Page 25 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

I melt into him, all thoughts of dinner forgotten as his hands roam my body. It's been too long since I've felt his touch, and my body responds eagerly, bowing into him as if we were made for each other.

"Luka," I gasp as he trails hot kisses down my neck. "We shouldn't..."

"Why not?" he growls, nipping at my pulse point. "You're my wife, aren't you? Even if it's just on paper."

The reminder of our arrangement is like a bucket of cold water. I push him away gently, trying to ignore the hurt that flashes in his eyes. "You're right," I say, hating how breathless I sound. "This is just business. We should keep things professional between us.”

Luka takes a step back, his expression closing off. "Of course," he says, his voice clipped. "My apologies, Mrs. Volkova. I'll see myself out."

Before I can stop him, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that makes my heart ache. I slump against the kitchen counter, one hand coming to rest on my still-flat stomach.

"What am I going to do?" I whisper to the empty apartment, tears pricking at my eyes.

As the silence stretches on, offering no answers, I can't shake the feeling that I've just made a terrible mistake. But which one was worse—letting Luka go, or not telling him the truth?

Only time will tell. And time, it seems, is the one luxury I no longer have.

With shaking hands, I reach into my purse and pull out the pamphlet from my doctor's appointment. The words "Your First Trimester" stare back at me, a stark reminder of the life growing inside me. I trace the outline of a developing fetus on the cover, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

"Oh, Luka," I whisper to the empty room, "what have we done?"

The weight of my secret feels crushing now, made heavier by Luka's departure. I slide down to the floor, my back against the kitchen cabinets, and let the tears fall freely. The pamphlet crumples in my grip as I hug my knees to my chest.

In this moment, the reality of my situation hits me full force. I'm pregnant with the child of a dangerous man, a man I'm irresistibly drawn to but can never truly have. A man who just admitted to murder as casually as discussing the weather.

And yet, despite everything, a small part of me yearns for a future with Luka. A future where we're more than just a business arrangement, where this baby is a blessing rather than a complication. The image of Luka cradling our child, his usually hard eyes softened with love, flashes through my mind, making my heart burn with longing.

But can I risk it? Can I bring an innocent child into this world of danger and violence? And more importantly, can I trust Luka with something as precious and vulnerable as our baby?

As the night deepens around me, I remain on the kitchen floor, torn between hope and fear, love and duty. The pamphlet lies open beside me, a constant reminder of the choice I'll have to make.

The tiles are cool against my hot skin, and I allow myself to spread out on them, willing them to take away some of the pulsating regret and anxiety that permeates my skin. I’ve done this to myself, but I want to point the finger elsewhere. At Luka. At my father, even, but none of that would change the situation I’m in.

Nothing changes the fact that I’ve fallen pregnant with Luka’s baby.

"I'm sorry, little one," I murmur, placing a hand on my still-flat stomach. "I promise, no matter what happens, I'll always protect you."

As I finally drag myself to bed, exhausted and emotionally drained, the consequences of my fleeting passion follow me like a heavy black cloak, pinned to my aching shoulders. I can’t rid myself of the feeling that this is just the beginning of a story that will either lead to the ruin of everything I hold dear, or change my life, and the lives of everyone around me, forever.

Only time will tell. And time, it seems, is the one thing money and power can't control.

12

Luka

The Governor's mansion looms before us, its white marble façade gleaming in the moonlight. As our car pulls up to the circular driveway, I feel a twinge of anticipation. Not for the party itself—I've attended more of these vapid affairs than I care to count—but for the woman beside me.

I glance at Natalia, drinking in the sight of her. The green dress I chose for her clings to every curve, the color making her eyes shine like perfect jewels. Her fiery hair is swept up in an elegant updo, exposing the graceful line of her neck. A gorgeous golden necklace with a stunning diamond nestles just above the curve of her elegant cleavage. She's breathtaking, and the possessive part of me relishes knowing she's here as my wife for everyone to see.

But the other part of me regrets the way I’ve pushed her away. We could’ve leaned into this disastrous passion, but I’ve allowed it to fizzle out, and now I carry the consequences on my back, a heavy burden.

"Ready?" I ask, offering Natalia my hand as the driver opens the door.

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "As I'll ever be," she replies, placing her hand in mine.

The warmth of her skin against mine sends a jolt of electricity through me. I resist the urge to pull her close, to claim her lips in front of God and everyone. Instead, I help her from the car, my hand finding the small of her back as we make our way up the grand staircase.

The foyer is a cacophony of noise and color, Moscow's elite mingling and preening like peacocks. The scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air. Natalia tenses beside me, and I give her waist a gentle squeeze.

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