Page 32 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"Luck," Vladimir spits out. "Pure luck. And it won't last forever."

He starts pacing, his agitation growing with each step. "For fuck's sake, Abram, think! You're not just risking your own neck here. Every day she doesn't know is another day she could walk into a trap. Another day, our rivals could use her against us."

The truth of his words hits me like a physical blow, but I can't back down. Not yet. "I'll tell her when the time is right," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "When I know she won't run."

Vladimir stops, fixing me with a look that's equal parts pity and exasperation. "And when will that be? When it's too late?"

I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting as Vladimir's words sink in. His argument is valid, but the thought of revealing everything to Zara sends a jolt of fear through my chest.

"You don't understand," I mutter, more to myself than to Vladimir. "If I tell her now, I could lose her forever."

Vladimir's eyes flash with a mixture of sympathy and irritation. "And if you don't tell her, you might lose her anyway—or worse."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my lips. The truth of his statement hangs heavy in the air between us.

Suddenly, Vladimir's expression shifts. A grim determination settles over his features as he reaches into his coat.

"Maybe this will change your mind," he growls.

Before I can react, he slams a glossy magazine onto my desk. The impact echoes through the room, and I find myself staring at a full-color image of Zara and me on the cover.

"What the hell is this?" I demand, my voice hoarse with shock.

Vladimir's finger jabs at the headline: "Goodbye Tatiana—Now, Now, Mr. Zolotov. Who is the Stunning Blonde?"

"This," Vladimir says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "is your carefully managed situation."

I lean forward, studying the image. It's from the charity gala last night—Zara in that sequenced dress that made my heart stop, her hand on my arm as we share a private laugh.

"Fuck," I breathe, the implications hitting me all at once.

Vladimir nods grimly. "Exactly. Your little secret isn't so secret anymore, Abram. Time's up."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides out of my office, leaving me alone with the damning evidence and the bitter taste of reality.

I can't tear my eyes away from the glossy cover. Zara's radiant smile, the way she leans into me—it's all there in vibrant color, frozen in time. A moment of pure joy, now tainted by the looming shadow of danger.

"This can't be happening," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

My fingertips trace the outline of Zara's face on the magazine. God, she's beautiful. And now, because of me, she's a target.

"How did I let this happen?" I ask the empty room, my voice barely above a whisper.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. "The gala. The paparazzi must have slipped past security."

I lean back in my chair, a wave of nausea washing over me. How could I have been so careless? So caught up in Zara's presence that I let my guard down?

"Fuck!" I slam my fist on the desk, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the fear coursing through my veins.

My eyes dart back to the image. To anyone else, we look like any other couple. But I know better. I notice the possessive way my hand rests on her lower back and the hunger in my eyes as I gaze at her.

"I've put her in danger," I whisper, the weight of my choices crushing down on me. "What have I done?"

My mind races, scenarios flashing before my eyes like a twisted slideshow—rival Bratva units seeing this, wanting revenge against me, and tracking down Zara. Enemies I've made over the years, finally finding a weakness to exploit. The innocent woman I've dragged into this dark world, oblivious to the target now painted on her back.

I push away from the desk and pace the room. The walls seem to close in, suffocating me with the lack of choices. I can’t tell her I’m the Bratva. Not yet.

It’ll scare her off. She’d stop seeing me, and more than I fear losing her, I worry that she’d be even more exposed if I’m not in the picture to watch over her.

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