Page 8 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

“Oh, dear, your parents have been in love long before high school.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed softly, impressed. “I didn’t expect that at all.”

“If you ever doubt the existence of true love, take a look at your parents.” She smiled. “Those two have endured a lot, and their love has stood the test of time. Their bond is strong and quite unbreakable.”

I stole a glance at Dad and smiled, watching as he laughed with some other family members, his fingers curled tightly around Mom’s despite sitting in separate chairs. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

I continued to shuffle through the pages until I stumbled on a photo of three young men, one of which I knew was my dad. The picture was older than most of the others, but I still recognized him.

“That's Dad,” I said, placing a finger on the man in the middle.

“Yes,” she replied.

The other two men beside him were complete strangers to me.

“Who’s this?” I asked, pointing at one of the men.

“That?” she began, drawing the word out. She seemed hesitant, but she eventually added, “His name was Joshua.”

“Past tense noticed,” I said, turning to look at her. “What happened?”

“The poor boy was a friend of your Dad’s who, unfortunately, died young,” she muttered, shaking her head.

I frowned at her tone—how biting and cold it was.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, clearing my throat.

I knew there was more to the story, but I couldn’t pry because she was already getting upset.

“That was a long time ago,” Babushka said dismissively.

“And this one?” I asked, looking at the other young man in the picture.

He was very attractive, and, above all else, his eyes caught my attention. That piercing shade of hazel-brown was so charming, seeming to gaze right through me. His dress sense was unique, as he donned an overcoat and a pair of matching pants, a hat balanced on his head.

Babushka was silent for a moment. Then, she said, “Wouldn’t you like to see a photo of your mother when she was pregnant with you?”

It was almost like Babushka had intentionally changed the subject. But why? She’d answered me when I asked her about Dad and that Joshua guy. Why didn’t she answer me now that I’d asked about this attractive young man?

Babushka flipped to the next page.

“Ahh. There it is,” she said, tapping a photo of Mom and Dad cuddled up together, Mom’s stomach protruding.

I blushed at the pure love and affection shown there. “Aww. They look so cute.”

“This was taken a month before you were born.”

I smiled, my gaze fixed on the photo; I couldn’t possibly adore this couple who had brought me into this world more.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Dad glanced at Babushka and me and then at Dmitry and Sasha, but we all had stuff we were doing, so he was forced to answer it himself.

I watched him grouch as he headed to the door and opened it.

That instant, I heard Babushka inhale sharply, like she was terrified. She rose to her feet, her attention focused on the door, and her brows furrowed. Her lips tightened, and the disdain on her face was glaring.

The visitor was clearly not welcome, at least not by her.

Surprised by her reaction, I turned to the door where my dad was standing face to face with one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen, though he was eyeing my dad quite sternly. The man’s aura was terrifying, practically filling the room with its presence. No wonder Babushka was seething silently while looking at him.

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