She Tore Up The Ultrasound The Day He Got Married — But The Mafia Boss Found Her Too Late

As the weeks passed, Iris began to adapt to her new reality with a quiet, fierce resilience that earned her the grudging respect of the Voss Syndicate.

She did not abandon her love for flowers. At her request, Nikolai had a massive, glass-walled greenhouse constructed on the eastern lawn of the estate. Filled with rare orchids, English roses, and delicate ranunculus, the greenhouse became her sanctuary—a quiet place where she could escape the heavy, armed atmosphere of the mansion and feel the dirt between her fingers again.

Her pregnancy was progressing smoothly. By her fourth month, a small, distinct curve had formed beneath her waistline—a living, growing proof of the miracle that had brought two vastly different worlds colliding together.

Nikolai changed too.

The ruthless mob boss who had once spent sixteen hours a day managing smuggling rings and enforcing underworld territory began coming home early every afternoon. He would sit on a wooden bench inside the greenhouse, quietly reading financial documents while watching Iris tend to her plants, occasionally standing up just to wrap his arms around her from behind and rest his hand over her stomach to feel the faint, soft flutters of their child.

"You're soft today, Don Voss," Iris teased one afternoon, wiping a smudge of dirt from her nose with her sleeve as Nikolai kissed the back of her neck.

"I am merely preserving my investments, little flower," Nikolai murmured against her skin, his hand caressing her stomach gently. "How is Baby Voss doing today?"

"He—or she—is currently demanding strawberries," Iris laughed, leaning her head back against his broad chest. "And fresh air."

"Then fresh air you shall have," Nikolai smiled.

Suddenly, Viktor entered the greenhouse, his face pale and sweating profusely despite the cool autumn breeze outside.

"Don Nikolai," Viktor said, his voice tight with anxiety. "We have a problem at the main gates. It’s... it’s Miss Camille."

Iris spun around instantly. "Camille? My best friend?"

"She arrived in a taxi ten minutes ago," Viktor explained rapidly. "She was hysterical, claiming she needed to see you immediately. She was holding a large package addressed to Bloom & Stem."

Iris hurried out of the greenhouse, Nikolai following closely at her side, his hand resting instinctively on his concealed firearm.

In the grand foyer of the mansion, Camille was pacing frantically, surrounded by three armed guards. She looked exhausted, her hair messy, tears streaming down her face. When she saw Iris walk down the stairs, she let out a loud gasp and rushed forward, throwing her arms around her.

"Iris! Oh my god, Iris!" Camille wept, hugging her tightly. "I was so worried about you! You disappeared four weeks ago! These scary men kept coming to the shop asking about you!"

"Camille, I'm okay," Iris comforted her, pulling back to look at her friend's face. "I'm safe. I promise."

"I brought your mail," Camille sobbed, holding up a heavy brown paper box tied with twine. "This package arrived at the shop yesterday from France. It was marked Urgent - Live Floral Samples. I knew how much you were waiting for those rare French rose cuttings, so I brought it straight here after one of Nikolai’s men gave me the address."

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed instantly as he looked at the box.

"Viktor," Nikolai commanded softly. "Step back."

Iris froze. "Nikolai, what is it? It’s just rose cuttings from my supplier in Lyon—"

"You didn't order any rose cuttings from France this month, Iris," Nikolai said quietly, his voice turning into sharp, hardened steel. "You told me yesterday that the French nurseries were closed for the winter season."

Iris’s blood ran cold. "I... I forgot..."

Before anyone could move, Nikolai stepped forward, grabbed the brown package from Camille’s hands, and walked swiftly toward the heavy iron doors leading to the courtyard. He tossed the package into the center of the stone driveway, pulled his pistol, and fired three rapid shots into the wooden box from twenty feet away.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The box exploded, but not with paper or dirt.

A thick, dark purple cloud of pressurized chemical gas erupted from inside the package, hissing violently as it expanded into the cold air, corroding the gravel stones beneath it within seconds.

Camille screamed, clapping her hands over her mouth in absolute terror.

"Pressurized mustard gas," Viktor said, his eyes wide with horror as he checked the wind direction. "A proximity trigger. If she had opened that box inside the shop... or inside this house..."

Iris staggered backward, her breath catching in her throat as the realization hit her like a physical blow. The trap hadn't just been designed to kill her. It had been designed to dissolve her lungs—and the lungs of her unborn child—within minutes.

Nikolai stood in the driveway, his face completely devoid of color, his chest heaving with a dark, primal rage that shattered whatever humanity he had left. He turned slowly toward Viktor, his eyes burning with a terrifying, demonic fury.

"Find out who delivered that package to the shop," Nikolai ordered, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the seasoned guards shudder. "And bring me Hector Renard’s chief lieutenant."