The Mafia's Runaway Bride: Pregnant with His Heir

Lila’s POV

I stared at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, my fingertips tracing the soft curve of my cheek—the feature that had earned me the nickname "Squirrel" among my coworkers.

The harsh fluorescent lighting did me no favors, accentuating the shadows beneath my eyes, testament to too many late nights and not enough rest.

My gaze drifted to the collection of bills spread across my vanity—rent notice, utilities, credit card statements—all demanding payment I could barely afford.

How did I end up here? The thought echoed in my mind as I applied another layer of mascara, preparing for my shift.

Three months ago, I'd been planning to audition for the New York Ballet Company after graduation. Now, I was applying glitter to my skin for men who would tuck dollar bills into my G-string.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I Lila Bravo, with my prestiSebastianus dance scholarship and diploma from NYU, reduced to stripping at Eclipse—one of the most exclusive nightclubs in Brooklyn.

The pay was better than retail, certainly, but this detour had never been part of my carefully constructed life plan.

I caught myself staring blankly at my reflection again, lost in memories I'd rather forget. Memories of a life that no longer belonged to me, of family obligations and arranged marriages—and betrayal.

Three months ago. That's all it took for everything to change.

Flash Back

Three months ago, the Bravo estate had been transformed for the engagement celebration. White roses and lilies adorned every surface, their scent cloying and oppressive in the summer heat.

I felt like I was suffocating, not just from the flowers but from the weight of my family's expectations.

"You look beautiful, mi hija," my father, Matty Bravo, had said, straightening the diamond necklace around my throat—a gift from my fiancé's family. A man I had never met face to face.

Ethan Pacheco. Even his name felt foreign on my tongue. The heir to the Pacheco Group, their greatest business rival and now soon-to-be allies through this strategic marriage. A marriage I wanted no part of.

What could I say? That I had dreams of my own? That I didn't want to be a bargaining chip in some corporate merger disguised as a marriage? My father wouldn't understand. Family duty came first. Always.

I had slipped away while the guests were arriving, needing a moment to breathe, to think. The west part of the mansion was quieter, and I had wandered aimlessly until I heard sounds coming from one of the guest bedrooms.

A woman's voice, breathy and insistent: "Yes, Ethan, harder... God, yes!"

I had frozen, my hand on the partially open door. Through the crack, I could see them—a strong-muscled man and a big-boobed woman entwined on the bed.

The woman's legs wrapped around his waist, her red-painted fingernails digging into his back as he moved above her.

There was a red mole on the back of the hand he held the woman's breast, and although the man had his back to me, I knew he must be my fiance who I had never met.

"Ethan. Ethan. Ethan..."

My fiancé's name—the man I was supposed to marry in months—was having sex with another woman hours before their engagement party.

I had backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs. The diamond necklace suddenly felt like a collar, choking me.

Without conscious thought, I had found myself moving toward the garage, grabbing the keys to my father's least conspicuous car, and driving away from the estate, away from my family, away from Ethan Pacheco and the future that had been decided for me.

I ended up at a bar downtown in the late night, drowning my sorrows in tequila shots. That's when he appeared beside me—tall, handsome, with eyes that seemed to see right through me.

"Bad day?" he'd asked, his voice a deep rumble that I felt rather than heard over the pulsing music.

"The worst," I'd replied, raising her shot glass in a mock toast before downing it.

"I'm Ethan," he'd said, signaling the bartender for two more drinks.

I had laughed then, a bitter, hollow sound. "Of course you are." The universe truly had a sick sense of humor. "I'm running away from one Ethan tonight. I don't need another."

The funny thing was, with all the drama going on, I still didn't know what my fucking fiance looked like.

But he'd been charming, attentive, and I'd been vulnerable, hurt, and increasingly drunk. When he suggested we get a room at the hotel next door, I hadn't said no.

I'd wanted to feel something—anything—other than the suffocating weight of my family's expectations.

One night of rebellion, of passion with a stranger who happened to share my fiancé's name.

The morning after, I'd woken alone, with nothing but a lingering hangover and the crushing realization that I couldn't go home again. Not to face my father's disappointment.

Not to marry a man who had already betrayed me. So I'd disappeared, using my emergency savings to rent a small studio apartment in Brooklyn, cutting off contact with everyone from my old life.

Those savings hadn't lasted long.

End of flashback.

I had been working as a stripper at this club for over a month.

"Are you coming, Squirrel? Or are you planning to stare at your reflection all night?" Ava's voice, warm with affection and tinged with amusement, pulled me back to the present.

The statuesque Black woman leaned against the doorframe, already dressed in the club's signature outfit—a shimmering blue corset that emphasized her curves.

I blinked, refocusing on my reflection. "Sorry, I was just... thinking."

"Dangerous habit," Ava teased, crossing the room to stand behind me. She placed her hands on my shoulders, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "You look pale. Are you feeling okay?"

'No', I wanted to say. 'I'm broke, and scared, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.'

Instead, I forced a smile. "Just tired. Didn't sleep well last night."

Ava squeezed my shoulders. "Well, perk up. Tonight's supposed to be big. Henry Pacheco himself is hosting some VIPs in the executive lounge."

My heart stuttered in her chest. "Pacheco?"

"Yeah, the big boss himself. You know—the guy who owns this place?" Ava's expression turned curious. "What's with the face? You look like you've seen a ghost."

'Worse', I thought. The Pachecos owned Eclipse? How had I not known? I'd been working here for a few weeks, and not once had I connected the dots between the nightclub and the family business empire I'd been about to marry into.