The Billionaire's Secret Love Child(202)

When neighbors rushed to her apartment, they found Illona struggling for breath in a pool of her own blood. She had been repeatedly stabbed, and the weapon was still poking from her chest. Illona's murder has remained unsolved ever since, but it shouldn't have. There is more than enough evidence to bring the murderer to trail. Several witnesses, a murder weapon, and a shirt are all pieces of vital evidence that have been ignored by investigators.

This newspaper has uncovered the truth about this gruesome murder, and we are able to reveal exclusively, that the chief suspect in the murder is Stanislv Kuklov, Illona's son. He is better known today as the Russian Ambassador to the United States of America.

Follow each day this week as we exclusively reveal how this man has avoided arrest for so many years and what can now be done to bring him to trial.



Slava shut his phone and smiled to himself as his plane took off towards New York.

*****

''But how do I hold her,'' Slav said as he looked at the tiny bundle in his arms.

''Oh I can see you've got a lot to learn,'' Octavia said as she walked up the gangplank on Serene. ''Bottle feeding and diaper changes, you can learn the lot.''

''Octavia. Come here please,'' he said. As he put his arm around her, he kissed her. ''You have made me so a happy, I can't tell you. She is so beautiful. I'm afraid I will never be able to give her away to another man like your father did on our wedding day.''

''You will if he's as good a man as you,'' Octavia said.

*****

Later that day Slava received a text message from Igor.

''Judge says he's an animal. Gave him thirty-five years.''

*****





THE END





BWWM The Billionaire Daddy – a BWWM Pregnancy Romance


1

Viola Turner couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was going to be late for work, but she couldn’t move from the doorway to her bedroom. She was in her small one bedroom apartment, half dressed. She wore her black skirt that was a part of her uniform, but the white shirt hung over her shoulder. Her toothbrush was in her mouth, and white foam leaked from the corner of her lips, contrasting with her dark chocolate colored skin. She had been multitasking when her boyfriend, Jerome, had decided to break up with her.

“Are you kidding me?” Viola asked.

Jerome was tall, but he was slumped down, sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at the floor. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t joke.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“I just don’t think it’s going anywhere, Vi.”

“Don’t call me Vi. People who are breaking up with me don’t get to call me Vi. It’s Viola. Or Miss. Turner, for you. Yeah, Miss Turner is fine.”

Jerome sighed and stood up. He still didn’t look at her, he stared at the back of his hands instead, which he held up under his chin, as if he had never noticed them before.

“Look at me,” Viola said.

Jerome did.

“What happened?”

“It just isn’t working.”

“You aren’t working. I’ve been paying for everything while you keep screwing up job interviews.”

“I knew you’d bring that up,” Jerome said, sighing.

Viola rolled her eyes. “Just get out, I have to go to work.”

“Get out?” Jerome asked. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“You thought you would break up with me, and then stay here? Jerome, get real. Get your stuff packed up, be gone before I get off tonight.”

“Fine,” Jerome said, and Viola didn’t waste another second on the man. She turned and headed for the bathroom, so she could finish brushing her teeth.

Viola worked downtown, at a restaurant called Vine, which was very posh, and very expensive. Viola would have never been able to eat there if she didn’t work there. The clientele was some of the most powerful and richest men and women in New York, and it was a rare week that Viola didn’t serve a famous actor or musician.

She lived in Brooklyn, and caught the bus to Manhattan, leaving her apartment without a word to her now ex-boyfriend. On the bus, she sat and seethed, trying to keep her anger in check, but failing to do so. As she neared work, she tried not to think of Jerome at all, but that was nearly impossible as well.

She and Jerome had been dating for almost two years, and she had begun to wonder if he was the man she would be spending the rest of her life with. When they had started dating he had been working at a good job and had been making much more than she did with her waitressing work. And then he had been laid off, and since then, nothing.

It was just before two when the bus pulled to a stop a block or so from Vine, and Viola climbed off and started walking. It was Saturday, and a few people were there as she walked in, having a late lunch, but it wouldn’t get busy until around seven or so. Most days of the week you couldn’t get in for dinner without a reservation, and you couldn’t get a reservation unless you had a certain reputation or enough money to grease the palms of the maitre d’s and get yourself that reputation.

The restaurant was sparsely furnished, with small tables and delicate looking chairs, the pain on the wall a soft cream color. Viola walked through the front door and to the back, something that her boss hated, but not enough to deter her from doing so and walking all the way around the block to reach the alley that ran behind the restaurant, and led to the employee entrance.