Chapter 167 Chapter 167

Chapter 167 Chapter 167
The sharp, tailored pantsuits of my early corporate career were replaced by silk dresses, cinched high under the bust, flowing down in dark navy, charcoal, and deep emerald folds that draped gracefully over the distinct, rounded swell of my belly. I sat at the executive desk in the estate’s  study, a steaming cup of warm milk and honey resting on a coaster beside my tablet. I wasn't in the city. I hadn't crossed the estate gates in over six weeks.

Nikolai had turned our wing into an impenetrable command center. Every secure fiber-optic line, every live surveillance stream, and every global trade manifest ran directly through high-speed terminals installed right here in our private wing. I managed the multi-billion-dollar holding operations of FV Global without ever setting foot outside our iron sanctuary, and Nikolai wouldn't have it any other way.

The heavy study doors clicked open. Nikolai walked in, his hair still slightly damp from the morning rain outside. He looked taller, broader, and more imposing than ever, carrying himself with the dark, unshakeable aura of a sovereign whose kingdom was completely secure. He didn't check the monitors. He walked straight around my desk, stepping directly into my space.

He didn't say good morning. Instead, he dropped to one knee beside my chair, his broad, calloused hands sliding instinctively onto the soft curve of my stomach through the navy silk. He leaned in, burying his face against my neck, breathing me in deeply with a heavy, satisfying chest rumble that vibrated straight through my body.
"Morning, husband," I whispered, a fond smirk touching my lips as my fingers threaded through his dark hair.

"You've been reading spreadsheets for an hour," he said, against my pulse point, his gravelly voice thick and possessive. His hands smoothed over my bump with delicate, practiced care. "Evelyn said twenty minutes of screen time, then a walk through the gardens."

"Evelyn said twenty minutes of continuous focus before a break, Nikolai," I corrected gently, tilting my head back to look down into his eyes. "And I am currently reviewing the secondary shipping permits for the London dock expansion." His eyes flicked down to my stomach as he felt a faint, distinct flutter beneath his palms, a soft, tapping movement as our child shifted inside me.

Instantly, his expression changed. The cold, corporate Don vanished, replaced by an intense, rapturous focus. His hands tightened around my waist, his broad thumb stroking gently over the exact spot where the baby had kicked.

"They're active today," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, velvet rasp. He pressed his lips directly over the silk against my bump, whispering low against my skin. "Listen to your mother. Stop kicking her ribs." A soft laugh escaped my lips. "They aren't kicking my ribs yet, Nikolai. They're just letting you know they're listening."
He stood up, effortlessly reaching under my arms to lift me out of the chair. He didn't ask; he gathered me into his arms, holding my weight against his chest as he carried me toward the oversized leather sofa near the bay window.

"Nikolai, I have legs," I reminded him, wrapping my arms comfortably around his neck.
"My legs are bigger," he growled flatly, sitting down on the leather cushion and positioning me securely on his lap, wrapping the heavy cashmere throw over my legs and keeping his hand firmly planted on my bump. "You sit. I read the manifests for you."

I rested my head against his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh as the rain tapped softly against the reinforced glass. In the early weeks, his territorial instinct had felt like a suffocating cage. But over the last two months, as his jealousy melted into absolute, protective adoration, his possessiveness had transformed into an impenetrable shield. I ran the empire; he guarded the throne.

A quiet knock sounded at the door before Wesley walked in, holding a slim leather folder. He stopped three paces back, taking in the sight of the Don sitting on the sofa with his pregnant Queen wrapped in his arms. Wesley didn't even blink anymore, he had grown completely accustomed to Nikolai’s refusal to let me out of arm's reach.

"Morning, Isla. Boss," Wesley said, opening the file. "The North American logistics audit is complete. Wesley signed off on the revised port tariffs, and the European commission accepted the Genoa terms without a single modification."
"They accepted because they had no choice," Nikolai said coldly, his eyes remaining fixed on my face, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic circles over my belly. "What about the security detail for the new warehouse in Boston?"

"Jules  placed twenty vetted men on the floor," Wesley replied smoothly. "And your uncle Matteo sent four senior tactical officers from Naples to oversee the perimeter."
"Good," Nikolai growled. "Tell Alesso to send the weekly summary to Isla’s terminal by four. If there are any discrepancies, I want them resolved before dinner."
"Understood," Wesley nodded, turning to leave. "Oh and Maria wanted me to tell you that the fresh peach tarts are ready in the kitchen. She said if Isla doesn't come down to eat one, she's bringing the whole tray up here herself. Also, Ares is getting a bit, Rowdy, he hasn’t seen the madam in a week"

"Tell her we'll be down in ten minutes, Bring Ares up" I called back with a laugh. As Wesley closed the door, I turned in Nikolai’s lap, framing his dark, handsome face with my hands. "You see? Everything is running perfectly. The empire hasn't collapsed because I'm staying at the estate. I want Ares beside me."
“Isla, no” He started saying.
“No. You bought Ares for me, he stays with me” I said.

He looked down at me, his eyes filled with that deep, eternal fire that bound us together. He reached up, cupping the back of my head, bringing my mouth to his in a slow, deep, devastatingly sweet kiss that took my breath away. "Fine," he murmured against my lips, his hand resting warm and strong over our child. "My job is simply to make sure no one ever touches the iron." The third-floor wing at the east corner of the estate had spent twenty years in quiet, shadow-draped storage.

It was a massive room featuring soaring ten-foot arched windows, exposed timber beams, and a private stone balcony overlooking the misty pine forest and the rolling blue expanse of the Atlantic. But over the last four weeks, under the absolute, uncompromising direction of my husband, the silent room had been transformed into a sanctuary fit for royal blood.

I was standing near the center of the dark hardwood floor, wearing a loose, powder-blue silk dress that highlighted the full, round curve of my six-month bump. Around me, the room hummed with subtle activity. There were no bright, synthetic plastic toys or garish colors. The nursery of the Ferro dynasty was built of solid, hand-carved mahogany, brushed bronze hardware, and heavy cashmere drapery in deep cream and slate grey.