Page 50 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

I stand, squaring my shoulders and plastering on what I hope is a confident smile. As we walk, I can't help but wonder what the night will bring.

***

The dining room takes my breath away. A long, polished table stretches before us, set with fine china and gleaming silverware. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, their light dancing off the elegant place settings.

"Wow," I breathe, taking in the grandeur. "This is… something else."

Abram's hand rests on the small of my back, a comforting presence. "Too much?"

I shake my head, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. "No, it's perfect. Just… intimidating."

He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. "Remember, this is about you knowing who I am in every element of my life. It’s not about you impressing them, but whether we stand a chance to keep you around."

I nod, though I can’t make myself buy what he’s saying. To me, it’s all about impressing them. The distant sound of a bell ringing reaches us. My heart rate spikes, and I take a deep breath.

"Ready?" Abram asks, his eyes searching mine.

I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "As I'll ever be."

The moment of truth has arrived, and I silently pray I'm up for the challenge that awaits.

***

The door swings open, and I feel the atmosphere shift immediately. Vladimir strides in, his piercing gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. Tall, imposing. I’d recognize that aura of ambition anywhere.

"Brother," he nods at Abram, then turns to me. "So, she finally knows."

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his intense stare. “Would you like a drink?”

Before Vladimir can respond, another man bursts through the door, his movements sharp and agitated.

“Denis,” Abram pulls him into a hug.

“Your bloody doorman.” he glowers. “He dared ask me my name! As though he hasn’t seen me before. Have him fired, will you?” he asks, clearly angry.

“I own the apartment, not the building,” Abram replies, amused. Denis’s eyes narrow as they land on me.

"Let's get this over with," he mutters, making his way to the table.

I feel Abram tense beside me, but I squeeze his hand, silently reassuring him. We can do this.

Just a moment later, the last brother—Mark, I assume—enters with a smooth smile, immediately diffusing some of the tension. "Ah, the lovely Zara. We've heard so much about you."

Besides him is a woman with long, raven-black hair.

Lara. I recognize Abram’s sister from all the photos in the media.

“Hi, Zara,” she whispers, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss on my cheek. She feels warm, sweet.

“Hi.” I smile at her.

She links her arm through mine. “Come,” she says loudly. “Let’s pour out some drinks. To bear these fools, I’d say we’ll need some, don’t you?”

I can’t help but laugh.

Drinks in hand, we finally make our way to the table.

Vladimir wastes no time, leaning forward with a predatory focus. "So, Zara, how does it feel knowing you’re with a criminal?"

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