Page 29 of Captured By the Bratva

For days, he left me to get acquainted with Emily in this strange place. Burning questions stayed bottled within me, but I didn’t bother asking him. He was busy on the phone or gonespeaking with more of those men. Besides, I was too busy trying to understand it all myself.

Taking care of Emily felt like a vacation. Out of my crummy apartment, treated with unlimited food and clothing that Ivan must have arranged to be delivered here, I almost felt… pampered, if isolated and locked up.

I didn’t have to count servings and ration my money on meals. I wasn’t obligated to report to work and suffer that endless guilt over not spending time with Emily.

It was bizarre and unsettling to assume this peaceful limbo could last.

I’m a hostage. Nothing more.

But for a moment, I’d felt like someone else entirely. When he’d taken me by surprise and fucked me so hard, distracting me from the trauma of being kidnapped and teased, I felt like a new woman. Desired and coveted. Treasured and treated to bliss.

He hadn’t come close to touch me, let alone speak about that rabid lust we’d burned out that one time. And I felt like an idiot to cling to those thoughts.

Because I’m not his woman. I’m nothing but his hostage.

And I still couldn’t understand why. If he thought Steven would care about me and want to come out of hiding to retrieve me, he was mistaken. My sperm donor would surrender me to get his way and ensure his profit.

Dominic wouldn’t care about me either, if Ivan was holding me hostage to impact that Rossini leader. I clung to the assumption that Dom didn’t know that I’d had his baby. No matter which way I looked at this confusing mess, I didn’t see how Emily would be in the middle of this Mafia war. It made no sense.

Ivan didn’t tell me anything, as wary of me as I was of him. It was almost as though he couldn’t tell how to view me anymore. After that one time he’d fucked me at the apartment in the city—over two weeks ago—I couldn’t understand what his intentions were, if they’d changed since he captured me. He hadn’t raped me, but I made no mistake of acknowledging that he was in charge.

And I hated it.

As I tidied up from dinner, washing the dishes one night in my stay here, I tensed as he walked through the kitchen. I was always aware of him, noting how every room seemed smaller with his larger-than-life presence.

Emily fussed, and I worried that he’d be annoyed. Not once did he act in any way that suggested he hated having her around, but I couldn’t ignore this guess that he wasn’t exactly a kid-friendly sort of man. He was a criminal, a man used to lurking in sex clubs, someone without a dad bod or ease with being near a baby.

I struggled to finish the dishes and give her attention where she whined in her highchair that Ivan or someone on his staff had procured without a second thought.

“Hold on, baby girl. Just hold on a minute and let me—” A glass slipped in the sudsy water, and I gasped as shards sliced through the water in the sink. And my hand. I hissed in a breath and clutched the tender area between my thumb and finger.

“What happened?” Ivan asked, immediately there and looming over my shoulder.

“Uh.” I swallowed, unused to his speaking to me after such a long spell of avoidance. “I dropped a glass and?—”

Emily cried louder, unhappy about the lack of attention.

“Hold on, Emmy.” I grimaced, glancing at her past him. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

Ivan frowned, snatching a towel and pulling my hand out of the water. “Compress it.”

I accepted the towel and held it down tightly, bewildered and partly awestruck as he hurried to Emily and picked her up.

“Quiet,” he told her. “Be quiet.” He didn’t order it like he did to his men. He wasn’t instructing her like an impatient, bossy adult and expecting her to listen. But it was all he could likely think of to say as a comforting response to her needing to be picked up.

He stepped aside from the table, cradling her in his arms. The sight of my baby against his bare chest did something to me. Something raw and primitive. Among that canvas stretched taut over his ripped muscles, his skin marked with tattoos and scars, she pressed her cheek to him and sniffled. Calming instantly, she peered up at him. Confused but maybe curious, Emily gazed up at Ivan as he tried to rock and sway in his step a little bit. His big hands held her securely, and as he looked down at her, continuing to tell her to stay calm and be quiet in that softened yet gruff voice of his, my heart absolutely melted.

Oh, God.My ovaries could explode at the sexy yet tender sight. Since I learned that I was pregnant, I knew she wouldn’t ever have a fatherly figure in her life. Not a dad. Not a grandpa. Nor an uncle. No one but me. So seeing this mean grump handle her so delicately threw me off.

And had me wondering how he could soothe her so easily.

Or if he’d ever want to repeat a dose of his affection onme.

11

IVAN

Ipaced through the living room, peeking at Becca napping on the couch each time I passed her.

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