Page 37 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

I reach for my phone again, dialing Oleg’s number. He picks up on the second ring.

“Anything else from Chiara?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, though the frustration lingers.

“Nothing new. She’s been quiet,” Oleg replies. “We got everything we needed from her. Why?”

I exhale slowly, my gaze shifting back to the bloodstained cloth on my desk. “I don’t know. Something feels off. She’s hiding something.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then Oleg speaks again. “You think it’s about Jennifer?”

“Maybe,” I say, my voice low. “Chiara’s told us everything, but I’m not done with her. I want you to let her go, but keep her under surveillance. If she tries to communicate with anyone, I want to know about it. If she knows something more about Jennifer, I’ll break her again if I have to.”

Oleg grunts in agreement. “Understood. What’s the next move?”

I lean back, my grip tightening on the phone. “We stick to the plan. I’ll let Jennifer settle into her false sense of security for now.”

I pause, thinking about the Italian woman who had thought she could outplay me. “I still can’t believe Jennifer went to the Italians.”

Oleg says nothing, but I know he’s on the same page. I hang up, my mind drifting back to Jennifer.

She thought she could run, thought she could hide. She doesn’t realize I always get what I want.

Chapter Seventeen - Jennifer

I sit at my desk, the soft clicking of my keyboard filling the otherwise quiet room. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful. The hum of the laptop feels like a comforting lullaby as I finish up another marketing project for a client. It’s nothing glamorous, but it pays the bills. More importantly, it keeps me hidden.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupts my focus. That must be the food I ordered. I push my chair back and stand, glancing toward the crib as I walk past. Tyler’s tiny form is curled up, his chest rising and falling with each breath, so peaceful, so innocent. His little hand twitches in his sleep, as if he’s dreaming.

A pang of warmth floods my chest. Tyler is the one thing that keeps me grounded. Everything I’ve done since leaving New York, since running away from Timur, has been for him. This life may not be what I imagined, but it’s safe. At least, safer than it would be if Timur knew about him.

I open the door and exchange a quick smile with the delivery guy. He hands over the bag, and I shut the door behind me. The mundane routine of it all has become my safe space—work, Tyler, cooking dinner or ordering takeout, repeat. The monotony is comforting in its own way, like I can finally control something in my life.

After setting the food on the kitchen counter, I take a deep breath and let my mind wander. This is my new life, my quiet life, hidden away from the chaos and fear I used to feel every day. Here, in this small town, nobody knows who I really am. Nobody knows I’m supposed to be Jennifer Jewels, the girl who worked for Empire City Estates and who had a fling with the most dangerous man in New York.

I sink into the chair at the table, My mind drifting to Tyler. He’s not awake yet, but he will be soon. My little boy, with his thick dark hair and piercing eyes. The resemblance to Timur is undeniable. Every time I look at Tyler, it’s like I see pieces of his father staring back at me, reminding me of the life I ran away from.

I can’t help but wonder how long I can keep this up. How long until Tyler starts asking questions about his father? When he’s older, what will I tell him? What happens when it’s time for him to go to school? Will I have to explain why he doesn’t have a dad? Will people ask questions? The thought terrifies me.

Sometimes, I think about what would happen if Timur found us. Would he even care? Would he be furious that I kept his son from him? Or would he simply do what he always does—take control of the situation, take Tyler away, and leave me with nothing?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I push it away, focusing on the now. For now, Tyler is safe, and that’s all that matters. I can’t afford to think about Timur, about the danger that constantly lingers just outside my carefully constructed walls. It’s exhausting, always being on edge, always looking over my shoulder, but the monotony helps. Routine is my shield.

Once Tyler’s awake, I put him into his highchair so we can eat. He lets out a soft coo, and I smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, sweet boy,” I whisper. “You ready to eat?”

He babbles in response, his tiny hand reaching out for me. I love this. Just sitting here, talking to him, watching him learn and grow. It makes everything—running, hiding, the fear—all worth it.

I glance at the clock, realizing how quickly the day has passed. It’s strange how time seems to blur together when every day is the same. I don’t mind. I’d take this quiet, monotonous life over the constant fear of being found any day.

After lunch, I sit with Tyler on the couch, watching him play with his toys. His laughter fills the room, and for a moment, I allow myself to believe that this is it—that this is all I’ll ever need. There’s always that nagging thought in the back of my mind. Will I ever truly be free of Timur?

When I was pregnant, I imagined a different kind of future for Tyler. I imagined him playing with friends, going to school, having a normal childhood. Now, I’m not sure what his future will look like. Can I keep him hidden forever? Or will I have to face the truth, the danger that lurks just beyond the horizon?

The doorbell rings again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I tense, the familiar dread creeping back in. It’s probably nothing. Just the delivery guy, maybe they forgot something. Every time that bell rings, a part of me fears the worst.

I stand, heading for the door, and take a deep breath before opening it.

Just routine. That’s all this is.

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