“Don’t Hurt Me—I Can’t Walk,” Begged the Pregnant Woman — Then a Mafia Boss Changed Her Life Forever

Описание: “Don’t Hurt Me—I Can’t Walk,” Begged the Pregnant Woman — Then a Mafia Boss Changed Her Life Forever

Please… don’t hit me anymore. Not me. Think about the baby. Her trembling voice rose in the dark alley, desperate, broken, so thin it was almost swallowed by the wind shrieking through the filthy brick walls. It wasn’t a cry for help. It was the pleading of someone who’d run out of hope of being helped. Josie lay curled on the snow covered pavement, barefoot, no shoes, no coat. Her seven months pregnant belly swelled beneath a thin shirt soaked with blood and dirty snow. Her face was bruised and swollen, lips split, blood seeping from her temple, one eye nearly swollen shut. Both arms wrapped tight around her belly, not to keep herself warm, but to shield the child who hadn’t yet been born. Her knees had slammed into the hard ice when she fell a moment earlier. She’d tried to run. Run barefoot over snowy sidewalks in the middle of a Chicago winter night, eight degrees below zero, without looking back. But she couldn’t run anymore. Her body refused. Her legs refused. All that remained were the arms around her pregnant belly and a plea she knew no one would hear. Behind her, Craig came forward. Drunk. His breath reeked of alcohol, spilling into the freezing air in pale white clouds. He shouted, his voice warped and cracking, heavy with the rage of a man who’d been out of control for a long time but had never admitted it. His fist clenched, lifting. And Josie simply closed her eyes, tightened her arms around her belly, as if holding on hard enough could keep the outside world from touching the life inside her. She was used to this, used to the punches, used to the taste of blood in her mouth, used to counting the seconds until it ended. But tonight she wasn’t afraid for herself. She was afraid for the small living thing pushing weakly inside her, as if the baby knew, as if the baby could feel that danger was coming. But in that exact moment, at the mouth of the alley, a black SUV pulled to a stop. No screech of brakes. No drama. Just a vehicle stopping in the winter night, as though it had belonged to this scene all along. The door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Broad shouldered. A sharply cut face, a faint scar running from beneath his ear down the left side of his neck.

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