Page 45 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

The raw anguish in his voice pierces through my anger, and I feel my resolve wavering. I search his face, seeing the genuine concern, the fear, the regret etched into every line. My heart softens just a little as I realize he's hurting for me—because of me.

I seek his face for any hint of deception or manipulation but see nothing but genuine self-reproach. A hundred little snapshots of our time together come tumbling into my mind, and I look back at who he was before I ever found out he’s a part of the Bratva. With me, he’s always been kind. To me, he’s never shown a single leaf of violence. For me, he’s laid the world out at my feet. Despite all his secrets, despite the violence of his world,Abram has never once been anything but gentle. His touch has always been kind; his words, though sometimes guarded, have never been cruel.

He’d never hurt me,my brain tells me now, the evidence undoubtable in my mind.

“Abram,” I whisper, looking at him. His head jerks up at me, his eyes filled with unyielding hope. A hope I’m not yet willing to entertain nor entirely dim. I speak clearer, louder, now that I have his attention. I can’t say I understand your reasoning wholly as yet, or who it is you are, or what it is you do, but I am certain you’d never hurt me.”

Abram's eyes widen, a flicker of surprise igniting in their depths. "I could never hurt you, Zara. You're… everything to me."

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning.

My gaze locks with it, my heart racing like the very first time I saw him in the lobby of his building; Like a woman about to lose all control.

I look away, trying to convey what it is I feel. "I want to understand," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Your world, your life… all of it. I don't fully get it, and I'm scared, but I want to see it. To understand you."

Abram takes a step closer, his hand reaching out but stopping short of touching me. "Are you sure? Once you step into this world…"

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. A distance I can’t close just yet, because for a brief second, I feel like we’re back at square one. Now, what happens next will decide when I’m ready to take one step forward.

"I'm sure. Show me everything, Abram. The good, the bad… I need to know it all.”

Right in front of me, Abram’s expression transforms from one of anguish to one of pure joy. His eyes light up, and the tension from his shoulders eases somewhat, giving him back the inches in height he lost over the past half hour.

"Zara," he gushes, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea what this means to me."

He takes another step closer, and this time, I don't back away. He doesn’t touch me, leaving the decision to me. I stand assured in my stance, not yet open for things to go back to being exactly the same. First, I need to see his world.

"I promise you," Abram continues, his tone filled with determination as he gazes into my eyes, "I will show you everything. No more secrets, no more half-truths."

I look up, in control, in charge. “By everything, I hope you do meaneverything.The Bratva, your operations and offices, how you make money, insights into your illegal activities, the laws you break, and the good you do.”

“I promise, Zara.” He nods, his hands trembling from the restraint he’s showing by not reaching out to grab me by the waist, cup my cheek, or hold my hand. I know because my hands are trembling as well, deprived of what feels so familiar. But I’m taking a risk enough in giving this another shot, and this time around, I want to crawl into it steadily, rather than stumble in all at once only to fall on my face.

“I’ll show you everything,” he swears.

Chapter 17 - Abram

We drive in silence. Occasionally, I glance over at her and try to decipher her expression, but she’s closed off. Guarded. I don’t blame her after all that happened last night, but hopefully, after what I show her, she’ll see that I have nothing to hide anymore.

We reach the flagship restaurant, one of the dozens scattered nationwide. The valet takes over, and when we enter Favella, the crown jewel of our restaurant empire, her eyes widen with delight. Crystal chandeliers drip from coffered ceilings, casting a warm glow over sleek floating tables. The air is thick with the scent of seared meat and truffles, and ambient electronic music plays all around us to help people not notice the passing of hours.

"It's beautiful," Zara breathes, her earlier fury seemingly forgotten.

But I know better. The tightness around her eyes, the smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes—she's still processing the revelation of my true identity. This tour is my one chance to regain her trust.

"I'm glad you like it," I murmur, guiding her past tables of laughing diners with a light hand on the small of her back. Her neck cranes backward as an at-table chef prepares spaghetti fresh in a cheese wheel.

“Wow,” she mumbles.

“We can get you some later,” I promise, thrilled that she likes the space.

Zara's eyes dart around the room, taking it all in with a mix of fascination and trepidation. I can practically feel thequestions burning on her tongue. She wants to understand how a restaurant plays into our plans.

"This is one of the restaurants my family owns," I murmur, leaning in close so only she can hear. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral, teases my senses. "It's a front, of course. A way to launder our money and keep everything looking legitimate on the surface. Businesses like these help mask the gritty underbelly of our other operations."

Zara glances at me sharply, her brow furrowed. "How does it work, exactly?" Her voice hushed. Good, she understands discretion.

I guide her past the maitre'd stand and into the main dining area. The hum of conversation and clinking cutlery swells around us.

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