rooms and made my way through the estate's corridors toward Damian's study.

The conversation with Damian had been every bit as mortifying as I'd anticipated. His dark eyes had remained unreadable as I stumbled through explanations about the doctor's findings, about the necessity of the "traditional approach." He'd listened in that unnervingly calm way of his, occasionally asking clarifying questions that made my face burn with embarrassment.

"I understand," he'd said finally, his voice giving nothing away. "We'll discuss the specifics when the time comes. There's no need to worry about it now."

No need to worry. As if the prospect of regular intimate encounters with him was something I could simply set aside like an appointment to be scheduled later.

That night, I barely slept.

The next evening, despite my protests and desire to avoid any public events, Damian insisted we attend Antonio's charity gala.

"It would be disrespectful to decline," he'd said, adjusting his black bow tie with practiced ease. "Antonio specifically requested your presence."

Now, as our car wound through the hills toward the Monterosso estate, I fidgeted with the elegant emerald gown Jennifer had selected for me. The dress was beautiful—too beautiful for someone like me.

"You look nervous," Damian observed from beside me.

"I don't belong at events like this," I admitted. "I'm not... I'm not sophisticated enough for this world."

"You saved Antonio Monterosso's life," he reminded me quietly. "That earns you more respect than any amount of sophistication ever could."

The Monterosso estate was even more impressive than the Cavalieri property. Ancient cypress trees lined the long driveway, and the villa itself seemed to glow with warm golden light against the darkening sky. Luxury cars filled the circular drive, and elegantly dressed guests moved in clusters across the manicured grounds.

"Stay close to me," Damian murmured as we approached the entrance. "And remember—you have every right to be here."

The ballroom was magnificent, with crystal chandeliers casting sparkling light across marble floors and walls adorned with Renaissance frescoes. I felt completely out of place among the sophisticated crowd of politicians, business leaders, and social elites, but Damian's steady presence beside me provided some measure of comfort.

Antonio found us within minutes of our arrival, his face lighting up with genuine warmth when he saw me.

"Miss Rossi," he said, taking my hand and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. "You look radiant. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Monterosso."

"Please, call me Antonio. And I do hope you've reconsidered my offer. The invitation remains open."

Before I could respond, Damian smoothly intervened. "Perhaps we could discuss such matters at a more appropriate time, Antonio."

The older man smiled knowingly. "Of course, of course. Tonight is for celebration and charity. Miss Rossi, would you honor an old man with a dance later this evening?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

As the evening progressed, I found myself overwhelmed by the opulence and the constant introductions to people whose names I would never remember. When Antonio was called away to give his speech about the children's hospital, I excused myself from the ballroom, desperate for a few moments of quiet air.

The Monterosso gardens were extensive, with winding paths that led through perfectly manicured hedges and flower beds. I followed one of the smaller paths, grateful for the solitude and the cool night breeze that helped calm my nerves.

It was then that I heard the voices.

"You know we shouldn't be meeting like this," a woman's voice whispered, breathless with something that sounded like suppressed laughter.

"When has 'shouldn't' ever stopped us?" came the masculine response, followed by the unmistakable sound of lips meeting skin.

My feet moved toward the sound before my brain fully processed what I was doing. Some instinct told me this was important, that whatever was happening in those shadows would somehow affect the already complex web of relationships surrounding me.

The voices grew clearer as I approached, and I could make out more of their conversation.

"If Antonio finds out—"

"My father has more pressing concerns than our little... arrangement."

The woman's words were cut off by another kiss, accompanied by a soft moan that made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I should leave. I should turn around right now and pretend I'd never heard anything.

But I couldn't move. Something about the voices nagged at me, familiar in a way that made my stomach churn with apprehension.

I took another step forward, trying to get a better view through the olive branches, when my foot came down on a dry twig.

CRACK.

The sound echoed through the grove like a gunshot.

"Who's there?" the woman's voice called sharply, all traces of breathless intimacy replaced by alarm.

Before I could retreat, before I could disappear back into the shadows, the garden's automatic security lighting triggered, flooding the grove with golden light that illuminated everything with perfect, devastating clarity.

I found myself staring directly into the faces of Ricardo Monterosso and Benedetta Russo, both disheveled and caught in a passionate embrace that spoke of long familiarity and deep intimacy.

The words escaped me before I could stop them:

"Oh my God."