Page 4 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

Serge’s silence stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid. His distant stare isn’t just about tonight—it’s deeper than that, tangled up in the mess of guilt and anger he’s been carrying since Anthony’s death. As I watch him, I realize something that’s been gnawing at me for a while. Serge’s vulnerability isn’t just dangerous for him; it’s dangerous for all of us.

In our world, weakness is a weapon others will use against you. Serge, in his current state, is a liability. The video from last night? I wouldn’t be surprised if one of our rivals boosted its visibility, maybe even leaked it themselves. They know Serge is slipping, and they’ll use that to come after our family. The Bratva can’t afford to be seen as unstable, especially not now, when alliances are fragile and every move is watched.

I look at Serge again. His body is swaying slightly, barely keeping upright. I let out a long breath, knowing this isn’t the time or place to get through to him. He’s too high, too drunk—hell, probably both. I nod to Oleg, who steps forward, ready to intervene.

“I’ll take him home,” Oleg says, looping an arm around Serge to steady him.

Serge mutters something incoherent, his eyes half-lidded as he leans heavily against Oleg. His head lolls to the side, and before I can even respond, he’s passed out cold, his weight sagging in Oleg’s arms.

“Get him cleaned up and keep him there,” I tell Oleg. “Make sure no one hears about this. I’ll deal with him in the morning.”

Oleg nods and, with some effort, hauls Serge toward the exit. I watch them go, a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. My brother’s spiraling, and it’s only a matter of time before his actions bring more heat down on us. It’s up to me to stop that from happening.

I turn away from the door, my mind racing with everything that needs to be handled. Serge, the family business, our rivals—it’s all too much, and the tension knots in my shoulders, making it hard to breathe. Just as I’m about to head out myself, a waitress steps into my path.

“Complimentary drinks, sir,” she says, offering a tray with a polished smile.

I hesitate for a moment, considering. Normally, I wouldn’t bother. One drink wouldn’t make a dent in the stress piled on me right now. After everything with Serge, I need to take the edge off. I grab a glass from the tray, nodding my thanks. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll give me a moment’s reprieve.

I take a sip, the burn of the alcohol sliding down my throat as I make my way through the crowded club. As I turn a corner, lost in thought, something—or rather, someone—collides into me, hard.

The drink slips from my hand, spilling all over the person in front of me.

“Shit,” I mutter, quickly stepping back to assess the damage. My gaze lands on a young woman standing there, frozen, staring down at the wet stain spreading across her white dress.

Her wide green eyes slowly lift to meet mine, and for a second, everything else fades. She’s… stunning. Petite, with strawberry blonde hair that cascades over her shoulders,framing delicate features. Her expression is one of surprise, a mix of shock and something else—embarrassment, maybe? Or irritation?

“I’m sorry,” I start, reaching for a napkin, but she beats me to it, dabbing at the fabric with quick, anxious movements.

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, though her voice wavers just a bit. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Her eyes flick up again, and I notice the faint blush on her cheeks. She’s flustered, clearly embarrassed, and for some reason, I find it… charming.

“I wasn’t paying attention either,” I admit, trying to ease the tension. “Here, let me help.”

Before I can offer to make things right, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll just—” She glances down at the mess on her dress, sighing softly. “I’ll figure it out.”

There’s something about the way she carries herself—poised, but clearly uncomfortable in this setting. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m intrigued. I don’t usually get distracted by women, not like this, but something about her feels different.

“You’re soaked. Are you okay?”

I reach to hand her my coat, smiling when she relaxes into my touch.

She’s interesting, and I like that.

Chapter Three - Jennifer

I stare down at the mess on my dress, my heart sinking. The liquid has soaked right through, and the cold wet fabric clings to my skin. My face heats up as I realize it’s basically see-through.

I feel panic rising, and I cover myself instinctively with my arms. I need to leave, find somewhere to clean up. I don’t even notice the man standing in front of me until I hear his voice, low and steady.

“You alright?”

I glance up and my breath catches. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp blue eyes that lock on to mine. His features are rugged, handsome in a way that’s almost intimidating. He’s not the kind of guy I’d usually talk to—too intense, too powerful. Yet, there’s something magnetic about him, something that makes me forget for a second that my dress is ruined. I can’t help but notice how his eyes travel over me, from my face down to the soaked fabric sticking to my body.

“You’re soaked. Are you okay?”

I don’t even know how to respond. I glance down at my dress again, trying to hide my embarrassment. Before I can think of what to do next, he shrugs off his jacket and places it over my shoulders. The weight of it feels oddly comforting, and I pull it tighter, grateful for the warmth and coverage. His scent lingers on the fabric—woodsy, masculine—and I feel my pulse quicken for reasons I don’t quite understand.

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