Page 6 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

“Babushka.” I smiled as she embraced me so tightly, her perfume flooding my senses.

“Look at you!” she said, her eyes darting across my body in wonder. “So beautiful!”

For some reason, my cheeks flushed, and I found myself blushing at her remark.

“Last time I saw you, you were a baby,” she added emphatically.

I heard her say something else in Russian, and although I didn’t understand it, I recognized flattery when I heard it.

Dad cleared his throat to get her attention. “What about me? I’ve been standing here all this while.”

“Jealous much?” she teased and turned to him.

“Mama,” he called softly with wide open arms, and she slipped into them. “Oh, I didn't realize how much I’d missed you.”

“You miss me, but you never come home!” She struck his arm with a playful punch.

“Look who finally decided to visit,” a feminine voice joined in.

“Natasha!” Dad said, smiling at the slender, hot woman approaching him.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” she replied. “You too, Natalie.” She hugged Mom and then fixed her gaze on me.

“Sienna, this is your aunt, Natasha, my sister,” Dad introduced us.

“Older sister,” she emphasized. “The one in charge of taking care of dear old mom.”

“That part was highly unnecessary,” Babushka chipped in. “Besides, I can still take care of myself.”

“Nice to meet you, Aunt…” I said amidst chuckles.

“Oh, come on—quit the formalities. I’m not that old. Please, call me Natasha,” she said. “And my God! You’re gorgeous!”

I blushed again. Twice now. Did flattery run in this family?

“Indeed.” I heard another voice, a thick one this time. “Paul just decided to keep her from us,” a man, almost as old as my dad, said, walking down the steps.

Mom leaned in and whispered to me, “That’s your Uncle Ivan.”

He did look like Dad, only a little bigger. The two greeted, and he faced my mom, dramatically kissing the back of her palm with a slight bow.

Then, he turned to me. “Welcome, Sienna.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

Uncle Ivan looked like someone who would have been a boxer a couple of years ago. He had the same build and stance. Maybe I’d ask Mom later what career choice he’d made in his life.

Aunt Natasha, on the other hand, was too sexy to be Dad’s older sister. If she hadn’t been a model when she was my age, then it would’ve been a waste of that gorgeous body.

“It’s your first time in Russia, ehh? What do you think of the place?” Dmitry asked me.

“Hey, let her settle down first. Questions can come later!” Babushka warned him, her voice stern.

“But—” he started, trying to object.

“No buts. She’s tired and exhausted. Aren’t you, honey?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied. And indeed, I was.

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