Page 73 of Baby for the Bratva

If I went back a year, or even six months, and told myself that I’d be happy with the possibility of having a man’s baby, my old self would lose her mind. In the past, I always tried to retain as little responsibility in my life because I knew that my relationships were built on nothing but good sex and empty promises. Bringing a baby into that would only make things worse when the temporary bliss wore off, and I had to be single again.

Like my relationship with Tyler. If I had a baby with him, I’d regret it.

But Yuri… I like to think I wouldn’t regret it, so long as he took care of me after and didn’t blame me for bringing such a sudden blessing into our life. We’re both equally at fault. We chose the risk, and we might have to accept the result together.

But that’s not a guarantee. It’s not even likely, but I’ll know once the regular date of my period comes around. If I miss it, there’ll be much more reason to suspect I’m giving birth in nine months.

I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m supposed to be the wife of a mafia boss on paper only. We can’t be lovers anymore. He’s bad for me. He’s using me to protect himself from the consequences of his crimes.

I imagine Molly would probably tell me those things, but she doesn’t exactly know the situation I’m in. I haven’t talked to her in days, and I doubt I can spill any more secrets to her after what I’ve witnessed and participated in.

I can imagine it now.

Oh, yeah, Molly, I sentenced this woman to be tossed overboard for killing one of Yuri’s men. No, she wasn’t handed over to the police. Yes, I did commit a crime.

As fast and loose as Molly plays it, I doubt she’s going to approve of my involvement in Yuri’s criminal lifestyle, and for that reason, I’m going to have to part ways with her. As a matter of fact, I can think of few people I can retain any sort of relationship with once I tie the knot with Yuri.

My mom, obviously. She’s going to want to know what the hell is going on, but I’m going to have to keep the details sparse. I met this guy, fell in love, and he’s rich enough for me not to care about the consequences of marrying.

Oh, and he’s a Russian mafia boss who has probably transported enough cocaine in his lifetime to kill everyone on the planet ten times over.

No big deal, of course. None of this is a big deal at all.

I laugh to myself, flipping through channels and growing increasingly anxious as time passes. My brain is in a terrible feedback loop of worry, and my chest feels tight. I’d be looking up my symptoms right now to give myself even more anxiety if I had internet, but I don’t.

Maybe that’s for the best.

When the sun goes down, though, my worry gets the best of me. I could’ve eaten, but I haven’t. I have no appetite at all since Yuri disappeared. I can’t stay in this room and go crazy.

I jump up from the bed, refusing to watch any more mindless TV, and I open the door. Dima jumps out like he’s been waiting for me the whole time. His reaction time is insane.

“Where’s Yuri?” I ask, leaning in the doorway.

“On business. Return to your room immediately,” Dima snaps.

I scoff. “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m Yuri’s fiancée.”

Dima wrinkles his nose in confusion. It’s the first sign of any emotion from him, and it’s honestly more disturbing than the stone-cold expression he’s usually wearing.

“Didn’t know that, did you? Well, this sort of thing comes with special privileges,” I say in a snide manner.

“You are to stay in the room until Yuri gets back,” he recites.

I groan. “Seriously, I haven’t eaten anything at all today, and I deserve to know where Yuri is.”

“Two different things. If you’re hungry, I will have food delivered to you. Yuri is away for business.”

I grit my teeth, glaring at Dima and considering if his reaction time is fast enough to block a slap in the face.

Probably. That’s the only reason I haven’t done it yet.

“Just tell me where he is. I want to know that he’s safe.”

“I’m safe,” a deep voice growls from the end of the hallway.

I turn to see Yuri striding down the red carpet with a scowl on his handsome face. His white t-shirt is drenched in sweat at the neckline and armpits, but he doesn’t appear to be hurt in any way.

He points at me, the lines between his eyebrows deepening. “I told you to stay in the room.”

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