Page 45 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

When I came here complaining of weird symptoms, including frequent nausea and fatigue, Josè encouraged me to get some tests done. Not bothering to ask him which tests, I followed his instructions and allowed the nurses to do their job.

And now, the results sat in my hand, as heavy as a ton of bricks.

Maybe it was because, even before unfolding the paper, I knew what it was. The only reason I drove to this clinic in the first place was to have someone falsify my fears.

I opened the paper and scanned the page, the words blurring together before snapping into sharp focus. And the information printed in black ink only confirmed my worst nightmare.

Pregnancy confirmed.

The room seemed to fade away. Doctor Josè was saying something, but it sounded like a muffled noise in the background. I couldn’t quite hear it over the thunder of my own heartbeat.

“Leonora, are you alright?”

I was hyperventilating because I was, in fact,notalright. My fingernails were digging so hard into the armchair that I might have chipped a nail.

But it made sense, right?

I had mind-blowing, unbelievable, unprotected sex withZver, watched him spill his hot seeds between my thighs, and blindly believed that I was safe and good to go on with my life without repercussions when we didn’t use a condom, birth control pill, or contraceptive.

Weeks later, I’d missed my period. I developed symptoms. The frigging signs flashed like traffic lights, but I ignored them and continued living in denial.

So, why the hell was I freaking out?

“Uh,” I said, rising to my feet, struggling to keep the stinging tears at bay as I snatched my purse from the table. “I’m fine. It’s just the shock of everything….”

I swear, I didn’t want to cry. But talking to Josè suddenly reminded me of the only reason I knew him in the first place.

Dio mio.

Papa was going to kill me.

“Leonora.” Josè was on his feet, trying to reach for me before I possibly stumbled, fell, and killed myself and the unborn child in the process. “Leonora, wait. You don’t have to go through with it. We can discuss alternative options.”

But I couldn’t wait and knew Josè’s professionalalternativeoptionswould get my head rolling in cold blood faster than the actual news of the pregnancy if Papa or any other person from the clan found out.

I was out the door, yelling, “My father can’t find out, Josè. I’m begging you,” before anyone else could stop me.

Once I made it into the car, strapping myself tightly with the seatbelt, I threw my head on the wheel and busted into salty tears. The last time I really cried, with my entire soul and might, I was twelve. It was a trip to the beach with Papa. I built a massive sandcastle, gigantic enough to win a prize. Then, Matteo, from out of nowhere, ran into it with someone’s dog.

Dio mio.

What the heck had I gotten myself into? And what the hell was I going to do now?

Pregnant?

Jesus.

I couldn’t be pregnant. Not now when my world was already a frigging mess, with Papa’s health, the outfit trying to regain balance, the alliance, andZver—

Rafayel’s silent treatment was killing me now, more than ever, because…it was his frickin’ seed in the first place. I carried his child in my womb without an iota of assurance that he’d even want me or accept it.

But damn him if he denied it!

He was my first, and only, and he knew it.

Still.

Papa’s reaction was already scaring the shit out of me, and words hadn’t even gotten to his ears yet. Even on his deathbed, there was no putting it past him to request for his Glock to shoot me himself. The child wasn’t going to pain him. It was the child being of Russian blood that would spur him to send me to my maker. And worse, he hated Russians, but he specifically hated the Yezhovs more.

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