Page 57 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

The wind tousles my hair as we stop at the top of a small hill, and I look out over the vast landscape, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. The green of the hills contrasts with the rugged, rocky outcrops, and in the distance, a thin stream cuts through the valley, glittering in the fading light. There’s no one around for miles—just nature and us.

Maxim stands beside me, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his eyes scanning the horizon. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, he’s alert, always watching, always assessing. But there’s a softness to him today, a kind of ease I don’t always get to see.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He glances down at me, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. “It is.”

I wrap my arms around my growing belly, feeling the soft flutter of life inside me. I’m three months pregnant now, and though it’s still early, I can already feel the connection deepening. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the breeze kiss my face. This place feels like a dream, like a world where nothing bad can happen.

“Do you think…,” I start, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “that when we’re old, we could live somewhere like this?”

“How old?”

“Don’t know. Eighty, maybe.”

Maxim raises an eyebrow, amused by the question. “Eighty, huh? You’re already planning that far ahead?”

I chuckle, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “Why not? I mean, just look at it. Imagine waking up to this every day. No chaos, no violence, just peace.”

He glances around, taking in the view again, then looks back at me with a playful glint in his eye. “By the time you’re eighty, I’ll be what… ninety-five? Think I’ll still be able to make the walk up this hill?”

I laugh, the sound mingling with the breeze. “You’ll still be tough. You’ll probably run up the hill while I’m catching my breath.”

He smirks. “I’ll drag you up if I have to.”

We share a quiet moment, just looking at each other, and I feel a warmth bloom in my chest. Being with him like this, away from everything, feels so different. It’s like we’re allowed to just… be. No expectations. No pressure.

“I’m serious, though,” I say after a moment, my voice softer. “I want this. A place like this. When we’re done with all the madness.”

Maxim’s gaze softens, and he reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll build you a house right here if that’s what you want,” he says, his voice rough but filledwith sincerity. “When we’re done with everything, we can come back.”

I smile, touched by the offer. “Really?”

He shrugs, though there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Why not? Could be a nice place to grow old together.”

I rest my hand on my belly, imagining our future—our child running through fields, the two of us sitting on a porch, watching the sun set over the hills. It’s a picture that feels so far removed from the life we live now, but I can almost believe it’s possible.

“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning into him.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

Maxim wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. He’s not a man of many words, but I feel his response in the way he holds me, in the quiet strength of his presence. For a moment, we just stand there, looking out at the view, letting the peace of the place wash over us.

“Do you think the baby will like it here?” I ask, half joking but also wondering if this place could be a refuge for our child one day.

He chuckles softly. “Depends. If they’re anything like me, they’ll be bored after five minutes.”

I laugh. “Well, if they’re like me, they’ll love it.”

Maxim looks down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that rare way they do when he’s really amused. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see which one of us they take after.”

I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. “I just hope they take after the good parts of us.”

His hand moves to my stomach, resting gently over where our baby is growing. “They will.”

For a while, we stand in silence, the wind gently tugging at our clothes, the world around us quiet and still. It feels like a promise—this moment, this place. A promise of peace after everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ll still face.

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