Page 47 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

“Why?” I ask through gritted teeth.

He says nothing, cowering under the gun.

"You might have had your reasons, so I won’t call the cops. But you chose the wrong place to steal from. If I ever see you here again," I growl, "you won't leave alive. Understand? I saved your life this time around, but my men won’t let this pass next time around, and I can’t promise I’d stop them."

He nods frantically, stumbling backward and disappearing into the alley. I can feel Zara's eyes boring into me, but I don't dare look at her, petrified of her judgment.

I turn to the flustered employee, keeping my voice low and steady. "Mitch, what have I told you about handling these situations?"

Mitch's face is flushed, his breath coming in quick gasps. "I'm sorry, Mr. Zolotov. I just… I lost control."

I place a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from prying eyes. "I understand your anger, but we can't afford such displays. What if a patron had seen?"

He nods, shame coloring his features. "It won't happen again, Sir."

"See that it doesn't," I say, my tone softening slightly. "Now, go clean yourself up."

As Mitch hurries away, I turn to face Zara, bracing myself for her reaction. Zara is silent, her eyes wide and her face pale. I walk toward her, my heart clenching at the sight of her fear.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I murmur, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face, unable to stop myself. "But this is my world, Zara. It's not always pretty."

She nods slowly, her eyes searching mine. "I know. But I'm not running away, Abram. I want to understand, to see it all. No matter how ugly it gets.”

To my surprise, somewhere in the depths of her gaze, I see… admiration?

“That was kind,” she says, her voice low and husky. “For you to not call the cops.”

“In my experience,” I shrug, “I’ve learned people steal in desperation. Some need to feed a kid, others an addiction. The cause is not for me to judge.”

“Abram.” She reaches up and clutches my cheek. “Most men wouldn’t care. You handled it as the man I’ve grown to know.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at her words. "You're not… afraid?"

Zara shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "No. You did what you had to do, and generously at that. And I'm glad you let me see it.”

Her words send a thrill of hope and desire rushing through me, and I pull her close, crushing her body against mine. She melts into my embrace, her arms winding around my neck as I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her scent.

For a long moment, we stand there in the shadows of the alley, lost in each other's touch. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel a flicker of something that might just be happiness amidst the recent darkness of my world.

"Zara," I breathe into her hair, my voice rough with desire. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Her voice is fierce, and she admits the truth. "Maybe I do, Abram. Maybe you do the same to me."

My heart pounds in my chest, every fiber of my being screaming to find us a place alone.

"Come," I say, stepping away and taking her hand with urgency.

I can't resist the urge any longer. My hand still clasping hers, I lead Zara through the bustling kitchen, past curious glances from the staff. We reach a nondescript door at the far end, and I pull her inside, shutting it behind us with a soft click as I push her against it, my arms keeping her in place.

The food storage room is dimly lit, with shelves stacked high with supplies. But all I can focus on is Zara, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her brown eyes locked on mine, wide with longing.

"Abram," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "What are we doing here?"

I step closer until our bodies are mere inches apart. "What I’ve been wanting to do from the moment I rescued you from that van," I murmur, my breath hot against her ear.

She shivers, and I can't hold back anymore. I look down, arms on the wall beside her, and inch closer until her breasts are squeezed against my chest. She stares up at me, lips parted, breathless.

She barely manages to get my name out of her mouth, “Abr—” when I slam my own against hers, closing my eyes. I feel her in every crevice, in the way her lip gloss sweetens my tongue when I glide it across her lips, and she parts her mouth, letting me in.

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