Page 33 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

It’s a quiet morning, the kind I’ve grown used to over the past year and a half. The air is crisp, and the soft hum of the city outside barely filters through the walls of my small apartment. I like it here—far away from New York, far from the chaos that used to consume my life. It’s peaceful in a way I never thought I’d experience, and in a way I desperately needed.

I sit on the floor, my back resting against the couch as I watch Tyler play with his toys. His little giggles fill the room, and I can’t help but smile as he crawls toward me, his chubby hands grabbing for a toy truck. He’s growing so fast, and every day I’m amazed by how much he resembles his father. His dark hair, the same stormy eyes… even his smile has hints of Timur in it. It’s as if he’s a tiny version of him, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the memories that come rushing back every time I look at him.

“Come here, baby,” I say softly, reaching out to pull him into my lap. He babbles incoherently, his little hands patting my face as if he understands every word. “You’re getting so big, aren’t you?”

Tyler giggles, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and I can’t help but kiss his cheek, inhaling the sweet, innocent scent of him. He’s my whole world now, the one thing that keeps me grounded, even when the weight of my past threatens to drag me under.

Moving away from New York wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I couldn’t stay there, not with the risk of Timur finding out about Tyler. The Russian Mafia had a grip on the city, and even though Timur never mentioned wanting children, I knew better than to assume he’d let us go. Not if he found out.I couldn’t let my son grow up in that kind of world. I refuse to let him be a pawn in a game of power and blood.

Italy seemed like the safest option—a place where I could disappear and start fresh. The Mafia here is different, and I’ve stayed as far away from anything connected to them as possible. So far, it’s worked. We’ve built a life here, just the two of us. While it isn’t always easy, I’ve found a sense of peace in the routine. My days revolve around Tyler, and I’ve never been happier to be consumed by something as simple as being a mother.

Still, there are moments—fleeting, painful moments—where my mind drifts back to Timur. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me. There was something between us, something raw and powerful that I can’t seem to forget, no matter how much time has passed. I hate myself for it. For still thinking about him after everything. For naming our son after him in a way. Tyler. It felt right, even though I tried to convince myself it didn’t. He looks too much like his father to pretend otherwise.

I watch Tyler crawl toward the window, his little fingers gripping the windowsill as he tries to pull himself up. He’s getting stronger every day, determined and stubborn. Just like his dad.

“Come here, sweetie,” I call, scooping him up before he tumbles over. He squeals with delight, his little legs kicking in the air. I press my lips to his forehead, holding him close as I sit back down on the floor. “You’re my whole world now, you know that?”

Tyler gurgles, resting his head on my shoulder, and I feel a swell of emotion rise in my chest. I never thought I’d be doing this alone. Raising a child, building a life far away fromeverything I once knew. But here we are. Somehow, it’s enough. Ithasto be enough.

Still, there are nights when loneliness creeps in. When I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I made the right choice. Not just for myself, but for Tyler. Did I rob him of a chance to know his father? Did I take away something that could’ve been important for him? I shake those thoughts away as quickly as they come, reminding myself that Timur’s world is dangerous. It’s violent, and it’s not a place for a child to grow up. I did what I had to do to protect him.

As I sit here, cradling my son in my arms, I can’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Contentment, love, fear, and guilt. It’s all wrapped up together, swirling inside me. I love Tyler more than anything in this world, and I’d do anything to keep him safe. The ghost of Timur lingers in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the life I left behind. A life I can never return to.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it for Tyler or for myself. Either way, I’ll make sure it is. I have to. For him. For us.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by my alarm; I flinch, and Tyler stirs in my lap.

Time for our evening stroll. The routine helps keep me grounded; and it ensures Tyler sleeps through the night.

I buckle Tyler into his stroller, adjusting the straps carefully as he babbles up at me with his big, innocent eyes. His little legs kick out as he watches the world around him, completely unaware of the storm always brewing in the back of my mind. Today, I’ve decided to take him to the park—it’s a sunny afternoon, perfect for getting outside and letting him burn off some energy.

The park is only a short walk from our apartment, nestled between rows of quaint Italian houses. It’s one of my favorite places in this new life of ours. There’s something soothing about the chirping birds and the laughter of children. It feels normal. For a while, I let myself enjoy that feeling of normalcy.

As we walk, I catch glimpses of mothers chatting on benches while their toddlers chase each other on the grass. A few couples stroll hand in hand, and for a moment, I imagine what it might have been like if I hadn’t left. If Timur were here, pushing Tyler’s stroller beside me. The thought both comforts and terrifies me.

Tyler squeals with delight when he sees the swings, his little arms reaching out as if to say,I want to go there!I chuckle softly, pushing the stroller toward the swings as he kicks his legs excitedly. I lift him out, setting him carefully into the baby swing and start pushing gently. His giggles fill the air, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Until I see him.

Across the park, standing near the entrance, there’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a familiar stance that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s wearing sunglasses, but even from this distance, I can tell he looks like Timur. My breath catches in my throat, my hand freezing on the swing’s chain.

No. It can’t be.

My mind races, heart pounding as I glance down at Tyler. He’s oblivious, still laughing as the swing moves gently back and forth. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know that his entire world could shatter if the man standing across the park really is his father.

I swallow hard, gripping the chain tighter as I try to calm the rising panic in my chest. My eyes dart back to the man. He’stalking to someone—laughing even—but the moment feels too long, too terrifying. I can’t shake the resemblance. My instincts scream at me to run, to grab Tyler and leave, but I don’t want to draw attention.

I take a slow breath and focus on Tyler. He’s still too young to notice my anxiety, and I can’t help feeling grateful for that. He doesn’t know about the danger we live with, the fear that someone like Timur could turn up out of nowhere and change everything.

When I finally dare to look back at the man, he turns, and I see his face more clearly. My heart stutters, then drops with relief. It’s not him.

Of course, it’s not him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my shoulders sagging as I try to collect myself. Tyler babbles, his little legs kicking as if to remind me he’s still there, still safe. I bend down to scoop him out of the swing, holding him close for a moment longer than usual. My heart is still pounding in my chest, the rush of adrenaline making my hands shake.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “It’s okay.”

Tyler grabs at my hair, tugging playfully, completely unaware of the fear that just gripped me. I set him back in the stroller, my hands trembling as I strap him in and start walking again. I keep my head down as I push him through the park, eyes flicking over every face we pass. Every man seems to resemble Timur now, every shadow feels like a threat.

---