Page 34 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

What would happen if he did find me? Would he take Tyler from me? Would he hurt me, like I know he’s capable of? Or worse—would he make me live under his control, trapped in a life I never wanted for my son?

I shake my head, trying to force the thoughts away as we continue our walk. The fear lingers, though. It always does. I know the kind of man Timur is—the power he wields, the ruthlessness he’s capable of. If he knew about Tyler, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d come for us. Not to hurt us, maybe, but to claim what he thinks is his. His blood. His legacy.

Tyler is mine too. I’ve spent every moment of the past year and a half building this life for us, protecting him from a world that would chew him up and spit him out. I can’t let Timur take that away.

I finish our errands in a daze, my mind replaying that brief moment of panic over and over again. It’s exhausting. Every day, I live with the knowledge that Timur might find us. It’s like a shadow I can’t escape, always lurking, always waiting.

I steel my nerves and push the stroller out of the park and toward the convenience store, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety from the park. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge, but I can’t help it. Ever since I ran from New York, it’s like I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every man I see is a potential threat, every unfamiliar face makes my heart race. I hate living like this—constantly looking over my shoulder—but it’s the only way to protect Tyler.

As I walk through the aisles of the small store, Tyler starts to get fussy. His face scrunches up, and I know the crying is coming. He’s usually pretty good on our outings, but today he’s been cranky ever since we left the park.

“Shh, baby,” I whisper, bending down to adjust the little blanket tucked around him. “We’ll be home soon.”

He lets out a wail anyway, his tiny fists flailing, and I can feel the stares of the other shoppers boring into me. Heat rises in my cheeks as I fumble with the pacifier, trying to calm himdown. He’s never been a quiet crier, and right now, he’s going full throttle.

“Come on, Tyler, please,” I murmur, bouncing the stroller gently in place as I grab a few things off the shelves. His cries grow louder, echoing in the small space, and I can feel my embarrassment growing. I wish Maeve were here. She was always good with kids; cousins and friends’ babies. Always knew what to say or do. If only I had her here now; Tyler would have loved her.

I haven’t talked to her much since I left—only once a year on a disposable phone—but I miss her. I miss having someone to lean on.

“Almost done, buddy, almost done,” I say, grabbing a few more essentials and making my way toward the register.

The cashier eyes me with a mix of sympathy and annoyance as I fumble with my wallet, Tyler’s cries still ringing through the store. I hand over the cash quickly, thanking the cashier before hurrying out the door with my bag of groceries in one hand and the stroller in the other.

As soon as we’re outside, I stop to take a deep breath. The fresh air does little to calm my nerves, but at least we’re almost home. Tyler’s cries turn into soft whimpers as we walk, but I can still feel the embarrassment burning in my chest. I’m sure I made a scene back there. I always feel like I’m being watched, even when there’s no reason to. It’s like I can’t escape this paranoia, this constant fear that someone is going to find us.

By the time we get back to the apartment, I’m exhausted. I take Tyler out of the stroller and carry him up the stairs, shushing him softly as he rubs his eyes with tiny fists. I can tell he’s fighting sleep, but he needs it—weboth need it.

I change his diaper, moving through the familiar motions as his cries finally settle into soft sniffles. He’s still cranky, but I can tell he’s close to giving in to sleep. I lay him in his crib, tucking his favorite stuffed bear next to him, and gently smooth my hand over his soft hair.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mama’s here.”

Tyler blinks up at me with heavy eyes, his little mouth opening in a yawn. I smile softly, my heart swelling with love and exhaustion. Being a mom is hard, harder than I ever imagined, but moments like this make it worth it. Just watching him drift off to sleep, his tiny body finally relaxing, fills me with a sense of peace I don’t get anywhere else.

Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I quietly step out of the room, closing the door behind me. The apartment feels empty without his little sounds filling the air. I let out a long sigh as I set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, pulling out the items one by one and trying to ignore the way my hands are still shaking from the day.

I hate that I’ve become like this—jumpy, paranoid, constantly afraid. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to start over, create a new life for us, but Timur is still there, lurking in the back of my mind like a shadow I can’t escape.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts as I put the groceries away. I need to focus on Tyler, on keeping him safe. That’s all that matters now. I glance at the clock on the stove—it’s late, but there’s still time to catch my breath before bed.

I make myself a quick cup of tea and sit down at the small kitchen table, sipping it slowly as I try to relax. The warm liquid soothes my nerves a bit, but the fear still lingers in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what I’d do if Timur ever found us.

Chapter Sixteen - Timur

Serge strides into my office just as I’m finishing up a long, drawn-out meeting with my business partners. I barely notice the sound of the door opening, but I feel his presence like a weight in the room. He’s been improving—taking his responsibilities seriously since the mess with Anthony’s death—but there’s still something dark in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s his obsessive need for revenge or just the weight of what he’s been through.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples to ease the tension from the hours of negotiations. “What is it, Serge?”

He crosses the room, tossing his phone onto my desk. “You’ll want to see this.”

I pick it up, eyeing the screen where a paused CCTV footage flickers. It’s from some grocery store. My brow furrows as I hit play. The camera follows a woman as she moves through the store, checking out her groceries. At first glance, she looks like just another customer, but there’s something about her—something familiar. My eyes narrow, and then it hits me.

Jennifer.

She looks a little different—her hair is tied back in a casual bun, and she’s dressed down, nothing like the professional woman I saw in those tight skirts at the office—but there’s no mistaking her. It’s her. My jaw clenches, and a slow grin spreads across my face.

After months of searching, after her vanishing without a trace, I’ve found her. Or rather, Serge has.

I glance up at him, and he’s watching me closely, gauging my reaction. He knows what this means.

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