Page 21 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

“You’re right in front of me,” I say, my voice a low rumble. “How can I focus on the sandwich?”

Her smile widens, and she leans in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is the big, bad Viktor getting distracted by little ol’ me?”

I try to maintain my composure, but her closeness is disarming. “No, no way,” I counter, even though every part of me is acutely aware of her.

“Prove it,” she challenges, moving even closer, her breath mingling with mine.

The air between us is charged, her challenge hanging there like a gauntlet thrown down. I stop what we’re doing, my focus entirely on her. My right hand finds the cabinet, and I lean in close, so close I can see flecks of gold in her eyes.

In that moment, something inside me snaps. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer with an urgency I can’t quite control. Our faces are inches apart, our lips almost touching.

Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and expectant, and I can feel her breath on my skin, warm and quick.

But then, the sharp beep of the stove cuts through the silence like a siren. We both freeze, our eyes snapping towards the source of the sound. The grilled cheese. Shit.

In a flash, we break apart, and I rush to salvage what’s left of our culinary adventure. “Fuck,” I mutter as I lift the blackened sandwich from the pan, the smell of burnt bread filling the air.

Sofia bursts into laughter, the sound bright and clear. She wipes a tear from her eye and teases, “Well, Viktor, you were right about one thing.”

I raise an eyebrow, curious despite myself. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She grins, mischief dancing in her eyes. “You really can burn water or, in this case, grilled cheese.”

I let out a laugh, shaking my head at her words. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I never claimed to be a chef.”

She leans back against the counter, still smiling. “Maybe stick to the tough guy stuff. Leave the cooking to the professionals.”

I cross my arms, pretending to be offended. “Hey, I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many talents. Cooking just isn’t one of them.”

Her laughter fills the room again, and it’s a sound I’m starting to get used to, one I want to hear more of. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Viktor.”

I find myself opening up more than I intended. “You know, I’m actually glad it’s you who will be the biological mother of the kid, not Kayla.”

Her smile is soft, sincere. “I’m glad you think that way.” There’s a warmth in her eyes that draws me in, and we lean closer, the pull between us undeniable.

But just as our lips are about to meet, the sound of the front door closing echoes through the house. We both freeze, the moment shattered.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“Probably Kayla,” I reply, a tinge of annoyance in my voice. “She was gathering her stuff...”

Sofia bites her lip, her brow furrowed. “You think she heard us?”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Well, I don’t really care if she did or not.” But deep down, a part of me is wary. Kayla’s unpredictable, and there’s no telling how she might react.

Chapter 9

Sofia

It’s been a week since that intense night, and things have surprisingly settled down. I’ve made up with almost all the Bratva men, and we’ve reached a sort of agreement. They’re going to spend time with me, at least once a week. Because, let’s face it, I was dying of boredom in this luxurious but isolating mansion.

But there’s still one line on that damned pink stick. I am still not pregnant.

They’ve also given me the freedom to choose whose baby I wish to carry. That’s a heavy choice, one I’m honestly not sure how to make. I’m terrible at making decisions at the best of times, and this? This is definitely not the best of times.

They are all so... compelling. Handsome, tall, and despite their somewhat morally gray areas, there’s something undeniably attractive about each of them. Viktor with his gruff exterior and unexpected kindness, Ivan with his intensity and surprising moments of gentleness, Maxym with his commanding presence and hidden depths.

And it’s not just their looks, though that would be enough to turn any girl’s head. It’s the way they carry themselves, the power and confidence they exude. They’re dangerous, yes, but in a way that’s thrilling, not terrifying.

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