Page 60 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

“Promise me something,” Sofia suddenly says, turning to look at each of us in turn. “Promise me that no matter what, she’ll know a life beyond this. Beyond the Bratva.”

“We promise,” I answer for all of us, the weight of our commitment settling in my chest. “She’ll know love, she’ll know laughter, and she’ll know a family that stands by her, always.”

Sofia smiles, a soft, radiant thing that lights up the gathering dusk. “Thank you.”

As we dry off and gather our things, Sofia’s question lingers in the air, thoughtful and a bit apprehensive. “What do you think she’ll think about having three dads?” she asks, wrapping a towel around herself.

Ivan, always the strategist, considers this seriously. “She’ll think she’s the luckiest girl in the world,” he states confidently. “Three times the advice, three times the protection, and three times the love.”

Sofia smiles at Ivan’s words, a touch of amusement lighting up her eyes. “Three times the advice, huh? Let’s hope it doesn’t confuse her too much.”

Ivan chuckles, a rare sound that fills the room with warmth. “Confusion is just the first step to wisdom. She’ll be wise beyond her years.”

Viktor jumps in, unable to resist a jab. “Just as long as she doesn’t inherit your sense of humor, Ivan. We want the girl to be able to make friends.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension of the conversation easing into something lighter. “And what about your driving skills, Viktor? We’re aiming for safety, remember?”

Sofia’s laughter joins ours, her earlier apprehension melting away in the face of our banter. “Well, with Maxym’s cooking, Ivan’s strategic mind, and Viktor’s enthusiasm, she’s bound to be a well-rounded individual.”

I nod, feeling a swell of pride at the thought. “And with you as her mother, she’ll be unstoppable. Kind, smart, and strong.”

The words hang between us, a testament to our collective hopes for the little life we’re about to welcome. But then, Sofia’s voice cuts through the warmth, a reminder of the cold reality we’ve all been trying to ignore.

“But I won’t be there, will I?” Her words are soft, barely above a whisper, yet they land with the weight of a thousand bricks, silencing the room.

The laughter fades, replaced by a heavy silence. Sofia looks down, the shadow of sadness crossing her features, a stark contrast to the lightness of just a moment ago.

I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. We’ve danced around this subject, allowed ourselves to forget, even if just for a moment, the terms we agreed upon. Sofia’s presence has become a constant, her laughter a melody in the otherwise somber soundtrack of our lives. The thought of her leaving, of taking a part of us with her, is a reality I’ve been reluctant to face.

Ivan clears his throat, breaking the silence, but his usual confidence seems to falter. “Sofia, we...” he starts, struggling to find the words that could possibly bridge the gap her statement has created.

Viktor shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the floor. The man who’s always ready with a joke or a light-hearted comment finds himself at a loss, the situation’s gravity rendering him speechless.

I look at Sofia, her vulnerability laid bare, and realize the depth of the decision we made. It wasn’t just about protecting her, giving her freedom, or ensuring the baby’s safety. It was about us, about me, grappling with the impending loss of her presence, her influence in our lives.

“Sofia,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, “we made an agreement, yes. But that doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. You’ve become... You’re important to us. To me.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, searching, perhaps for the assurance that this isn’t the end, that the bonds we’ve formed won’t be severed by distance or agreements made in a different time, under different circumstances.

“We can talk about it, reevaluate,” I suggest, the idea forming as I speak. “Things have changed. We’ve changed.”

Ivan nods, adding his support. “Maxym’s right. We didn’t anticipate... this,” he gestures vaguely, encompassing the space between us all, “when we made those plans.”

She’s leaving. The thought echoes through my mind like a gunshot in an empty alley—sharp and devastating. It makes my blood boil. It’s not right; it’s not fucking fair. She belongs here, with us.

My gaze flicks over to Sofia again, her frailty piercing straight through my hardened exterior like a well-aimed bullet. I’m not a man of many words but fuck it all if I’ll let her walk away without a fight.

“Sofia,” my voice rumbles low from deep within my chest, every syllable dripping with desperation and undeniable longing. “We don’t have to be fucking stuck with what we agreed before.” I pause for just a moment to steady myself, to pull back from the edge of vulnerability I’ve inadvertently tread upon.

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine then, seeking reassurance, seeking solace. It’s a sight that pulls at my stern heart with a surprising tenderness.

Ivan pipes in after an eternity, “He’s right, we didn’t fucking see this shit coming.” His arms sweep wide, encompassing the tension, Sofia, me—everything.

The ensuing silence is broken by Viktor finally finding his voice. He doesn’t need to say anything—the steel in his gaze says it all.

We wade deep into our fears and hopes, each word carving a path toward understanding—one raw revelation at a time. It isn’t easy by any stretch but it’s necessary—a goddamn reckoning of where we stand and where we hope to be.

And through it all, one thought remains lodged in my mind like a thorn. Goddammit, I want her. I want to claim her, brand her as mine. The thought consumes me, becoming my lifeline in this tempest of emotions threatening to drown me.

---