Page 18 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

"How are we feeling?"

"Good," I reply, adopting a mask of confidence I'm far from feeling. The truth is, I'm a bundle of nerves, every instinct on high alert, but I'll be damned if I show it.

"Alright then," she says, gesturing for me to lay down on the examination table. "Please lay back."

I comply, watching as she prepares the ultrasound machine, her movements practiced and precise. Then comes the cold, lubey cream on my lower belly, a sensation so unexpected it draws a shiver from me despite my best efforts to remain composed.

She begins the scan, moving the wand with a gentle, assured touch.

After what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few minutes, she points at the screen, a small smile playing on her lips. "Ah, yes. Here it is."

I lean forward, my gaze fixed on the screen, and there it is. The baby. It's tiny, no bigger than a bean, maybe even smaller. In that moment, everything else fades away—the fear, the uncertainty, the weight of my past. All I can see is that tiny flicker of life, so fragile and yet so fiercely present.

It's a surreal feeling, seeing a part of me, a part of us, growing inside me. This little bean, this potential for a future I never dared to dream of. For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, the reality of it all hits me. I'm going to be a mother. I'm going to bring a life into this world.

A tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I quickly wipe it away, trying to hide my emotions from Julia.

"What do you see?"

"Just a tiny heartbeat," she says with a reassuring smile. "Everything looks good so far."

She continues her examination, marking points on my abdomen with a pen, making notes on the paper chart. "It's still early, but everything seems to be progressing as it should."

I let out a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.

The doctor, still peering over her glasses with that bubbly demeanor, pauses for a moment, a hint of procedural duty creeping into her voice. "And where is the father? It's important for the father to attend these appointments too, you know."

How am I supposed to explain that this kid has three fathers, technically? That's not exactly a common situation, even in the most unconventional of families. But then again, when has my world ever been normal?

I plaster on a fake smile, one that doesn't quite reach my eyes, already spinning the web of half-truths I'll need to navigate this conversation. "Ah, I'll tell him to come next time," I say, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears.

The doctor seems satisfied with the answer, or at least she doesn't press further, for which I'm grateful. I'm not ready to dive into the complexities of my personal life with someone who's essentially a stranger, no matter how kind or quirky they might be.

As I leave the room, the weight of her question lingers. How am I going to navigate this? The reality of my situation, of our situation, is far from conventional.

But one thing's for sure: this child, my child, will never lack for protection, for love. Whether it's from me, Roman, Luca, Grigori, or all of us together, they'll grow up knowing they were wanted, cherished. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but since when have I ever done anything traditionally?

"Alright, you're free to go now. I want to see you again very soon. And I'll be prescribing you with some prenatal vitamins," she continues.

I manage a nod, barely processing her words. My mind is miles away, tangled in a web of what-ifs and maybes. The reality of my situation—pregnant, potentially with Roman's child, yet not exclusively—feels like a ticking bomb in my life, a life already fraught with danger and deceit. How do I navigate this? How do I protect this burgeoning life from the threats that shadow my every step?

The mention of prenatal vitamins snaps me back to the present, a reminder of the tangible, immediate steps I need to take. "Thank you," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I'll make sure to follow up."

I haven't told Roman yet that he's not the only candidate to be the father of this baby. Would he get sad, jealous? I'm not sure. Roman's feelings are a labyrinth, one I've navigated with care, but this revelation could be the Minotaur waiting in the center. He deserves to know, but the timing... it has to be right. Right now, my focus, my energy, must be on safeguarding this child from predators lurking in the shadows, like Bella.

I'll take her life if that's what it takes. She will not touch my baby. My hand protectively reaches to my lower belly, a vow made not just to my unborn child, but to myself. In this life of violence and power, this small, growing life has become my beacon, my new center of gravity.

Chapter 10

Grigori

As the last punch lands, the sound of bone crunching under the relentless force of my men's fists, I lean back against the cold wall, unimpressed. The interloper, now barely recognizable as the man who thought he could infiltrate our ranks, lies motionless on the ground. I watch from the corner, the scene unfolding before me with a monotony that's become all too familiar. Torture, pain, the desperate gasps for mercy—it's all part of the job. And frankly, it can get very boring at times.

"Is he still breathing?" I ask, my voice flat, detached from the brutality that's just occurred. One of my men, Twitch, checks, his movements efficient, practiced.

"Barely," he replies, looking up at me for the next order.

I nod, already thinking ahead. "Don't cut his tongue yet. Make sure he talks before. We need to know who sent him."

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