Page 19 of Pregnant By the Bratva

Then it hits me, like a light switching on in my mind. Of course. “Sophia,” I say, the realization dawning on me as I meet Ivan’s gaze. “He’d transfer it to Sophia’s accounts.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sophia. His daughter?”

“Yes,” I confirm, my mind working quickly. “Sophia told me once, in confidence, that her father hides money in her accounts to cover up his money laundering. He never told anyone else, not even his closest allies. He thinks it’s the perfect cover—who would suspect his own daughter’s accounts?”

Ivan’s lips curl into a faint smile, a mixture of admiration and calculation. “You think he moved the money there after the last breach?”

“It’s the most logical choice,” I reply. “Kace doesn’t know that I know about Sophia’s accounts. He thinks he’s outsmarted everyone, but this might be our way in.”

Ivan considers this for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek, black phone. He hands it to me, his expression turning serious. “Send a message to your friend. Tell her you’re in danger, that you need her help.”

I take the phone, my fingers brushing against the cool surface as I look up at him, uncertain. “You want me to trick her?”

“Precisely,” Ivan says, his voice calm, almost indifferent. “You’ll send a call link, something that seems urgent. When she opens it, you’ll gain access to her device, just like you did withYuri. From there, you can trace the money and bring it back to us.”

The weight of what he’s asking settles on my shoulders, heavy and cold. Sophia was more than just a friend—she was the closest thing I had to family in Kace’s world. Now, I’m being asked to betray her, to use her trust against her in the most intimate way possible.

Yet, as I hold the phone, the memory of Kace’s betrayal surges back, the cold realization that he was willing to have me killed without a second thought. What they did to me, what Kace did to me, was no less cruel than what I’m about to do to Sophia. It’s survival, plain and simple. If I don’t do this, I’ll be dead—just another body in Ivan’s ruthless game.

I nod, my resolve hardening. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Ivan says, the smile returning to his face. “If this works, there will be a lot of money coming our way.”

I begin typing the message, my fingers moving quickly over the screen.

Sophia, I need your help. I’m in danger—serious danger. The Bratva has me, and I don’t know what to do. Please, if you get this, call me immediately. Here’s the link. We need to talk.

I insert the link, carefully crafted to give me access to her phone once she opens it.

I hover over the send button for a moment, a final pang of guilt gnawing at me. This isn’t about friendship or loyalty anymore. This is about survival, and right now, Ivan holds my life in his hands. I hit send, watching the message disappear into the ether, knowing that there’s no turning back now.

Ivan leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he says, “You know what to do, Sarah, if you want to keep your life.”

The words send a chill down my spine, but I meet his gaze with a steady one of my own. “I know.”

Ivan’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer, as if he’s assessing the resolve behind my words. Then, with a slight nod, he steps back, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go,” he says, his tone curt and businesslike.

I follow him out of the meeting room, my thoughts swirling with everything that’s happened. The men we pass in the hallway barely acknowledge me, their loyalty and attention focused solely on Ivan. But their presence is a constant reminder that I’m under watch, that I’m never truly alone in this place. It’s suffocating, the lack of privacy, the sense that every move I make is being scrutinized.

Ivan walks a step ahead of me, his presence commanding, impossible to ignore. He’s dressed casually, in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that hints at the strength beneath his calm exterior. The way he moves—confident, purposeful—draws my eye, and I can’t help but notice the way the fabric of his shirt clings to the broad muscles of his back and shoulders. There’s an ease to his power, a controlled intensity that’s both intimidating and, I admit reluctantly, compelling.

I quickly shove that thought aside, irritated with myself. This is Ivan Sharov, a man who sees me as nothing more than a tool for his own gain. As much as I want to ignore it, I can’t deny the spark of attraction that flickers somewhere deep inside, unbidden and unwelcome. Maybe it’s the danger, the undeniable power he exudes, but whatever it is, I push it down, burying itbeneath the layers of anger and resentment that fuel my every move.

We reach the front of the building where a sleek black car waits at the curb. A driver stands by the car, his expression impassive as Ivan and I approach. I feel the frustration building inside me, the lack of control over my own life gnawing at me. Every moment I spend under constant surveillance, under Ivan’s thumb, chips away at the thin veneer of composure I’m struggling to maintain.

Ivan opens the car door for me, his eyes meeting mine as he gestures for me to get in. “You should go home,” he says, his tone neutral, almost dismissive. It’s clear he’s not asking—this is another order, another directive in a life that’s becoming increasingly dictated by his will.

I hesitate, glancing up at him.Homemeans his mansion. “You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head, a faint, unreadable smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “No. I have other things to take care of.”

His response is as enigmatic as the man himself, and I find myself wondering what those “other things” might be. I know better than to ask. Ivan is a man of secrets, of layers hidden beneath layers, and I’m not foolish enough to think he’d reveal anything to me.

With a resigned sigh, I slide into the backseat of the car, the leather cool against my skin. Ivan closes the door behind me, and I watch as he steps back, his figure receding as the car pulls away from the mansion. The driver remains silent, and I’m leftalone with my thoughts, the city lights blurring past the window as we drive.

The brief flash of attraction I felt earlier lingers at the edge of my mind, unsettling in its intensity. I force myself to focus on what matters—survival. I made a deal with Ivan, and now I have to follow through. There’s no room for anything else, no room for distraction, no matter how compelling it might be. I’m playing a dangerous game, and the only way to win is to keep my head clear and my heart guarded.

Chapter Eleven

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