Page 50 of Captured By the Bratva

The words settle over me like a weight. I blink, caught off guard. “Seven weeks?” I echo, the realization hitting me. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Oh God,” I whisper, looking up at Anya with wide eyes. “I haven’t had a period this entire time.”

Anya’s gaze sharpens with understanding, and she steps forward, placing a comforting hand on my arm. “You mean you could be…”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Pregnant,” I say softly, the word strange and terrifying on my lips. I stare down at my hands, my mind spinning with the implications, with the reality I hadn’t dared to consider.

She gives me a gentle, knowing look, her eyes softening as the reality sinks in. “I’ll go fetch a test,” she says, her voice gentle but steady, as if afraid that even a louder word might shatter me completely. She touches my arm lightly. “I’ll be back soon.”

As she steps out, her quiet footsteps fading down the corridor, I’m left alone in the heavy silence of the room. The possibility wraps around me, tightening like a coil. A child. My child.

I glance around the room, the ornate furnishings, the deep shadows that linger in every corner, the imposing walls that hold too many secrets. The thought of raising a baby here—of introducing such fragile innocence to this world of power and darkness—sends a chill through me.

I imagine tiny footsteps echoing down the marble corridors, small hands reaching for the dark, polished banisters, bright eyes looking up into this cold, heavy mansion.

Would my child ever know warmth here? I press a hand to my stomach, almost without thinking, as if somehow I might feel the faintest spark of life. But all I feel is the ache of uncertainty, the terrifying pull of a future that’s starting to slip beyond my control.

Anya returns a few minutes later, a small bag in hand, her expression soft but steady as she hands me the pregnancy tests. I swallow hard, my fingers brushing over the smooth packaging as my mind races.

The room feels even smaller now, as if the walls are closing in. I sit down on the bed, the weight of everything pressing down on me, and look up at Anya.

“What kind of father could Ivan possibly be?” I ask, half to myself, half to her. “I mean, with how controlling he is. I’m afraid he’d be so harsh. I don’t want my child to grow up in fear.”

Anya’s gaze softens, and she sits beside me, folding her hands in her lap. “Cathy,” she begins, choosing her words with care. “Ivan has many sides, not all of them easy to see. It’s true, he carries himself with strength, sometimes to the point of intimidation, but that’s because he learned early on that showing softness could lead to pain.” She looks at me with a sad smile. “But there is so much more to him.”

I meet her gaze, intrigued, but uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“He locks you away because he is frightened of how you make him feel.”

“I can’t imagine him feeling fear. He’s like a fucking robot.”

“He feels many things. You know that in your heart.” Her smile widens slightly as if recalling a memory. “When he was justa boy, he would take in the little creatures around the estate—the wounded birds, stray kittens.

“He would care for them, tend to their injuries, and find them food. And he kept it all hidden, so his father would never find out. His father saw gentleness as weakness.”

She sighs, the memory clearly bittersweet. “But Ivan would sneak out in the early hours, just to make sure his little friends were safe. All with his mother’s approval. Elena would go with him. That side of him has never disappeared.”

Her words settle over me, filling me with a new understanding of the man I thought I knew. “I had no idea,” I murmur, almost to myself. The image of a young Ivan, carefully tending to fragile, helpless creatures, fills my mind, softening the edges of my anger.

He can be so cold, so unyielding, but hearing about his hidden compassion makes me wonder if there’s more to him, even now.

“He may keep that side hidden,” Anya continues, “but it’s still there, deep down. And, Cathy…” she reaches for my hand, squeezing gently, “if there is a child, I think you’d find he’d protect them with everything he has. He would never harm what’s his to protect. Now take the test and let’s see if the future will bring light back into this house.”

34

CATHY

The bathroom light casts a stark glow, making the white plastic strip seem almost clinical, foreign, as I read over the instructions for the third time.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to stay steady, and follow each step carefully, my fingers fumbling slightly as I hold the pregnancy test, lowering myself onto the toilet seat.

When I finally get it done, I watch for the result, the silence in the room so thick I can almost hear my heartbeat. Each second stretches impossibly, my thoughts racing in every direction.

Images flash through my mind—vague, half-formed visions of a child with Ivan’s dark eyes, a small figure running through the halls of this imposing house. Laughter and warmth might fill these rooms if they weren’t so full of shadows. And with each passing moment, the reality sinks in just a little deeper.

What would Ivan do if he knew? A chill runs through me. He’s made it clear how fiercely he protects what’s his, but would that extend to a child?

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