Page 15 of Pregnant By the Bratva

Maxim’s eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place, but he doesn’t argue. He knows the game as well as I do. There’s no room for pity, not in the world we’ve built. He steps forward, crouching beside the body to examine the snake tattoo one last time before standing again, his expression dark.

“We’ll get rid of the body,” he says, already moving to take care of the mess. “No one needs to know about this.”

I nod, watching as he begins to clean up the scene, efficiently erasing the evidence of the betrayal that nearly cost us everything. Even as he works, my thoughts drift back to Sarah, to the fear in her eyes as she was dragged away.

She’s a fighter, that much is clear. She’s new to this level of brutality, new to the reality that comes with taking a life. It’s a harsh lesson, but one she needed to learn. And once she does, she’ll be stronger for it. Or she won’t survive at all.

Either way, the game is far from over. I intend to win.

Chapter Eight

Sarah

The door clicks shut behind me, the sound echoing in the vast, silent room. I stand there for a moment, taking in my surroundings, my mind still reeling from the events that brought me here. The room is large, larger than any space I’ve been confined to before.

The walls are a soft, muted gray, and the furniture is luxurious—plush chairs, a massive bed with crisp white sheets, and a thick rug that muffles the sound of my footsteps as I move further inside.

This is no ordinary cell. It’s a prison, yes, but a gilded one. The realization sends a chill down my spine. I’m not in the warehouse anymore, not in that cold, concrete basement with the bloodstains still fresh in my memory. I’m in someone’s home—a mansion, by the looks of it. Not just anyone’s. This is Ivan’s house. It has to be.

As they dragged me through the halls, I caught glimpses of framed photographs on the walls. Family pictures—of people who look like him. Sharp features, green eyes, that same air of quiet authority. The resemblance is unmistakable. This is his domain, his fortress.

Now, I’m trapped inside it.

I move toward the window, my breath catching as I pull back the heavy drapes. The view is expansive—well-manicured lawns stretching out beneath a darkening sky, the edges of the property bordered by tall, imposing trees. There’s no escape thisway, no chance of slipping out unnoticed. Not that I expected one. The sight only reinforces the reality of my situation. I’m not getting out of here on my own.

I turn away from the window, my eyes scanning the room again, searching for anything that might give me a clue about what’s to come. The bed is neatly made, the sheets tucked in with military precision. There’s a small table in the corner with a chair, a lamp casting a soft, warm light over the surface. A few books are stacked on the bedside table, their titles obscured from where I stand.

It’s a strange feeling, being in a place like this. Everything about the room is designed for comfort, for luxury, but it feels wrong, out of place. Like I’m an intruder in someone else’s life. I’m not supposed to be here, and yet I am. The contrast between the opulence of this room and the cold, harsh reality of the situation is jarring.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under my weight. The events of the past few days play over and over in my mind, a relentless loop of fear, confusion, and disbelief. I can still feel Ivan’s grip on my wrist, the bruises tender against my skin. I can still hear the echo of my own voice as I begged for mercy, the taste of desperation bitter on my tongue.

The worst part, the part that won’t stop gnawing at me, is the betrayal. Kace gave up on me. The man I’ve served loyally, risked everything for, sent someone to kill me. To silence me before I could become a liability. It’s a thought that I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try. The reality of it settles like a stone in my stomach, cold and heavy.

I lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. My body feels heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion that comes not just from lack of sleep but from the emotional toll of the last few days. The luxury of the room around me is nothing but a cruel mockery of the chaos in my mind.

My thoughts drift back to the man I killed. My hands tremble as I look down at them, still able to feel the slickness of his blood, the jarring resistance as the knife went in. I never thought I’d be capable of something like that. It was him or me. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was pure survival instinct, and it terrifies me how quickly I acted, how easily I became a killer.

I clench my fists, the knuckles turning white as the anger rises in me. I did what I had to do. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now, lying on this bed in Ivan’s house. I’d be a corpse in that cell, another victim of the brutal world I’ve been a part of for so long. That doesn’t make it easier to accept. It doesn’t erase the image of his lifeless eyes staring back at me.

Then there’s Kace. The man I served loyally for years, who took me in, gave me purpose—only to discard me like trash the moment I became a liability. Ivan was right. This is the reality of the Mafia world. Loyalty means nothing. You’re only as valuable as your last act of service, and once you’re no longer useful, you’re as good as dead.

The betrayal cuts deep. I’d given everything to Kace, done things I never imagined I would, all in the name of loyalty. I believed in the cause, in the twisted sense of honor that bound us together. Now I see it for what it truly is—a facade, a lie that’s kept me chained to a man who never cared about me beyond how I could serve him.

I feel the bitterness well up inside me, a sharp, acidic taste in the back of my throat. I hate him. I hate Kace for using me, for sending that man to kill me without a second thought. And I hate Ivan too, for dragging me into this twisted game of power and control. He’s no better than Kace, manipulating me, using me for his own gain.

I hate myself. For being naive enough to believe in loyalty, for letting myself become a pawn in their ruthless world. I’ve always prided myself on being smart, on staying one step ahead. But now, I’m just another victim of the very system I thought I could navigate.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. I’ve cried enough. Tears won’t help me now. They won’t change what I’ve done, or the fact that I’m alone in this. I have to be strong, stronger than I’ve ever been. I can’t afford to break now, not when I’m surrounded by enemies who would crush me the moment they sense weakness.

I’m still lying on the bed, lost in my thoughts, when the door creaks open. My body tenses immediately, the instinct to be on guard kicking in before I even realize it. I push myself up, sitting on the edge of the bed as a woman steps into the room. She’s familiar, the same woman who’s been bringing me food since I got here. Her face is stern, her posture stiff, and she doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Mr. Sharov is home,” she says, her accent thick and unmistakably Russian. Her voice is clipped, efficient, as if she’s used to delivering orders without question. “He wants you downstairs.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Ivan is home. The man who dragged me into this nightmare, the manwho’s made it clear that my survival depends on how useful I can be to him, now wants to see me. I can’t say I’m surprised, but that doesn’t make the dread pooling in my stomach any less potent.

The woman’s eyes flicker over me, assessing, and I get the distinct impression that she’s not just a servant in this house. There’s a hardness in her gaze, a no-nonsense attitude that tells me she’s seen her fair share of this world’s darkness. Another one of Ivan’s loyal subjects, no doubt. I wonder briefly what her story is, but I know better than to ask.

I nod, trying to mask the unease I’m feeling. “I’ll be right down.”

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