Page 23 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

“It’ll be nice having a friend who’s married to a powerful Russian mafia boss,” she teased.

“Marriage?” My eyebrows shot up, eyes wide with shock. “Hold on a second, you’re taking this way too far—we’re barely in the talking stage.”

“We’re thinking out loud, aren’t we?” She smiled, and gradually, her look became solemn. “Sienna, do you really like this man?”

Worry washed over her face, and I could tell she only wanted to be sure that I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

“I mean, you said it yourself: He’s a mafia boss—that shit comes with a lot of death and chaos, Si,” she added, her eyes fixed on me. “Are you sure you're ready for what comes with being associated with this man?”

I thought for a moment and said, “It might sound a little weird, but I believe I'll be safe around him.”

“That’s weird, Sia. Not a little weird.”

I sighed. “Look, I know how it sounds, and I might be moving too fast, but I feel…I feel safe around him, you know.” The break came when I groped for the right word to better describe my feelings. “It’s still a little too early to decide how exactly I feel about him. So, let’s see how it goes.”

“However it turns out. I’ll be here,” she said, her tone supportive and kind. “Just be careful, Sia. The mafia isn’t something to take lightly. It’ll be like playing with fire and expecting not to get burned.”

She was right, and that made my heart skip a beat. I was indeed playing with fire, but was I ready to get burned?

“Thanks, Fi.” I exhaled softly. “I’ll be careful.”

I watched my parents eat in silence and decided to raise the controversial topic that I was certain would catch them off guard. Then, I dove headfirst into the sensitive subject, shattering the uneasy calm.

“I ran into Vlad at the gallery opening yesterday,” I declared.

Mom’s eyes widened, and she spluttered, choking back on a mouthful of her drink.

Oops! Here we go.

“Sorry.” Dad passed her a napkin and then looked at me, surprised. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. We had a long talk,” I replied, watching the tension arise between us.

“You had a long talk,” Mom repeated, chuckling like she was nervous. “They had a long talk, Paul. Can you believe that?” She faced him. Her laughter was a clear indication of her disapproval and disbelief. She was holding back on something, using her laughs as cover.

I had brought this up on purpose, to see their reaction—the expressions they would wear. I needed to know if there was any chance at all that they would accept my feelings for Vlad. But with the way Mom was acting up, I didn’t think I’d get any approval.

“How did you two meet?” Dad asked me.

“He was staring at a painting, and I was drawn to him—I mean, to it—the painting, not Vlad, obviously,” I answered, stumbling on my words with a stutter.

“Oh, God,” Mom whispered to herself, her face bent over and shoulders sagging under the weight of my words.

Dad looked me straight in the eye, quietly chewing on his dessert. “What did you guys talk about?”

“Stuff,” I said casually, sipping my drink.

“Anything particularly interesting?”

“Not really?” I replied, intentionally going round and round.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Mom grumbled under her breath.

“Well, half of the time, we talked majorly about the painting and how we both interpreted it,” I replied, poking my lobster with the tines of my fork.

“And the other half, what did you two talk about?” Dad inquired.

I was about to respond when I caught Mom glaring at him as if to say, stop it, you’re indulging her.

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