Page 75 of Married to the Bratva

“I will,” I reply softly, catching his arm. “And if you ever play another trick like that on my husband, I’ll kill you myself.”

He looks like he might laugh, then he sees the fury in my eyes. “Understood,” he says before leaving the room.

I turn back to Maxim, who’s staring at the ceiling with a distant look in his eyes. “King of the city, huh?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Should I start calling you Your Majesty?”

He smirks faintly, his gaze shifting to me. “Definitely.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Don’t let it go to your head. I can’t believe that son of a bitch could have unlocked the file anytime he liked. I worked my ass off on that thing and I never got to finish the job.”

“I’ll pay you anyway.” His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his fingers idly picking at the blanket. “Enough to start a new life. You can take your grandmother, go wherever you want.”

I stop in my tracks, my heart lurching at his words. “You want me to go?”

“I’m giving you your freedom,” he says, his gaze locking on mine. “Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

I open my mouth to argue, but the lump in my throat stops me. He’s trying to do the right thing, I realize. To let me go so I can be free of this life. But the thought of it—the thought of walking away from him now—is unbearable.

“We’re having a child together. Don’t you care about that?”

His eyes darken, his mask slipping for just a moment. “I don’t want you to stay because you feel like you have to. I’ll fund the child’s life, of course. It will want for nothing.”

I let out a short laugh, the sound brittle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shakes his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Sophie.”

“I mean it,” I snap, stepping closer until I’m right beside the bed. “I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life.”

He looks up at me, and for the first time, I see the cracks in his armor. The vulnerability he tries so hard to hide. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t I?” I say, leaning down until we’re face to face. “I love you, Maxim. And if you think I’m going anywhere, you’re delusional.”

He stares at me, stunned into silence, and for a moment, I think I’ve said too much. But then his hand reaches out, brushing against my cheek. His touch is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid I might disappear.

“You love me?” he says, as if he’s testing the words on his tongue.

“Yes,” I say, my voice firm. “And don’t think for a second that I’m doing this out of pity or guilt or whatever other nonsense you’ve convinced yourself of. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you.”

He exhales sharply, his eyes searching mine for something. “Either you’re a fucking good actor,” he says finally, his voice breaking. “Or you mean that.”

“No acting,” I tease, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You’re stuck with me now, Maxim Abramov.”

56

SOPHIE

Nine months later…

Iadjust my laptop on the wide oak desk Maxim had custom-built for me, running my fingers over the smooth surface.

The room is bathed in late morning light streaming through the tall windows, illuminating the sleek, minimalist setup I’ve carved out for my cybersecurity agency.

On one screen, lines of code scroll endlessly; on the other, a sleek interface shows the current status of various encryption projects.

Baby paraphernalia—tiny onesies, a baby monitor, and an unopened box of diapers—are scattered among my high-tech gear.

The phone rings, and I swipe it off the desk, cradling it against my ear as I glance at my screen. “Sophie Abramov speaking.”

“Mrs. Abramov, this is Blake from Millennial Tech Solutions,” comes the voice on the other end. He sounds jittery, which isn’t unusual. People rarely call me because things aregoing smoothly. “I know you’re about to go on maternity leave but we’ve got a problem. Our servers?—”

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