Page 85 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

“How—how are you guys here?” I stuttered.

“First, where’s baby Zachar?” Natasha asked.

“Mommy!” My three-year-old boy hopped out of the nanny’s arms and rushed to my feet.

“There he is!” I smiled, picking him up.

“My God, he’s so handsome,” Natasha said, leaning closer to play with him. “He has your eyes.”

Zachar was the spitting image of his father: same dirty blond hair, porcelain skin, and charming smile, plus a pair of green eyes he got from me. The boy was a symbol of our love.

“Zachar, say hello to Aunt Natasha,” I said to him, shifting his attention to her.

“Zachar, darling, pay no attention to your mother. You can call me Natasha,” she said with a broad grin.

Dmitry and Sasha joined her, and they all admired my boy.

It turned out that Vlad had reached out to them a few days ago after I casually mentioned that I had missed them. I had no idea he’d taken it seriously, but I was glad that he did.

I locked eyes with him as he conversed with a small group of men. “Thank you,” I mouthed, a hand on my chest and he raised a glass with a faint grin.

“Hold on, what about Babushka? How’s she coping now that you’re here?” I asked Natasha.

“Oh, she’ll survive a day or two with your Uncle Ivan,” she replied, smiling at Zachar as he played with her hair. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re somewhere around,” I replied.

“I’m proud of you, Sienna. And this place is amazing—you’re amazing.”

“Thank you, aunty,” I answered.

She let out a sigh. “I’ll have to get used to that.”

We both laughed.

I caught Fiona standing at a distance, waving at me. “Excuse me,” I said and attempted to leave when Zachar began to cry.

“I think he wants to go with you.” Natasha handed him back to me.

I accepted him, and he slipped into my arms.

“Hi, Sia.” Fiona smiled as I approached her. “Hey, Zachar.” She playfully touched his cheeks.

“You made it,” I said to her.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she replied. “You’ve waited long for this day, and I’m glad that it’s finally here. I’m really proud of you, Sienna.”

“Aww. Thank you, Fiona.” I slightly hugged her. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

She was wearing a stunning long red gown with a pair of heels, a silver necklace around her neck.

“Not as beautiful as you are, obviously,” she said modestly, admiring me with her eyes.

Just like Fiona, I was wearing a long gown that almost swept the fine marble floor; it was green, and it complemented the color of my eyes. At least that was what my husband had said earlier this morning.

Fiona and I were still talking when Zachar started whining, and he wouldn’t shut up. I tried everything that I could, but nothing was working. My best friend offered to help, as well, but the boy was persistent with his wailing.

I caught Fiona laughing as she watched me struggle with my three-year-old. “Don’t get too cocky; you’ll be a mom one day, too,” I said.

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