Page 11 of Pregnant By the Bratva

“Leave us,” I order, my tone brooking no opposition. “All of you.”

Maxim hesitates, his confusion deepening. “Ivan, are you sure—”

“Now,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. This isn’t up for debate.

Maxim sighs, clearly frustrated by this turn of events, but he knows better than to argue. “Tch,” he mutters, shaking his head as he turns to leave, the other men following him out the door. The heavy thud of the door closing behind them leaves us in a tense silence, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

I turn back to our “guest,” who is now alone with me, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. The fear in her eyes is more evident now, but it’s mingled with that same stubborn resolve. She’s scared, but she’s not going to break easily.

“You can drop the act,” I say, my tone softer now but no less insistent. “I know you’re not Sophia. I just need to know who you are and why you have Sophia’s ID.”

She glares at me, her lips pressed into a tight line. “You think I’m just going to tell you?”

I take a step closer, closing the distance between us, and for a moment, she tenses as if preparing for a blow. I stop just short of her, lowering my voice to a near whisper. “You’re in no position to make demands, but I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to know the truth.”

She looks into my eyes, searching for any sign of deception, but I keep my expression neutral, unreadable. For a moment, I see the struggle in her gaze—the decision of whether to cooperate or continue resisting.

I don’t wait for her answer. My hand moves slowly, reaching for the hem of her shirt. She flinches, her arms tightening, but I stop, waiting for her to make the next move. “This is your last chance to come clean.”

“IamSophia,” she says, her voice steady, but I catch the slight tremor underneath. She’s trying to sell it, hoping I’ll buy the lie and back off. “If you hurt me, my father will—”

“I said take off your shirt,” I repeat, my tone cold, final. I’m done with the pretense. If she’s not going to tell me the truth willingly, I’ll strip it from her myself.

Her eyes widen slightly, the fear and uncertainty finally breaking through her tough exterior. She knows she’s cornered, and for a moment, she hesitates, probably weighing her options. She could keep lying, keep playing the role, but it’s clear she understands that won’t work anymore. If she refuses, I’ll do it myself, and she knows it.

Slowly, with a deep breath, she begins to lift the hem of her shirt. Her movements are reluctant, deliberate, as if she’s stalling for time, hoping for a way out. But there’s no escape. She pulls the fabric over her head and lets it drop to the floor, standing there in just her bra and jeans.

I take a moment to study her, and despite the circumstances, I can’t help but admire her figure. She’s slender but strong, with toned muscles that speak of someone who knows how to take care of herself. But my attention quicklyshifts to her waist, where I expect to see the rose tattoo that Sophia Preston is known for.

Except there’s no rose.

My eyes narrow as I take in the absence of the mark, and instead, I find something else—something unexpected. A small, coiled snake tattoo. It’s a symbol I know well, one that’s worn by the men of the American Mafia. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. This girl is no innocent, no sheltered princess. She’s something far more dangerous.

“Interesting,” I murmur, my gaze still fixed on the tattoo. “You’re not Sophia, and yet you’re carrying the mark of the American Mafia. A young girl like you, involved with men like them?” I raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. “What exactly does Kace use you for?”

She stays silent, her jaw clenched, her eyes defiant. I can see the fear there, but she’s not about to show weakness. Not yet. I take a step closer, closing the distance between us, and reach out, gently tilting her chin up so she’s forced to look me in the eye.

“Tell me,” I demand, my voice low but insistent. “What’s your role, miss?”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, but she also doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, and it’s clear she’s not going to give up any information willingly. There’s a strength in her that I didn’t expect, a resolve that makes me respect her even as it frustrates me.

“Stubborn,” I say, almost to myself. “You’d rather stay silent than betray whatever secret you’re hiding. Admirable, but foolish.”

Just as I’m about to press her further, the door swings open, and Maxim steps back into the room. He’s holding a phone in his hand, his expression triumphant. “I think we’ve got the answers you’re looking for,” he says, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

I release the young woman’s chin and turn to face him. “What did you find?”

Maxim tosses the phone onto the small table in the center of the room, the screen lighting up with a series of files. “We went through her phone. She’s not Sophia Preston—her name is Sarah Williams. Get this, she’s the mastermind behind the recent robbery. She’s the one who hacked our accounts.”

I glance down at the phone, then back at her. She’s trying to keep her composure, but I can see the flicker of panic in her eyes. She knows the game is up.

A grin spreads across my face as the pieces fall into place. “Well, well,” I say, my tone laced with mock admiration. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? A hacker, a thief, and a member of the Mafia. You’ve been busy.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not telling you anything.”

I chuckle, genuinely amused by her defiance. “You’ve already told me enough… Sarah. The rest, I’ll figure out on my own.”

Maxim steps closer, still looking at her with a mix of confusion and intrigue. “What do you want to do with her, Ivan? She’s not who we thought, but she’s still valuable.”

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