Page 23 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

“She’s going to know. I told her someone brought them for her,” Viktor replies evenly, but still the envy brews inside me. Now I’m going to have to wait until the end of the event to let her know it was me.

I drain the rest of my drink, nodding my head as the night wears on. For the rest of the night, Emily is steady on stage and looks much more stable in her new shoes, sauntering comfortably on and off stage, moving objects around and helping out.

Smirking and happy with the amount of money raised, I watch the thermometer of money rise during the night. Ms. Jenkins eventually hits the stage, dropping the microphone down to speak into it.

“Thank you, esteemed guests, for joining us tonight. It’s such a treat to see how much money we raise every year. I often think, jeez, how are we going to top this again this year, but every time, I’m floored by the generosity of the humans of Chicago. Tonight is no exception.”

The schmuck of a guy who has brought himself a painting and thinks he’s contributed big with his $200,000 donation is in for a shock. “I like to donate big, ya know?” He winks in my direction as my mouth tugs into a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” I reply, knowing what’s coming next.

“As I do every year, I want to acknowledge a few donors who have directly changed the trajectory of this organization. It’s going to be a big year for us at Golden Heart and allow us to take in more children than ever before. Thank you Ryurik Utkin for your generous donation of eight million dollars. The most ever received in history. Can you please stand up?”

“What the fuck?” the guy gushes as I stand, pulling the lapels of my tux jacket together.

I hold up a humble hand, sitting back down as the room erupts into applause and admiration. I watch Emily, who is standing quietly in the background on stage, her expression unreadable.

Take your two hundred thousand and shove it. Asshole. The end of the night comes quickly after that, and when I find Emily at the end of the night, I let her in on the truth.

“Are your feet okay now?”

Her eyebrows hitch in exclamation points, but the rest of her face stays neutral. “Yes, thank you. They were killing me. I hadn’t broken my shoes in properly.”

“I noticed. See what I do for you, Emily?” I smile, her expression plain. “Enjoy your evening.” I signal to Viktor it’s time to go, before saying one more goodbye to Ms. Jenkins.

I’m going to be the first thing she remembers from the event, and the last man in her dreams when she goes to sleep tonight.

Farewell Emily.For now.

Chapter Thirteen - Emily

There he is, looking as smug as ever with his perfectly tousled, thick dirty blond hair just hanging there in his face. He looks like a fresh-faced college athlete, and the only thing that gives him away as being a flat-out psycho are those eyes. If you look deep enough, you can see there’s a devious quality to them. I flick back and forth between the tabs checking out the information on him at charity events.

The Pearl Slipper event for underprivileged Chicago kids on the South Side. He donated three million three years ago. A cheesy smile exists on his face during a ribbon cutting for the new wing of the Mercy Private Hospital.

How can he be so two-faced about his dealings and get away with it? The notion baffles me as examine at least a dozen other photos, hating the hot flushes of attraction that sprout in my body as I do. He’s painstakingly photogenic, but in every photo, there’s a self-assured smirk. As if he’s got the whole world at his feet. Sitting back in my seat, the weight of the secret I’m carrying is rocking me. Carrying a Mafia baby. I sure know how to pick ’em.

He’s a killer.A criminal of the worst kind and he’s threatened me. And not to forget he’s a detective killer. I wonder if he would really kill me if he knew I was carrying his child? Not that I’m sure the Bratva even cares about anything like that. I feel a migraine coming on as I skim through the donations and there’s a part of me that doesn’t understand.

His generosity. Just his donation alone is going to change the lives of the young girls and boys in the home. They’ll have better facilities, access to better healthcare, they’ll be able to hire more staff, and get more lost children off the street. There’s somuch that will change. He helped me silently seeing that my pointy-toed slingback shoes were killing my feet, and he didn’t want me to suffer through the night, which I surely would have.

He doesn’t know how much that relieved me at the time, but it did. It saved me from blisters. Hence the headache. He must have a heart inside of him, and maybe it bleeds ice, but there’s enough substance to him that shows mercy. Was it only because Willy Dee was snooping into his business that he killed him? Maybe he’s not like that with others he wants to keep protected and likes? I stare down at my shoes, back in my work uniform, but the shoes he brought me are now taking up residence in my closet. I don’t plan on getting rid of them, but it’s got me thinking too much.

Why would he want to help me? Gingerly, I place a hand on my stomach, rubbing it and still thinking about my options. I’m going to have to make a decision soon. I look around my desk and over to Milton, Brady, and the others in my department. To the open door of my boss’s door. I’m sure I’m going to get fired if I walk in there and tell him the truth, but it’s not as if Jackson hasn’t known of complicated situation before. In his position, he likely would have heard it all.

But every day as I touch my stomach, knowing there’s a baby growing inside me and the way I grew up with my father abandoning me, I can’t do the same. I just can’t. That wouldn’t make me any better than him if I do. It would be a case of history repeating. Sighing heavily, I feel bad for even thinking about wanting to get rid of it, even if it’s got Ryurik’s DNA running through its veins. Maybe it’s a case of me never telling him and keeping the father a mystery from everyone in the department. Surely that could work if I conceal the pregnancy long enough. Sonya, who works in the bureau, has a two-year-old and came back to the force with no problem and didn’t lose her position.

Paranoid, I bite down on my lip, thinking it through. A fatherless child, just like I was. Sure, so again, I’m no better, and think of how fraudulent and gruesome that would be hurts me to my core. I let my thoughts blur, taking the time travel tunnel back down memory lane.

“What kind of family would you want when you get out of here?” Lucy asked me.

“I’d want the type of family that would go on picnics to the ocean, and I could ride the Ferris Wheel. We would have lots to eat. Not like here, and I’d have a pink bike.”

“Sure, would be nice, but that sounds like ‘pie in the sky’ dreaming if you ask me.” Lucy said.

She was a little older than me, and sadly nobody had adopted her. I was close to giving up hope at the time too. I was only seven years old. I can remember it like I know the sky is blue. I don’t think she ever was adopted and ended up helping all the other kids in the orphanage with the nasty nuns and taking them under her wing just like she did me.

I cried so hard my stomach hurt when I had to leave her, her big soulful eyes staring back at me as I was carted away. It was the guilt. It ate away at me sometimes. And golly, I wish I knew where she was these days.

---