Page 22 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

Victor nods reluctantly, understanding the logic but clearly itching for action. "Fine. But we can't wait too long. Those bastards need to pay."

"And they will," I assure him, my voice low and deadly. "But we do this my way."

Chapter 7 - Gwen

The next few days pass surprisingly easily in a blur of textbooks, online lectures, and notes. I throw myself into my studies, which bring me the ease and familiarity I’ve been dying for, jotting down detailed notes. Luckily, I haven’t fallen too far behind, and catching up has been a breath of fresh air for me, even though it was hard work. Exams are in the near future, and I can only imagine how much more studying Riley and I need to do.

I pause in my thoughts, my fingers hovering over my keyboard mid-typing. Right. I forgot Riley was gone. The thought of my best friend wraps me in a sense of unease.We will reunite, I think to myself.

I married Roman for a reason, and I refuse to believe that all of this—the marriage, the secrecy, the tension—will be for nothing. I need to trust that Roman will keep his word and help me find her. I'm sure my husband will bring her back to me.

My husband.

Jesus Christ, I have a husband. A fucking mafia husband.

It’s a thought that hits me at the most random times. While brushing my teeth or listening to a lecture, I’ll pause and think,I have a husband now. And then, inevitably, my thoughts drift to him. Too much, considering the circumstances.

I’d like to chalk it up to that initial attraction—the one I felt the moment I laid eyes on him. But now that I’m living under the same roof as him, it’s more than that. We argue almost constantly, which I expected, and I am mostly at fault for always initiating.

But what I didn’t expect was just how sharp he is. He’s quick, witty, and far too clever for his own good. Sometimes, I think he enjoys our back-and-forth even more than I do. And then there’s his protective streak.

I can’t deny the effect it has on me—him swooping in, all intense and overbearing, trying to keep me safe at all costs. It should irritate me more, but instead, it makes my heart race and my skin feel too warm. I have no business daydreaming about Roman Milov when I should focus on my classes, but here I am, lost in thoughts of the man I now live with.

If you had told me as a little girl years ago that my first-ever marriage wouldn’t be true love and a fairytale wedding, well, she might have had a heart attack.

I sigh, pushing my notes aside for the moment. It’s almost dinnertime, and Roman and I are eating together again tonight—our new normal. I didn’t expect to enjoy it, but helping Maria prepare meals has been one of the few things that keep me grounded. Baking, too. I never was much of a cook or baker, but it’s a strange comfort—this routine we’ve fallen into. And if I’m being honest, I do like learning a thing or two from Maria. I’ve never had someone teach me tips and tricks about cooking before. It helps that she has such a motherly air. It feels...nice.

Tonight, Maria and I made fettuccine alfredo. She showed me how to handmake the noodles, and I almost had an aneurysm figuring it out. I have to say, after all that hard work, seeing the final product is incredibly satisfying.

Dinner is served, and I dive straight into it as soon as we sit down. I can’t hold back any longer. “Roman, you remember saying I could help you find Riley?” I begin with a far more softer approach than my last dozen times. “I want to know about whatyou’ve found so far. It’s my friend we’re talking about here. I have the right to know what’s happening.”

He pauses, his fork hovering mid-air before he sets it down. “We’re trying to figure out the men's identities,” he said, shoving food into his mouth.

I frown. “Still? It’s been almost three weeks. I thought you said you had the resources to figure this out.” I come from a place of genuine concern, but my voice comes off as more confrontational than I mean it to be.

Roman's jaw tightens, and he takes a slow sip of wine before responding. "These things take time, Gwen. We're dealing with the kind of men who know how to cover their tracks."

I study his face, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his eye and the way his fingers drum against the table. Something doesn't add up. For a man with his connections and resources, three weeks seems like an eternity to identify a few thugs.

"Really?" I press, leaning forward. "Because I remember when I met you, you had just finished upgrading the security systems at the casino. I’d only assume that with your money and power, you’d pick the kinds of cameras with facial recognition so advanced that they can pick out a single face in a crowd of thousands, right?"

Roman's expression remains carefully neutral, but I catch a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "The food is delicious. Thank you."

I refuse to back down. "Don't deflect. If your systems are as good as you claim, you should have identified those men by now. So either you're lying about your progress, or..." I trail off, a frustrating thought occurring to me. "Or you already know who they are, and you're not telling me."

Roman's expression hardens, and I know I've struck a nerve. "Gwen, there are things at play here that you don't understand."

"Then help me understand," I plead, my voice softening. "Riley is my best friend. I need to know what's happening to her. Ineedto be a part of this."

“Gwen,” Roman sighs, and I feel bad because his expressions appear to indicate he’s losing patience with me. Then I remember Riley is probably locked up in a basement somewhere, and I no longer feel bad but angry again. “You have to trust I’m handling it.”

“Idotrust you,” I tell him, even though it’s a half-truth. I trust that a man as scary, powerful, and resourceful can get the job done. But do I trusthim? No, not in the slightest. “But you can’t keep me in the dark.”

“I don’t think talking about this with you is a good idea. There’s no need for you to get involved.”

“Involved?” I can’t help the exasperation that seeps into my voice. “I’malreadyinvolved, Roman. You brought me into this the moment you dragged me into your house and married me. Now I’m stuck here, in this prison, while my best friend is missing, and I’m just supposed to sit back and wait for updates?” I lean forward. I’m combative now. “You said you knew people and had the resources. If you think I’ll believe you haven’t made any progress, you must think I’m an idiot.”

His jaw tightens, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. He’s stubborn like me, but I’m not backing down this time. “It’s not safe for you to know everything,” he finally says, calm but edged with frustration.

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