Page 43 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

“It’s…complicated.”

Zara lets out a strangled laugh that borders on hysteria. "Complicated? I just saw you nearly kill a man and I was just kidnapped, Abram. I think I deserve more than 'complicated'."

"You're right," I nod, running a hand through my hair. "You do. And I'll tell you everything, I promise. But first, we need to get you somewhere safe."

As we drive back to my duplex, I can't help but notice how Zara's hands tremble, how she startles at every sudden noise. The strong, vibrant woman I've come to care for seems diminished, fragile.

"How long?" I ask softly, dreading the answer.

She looks at me, confusion clouding her features. "How long what?"

"How long will it take for you to feel safe again? To trust me again?" The questions hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken fears and regrets.

Zara turns away, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "I don't know," she whispers, and I can hear the pain in her voice. "I don't know anything anymore."

***

I guide Zara into my penthouse, my hand hovering at the small of her back, not quite touching. She's still trembling, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting danger to leap out from every shadow. My chest tightens at the sight.

"You're safe here," I murmur, leading her to the plush sofa. "I promise."

She sinks into the cushions, looking small and fragile. I grab a soft blanket and drape it over her shoulders, my fingerslingering for just a moment, but she reconciles as though to let me know she doesn’t feel safe with me.

It stabs at my heart, but how can I expect her to forget what she saw?

I stand back and ask gently. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?"

Zara shakes her head, her gaze finally meeting mine. "What I need, is a moment,” she says, in a stony voice.

I nod, settling beside her, close but not touching. We sit in silence for a long while, the only sound is our quiet breathing and the faint hum of the city below.

Finally, Zara speaks, her voice sharp. "Who were you torturing, Abram?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "He wasn’t a good man, Zara. He’s a criminal of the lowest kind.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. "Clearly. And what are you? Some kind of hero with pliers going at a man bound to a chair?”

"It's more complicated than that," I start, then catch myself at her sharp look. "But no, I’m no hero.”

“What did he do?”

I sigh and look away, not knowing how to answer her.

“What kind of family business do you run?” Her line of reasoning gets more urgent, more furious. “What other secrets are you keeping from me, Abram? God damn it, who the hell are you?”

This is it, the moment of truth. Any idea I had to keep my world from her now seems like a foolish thought in retrospect. She’s seen too much, been through enough. If I don’t tell hereverything now, consequences be damned, I’d be dishonoring her experience in the worst possible way.

And so, even though every molecule in my body is begging me to find a way to lie my way out of this, to guarantee her presence by my side, I decide to put her needs first.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I try to break it to her gently. “I'm part of an organization. We have… business interests that aren't always legal. But, we maintain order. We never hurt innocents. We try to do good where we can."

“What form of an organization?” she asks, voice trembling.

“It’s… The Bratva,” I say, my voice choking as I do.

Zara's head whips in my direction, eyes wide with shock. "The Bratva? You're… you're part of the Russian mafia?"

I nod slowly, watching her face carefully. "I'm one of the leaders, actually."

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