Page 30 of Pregnant By the Bratva

The familiar voice stops me in my tracks. My heart skips a beat as I turn around, and there he is—Leo. He looks the same, though there’s a seriousness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The years have changed us both, but the connection between us is still there, undeniable and immediate.

“Leo,” I breathe, my voice trembling slightly. Seeing him here, in this place we once promised to visit together, brings back a flood of memories—memories of a time when life was simpler, when I wasn’t trapped in the world I’m in now.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he says, stepping closer. His eyes search mine, and I can see the emotion there, the longing and the concern. “I came here when I found out you were in Tuscany. I had to see you.”

I can’t find the words to respond. There’s a tightness in my chest, a swirl of emotions I don’t know how to process. Leoreaches out, taking my hand, and I let him, the warmth of his touch both comforting and unsettling.

“I know you’re married now,” he says softly, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. “I have to ask you… are you happy?”

The question hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Am I happy? The truth is, I don’t know anymore. Happiness feels like a foreign concept, something distant and unreachable in the world I now live in.

“Leo—” I start, but he cuts me off, his grip on my hand tightening.

“You don’t have to stay with him, Sarah,” he insists, his voice pleading. “I can help you. We can run away from all of this, start over somewhere new. You don’t belong in this life.”

He steps closer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of agreement. There was a time when I loved him, when he was everything to me. He was my first kiss, my first love, the person I thought I’d spend my life with. That was before—before my brother got sick, before the Mafia, before Ivan.

Now? Now I can’t imagine my life without Ivan, as dark and twisted as that reality is. The thought of running away with Leo, of escaping to a life filled with light and love, is tempting. But it’s not my life anymore. I’ve changed, and I know I can’t go back.

“I can’t, Leo,” I say, my voice heavy with regret. “This is my life now.”

“You don’t belong in the dark,” he insists, his voice breaking slightly. “You deserve better than this.”

I shake my head, pulling my hand away from his. “Maybe,” I admit, my heart aching as I see the pain in his eyes. “I belong with Ivan. I can’t leave him.”

Leo steps back, hurt flashing across his face. “Why, Sarah, why him?”

I hesitate, searching for the right words. “Because I’ve made my choice,” I finally say. “As much as I want to, I can’t change it. This is who I am now. I can’t imagine a life without him.”

Leo looks at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sadness. “I don’t know if I can let you go.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ivan

The meeting with the Italians wraps up quicker than I expected, and as I drive back through the narrow streets of Florence, my mind wanders to Sarah. I can’t help but chuckle at the memory of her earlier, the way she looked so annoyed at having to go out alone—well, alone with Artem, which to her is probably worse. The fire in her eyes, the sass in her voice… she’s always trying to push my buttons, but I know she’s just trying to carve out a little independence in this life I’ve pulled her into.

The thought of her brings a small smile to my lips, but as I approach the Uffizi Gallery, my mood shifts. The streets around the gallery are bustling, but I find a spot and park, feeling a strange pull toward her. The closer I get, the more I feel the need to see her, to remind her—and myself—of what’s between us.

Artem is waiting outside, as usual, ever the vigilant shadow. He straightens up when he sees me, nodding in acknowledgment. “She’s inside, Mr. Sharov,” he says, his tone professional.

I nod back, stepping past him and into the gallery. The cool air and quiet ambiance of the gallery are a stark contrast to the heat and noise outside. I start my search, weaving through the halls and glancing at the art, though none of it holds my attention. My focus is solely on finding Sarah, my little feisty wife who’s likely sulking at having been left on her own.

When I finally spot her, my blood runs cold. She’s not alone. She’s standing with a man, their conversation too intimate for my liking. The way they’re looking at each other…it’s as if they share a history, something deep, something personal. My jaw clenches as I watch them from a distance, my hands curling into fists.

Then, suddenly, the man pulls her into a hug.

Red. All I see is red. My vision narrows as fury floods my veins. Without thinking, I march toward them, my stride long and purposeful. There’s a ringing in my ears, the sound of my own rage drowning out everything else. How dare he touch her? How dare she let him?

I’m on them in seconds. Without a word, I grab the man by the collar and yank him away from her, throwing him aside with a force that sends him stumbling. Before he can react, my fist connects with his jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone meeting bone reverberating through my knuckles.

Sarah gasps, rushing between us, her hands pushing against my chest in a futile attempt to hold me back. “Ivan, stop!” she pleads, her voice high with panic. “Please, don’t do this!”

Her words barely register. All I can think about is the look on her face when she was with him, the way she seemed to know him, to care for him. It’s a betrayal I hadn’t prepared myself for, a wound to my pride and my claim on her that I won’t let stand.

“Who the hell is this?” I growl, my eyes locked on the man who’s now clutching his jaw, struggling to stand.

Before Sarah can answer, the man—Leo, I think she called him—spits blood onto the floor and glares up at me, his defiance clear despite the pain. “Her heart is mine,” he says, the words slurred but still cutting through the air like a knife.

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