Page 42 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I don’t answer, the words stuck in my throat, but I nod faintly, the tension in my body easing as his fingers linger against my skin.

I close my eyes as sleep begins to pull me under, my thoughts swirling with images of him, of the fire in his gaze, of the baby growing inside me.

For the first time, I wonder—not with dread, but with cautious curiosity—what the future might hold.

Chapter Fourteen - Makar

The first light of dawn filters through the heavy drapes, casting a faint golden glow over the room. I stir, blinking against the soft light as the events of the night come rushing back. My gaze shifts to the woman beside me, and for a moment, I simply watch her.

Hannah lies curled against the pillows, her dark hair spread out like a shadow against the pale sheets. Her face is relaxed in sleep, the usual tension gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable.

It’s a sight I didn’t expect to find so… captivating.

The thought unsettles me. I didn’t bring her into my life for this, for emotions or distractions. She’s here because of the child, because of the Bratva’s honor. Yet, as I watch her chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths, a foreign urge stirs within me.

An urge to protect her.

I scoff softly, brushing the thought away. She doesn’t need my protection; she needs my control. This marriage is a transaction, nothing more. Allowing myself to feel otherwise would be a mistake—one I can’t afford.

Hannah shifts slightly, her brows furrowing as she stirs awake. Her lashes flutter open, and when her gaze meets mine, a deep blush spreads across her cheeks.

Her arms immediately move to pull the sheets up over herself, and the corner of my mouth lifts into a sly grin. “Good morning, Mrs. Sharov,” I say, my tone laced with amusement.

She groans softly, burying her face in the pillow for a moment before peeking back at me, her blush deepening. “You’re insufferable,” she mutters.

I chuckle, leaning back against the headboard. “Yet, here you are, in my bed.”

Her glare is halfhearted, the embarrassment still coloring her expression. She shifts again, clutching the sheet tightly as if it’s a shield.

“You don’t have to look so embarrassed,” I add, my grin widening. “You seemed to enjoy yourself last night.”

She throws me a withering glare, but I catch the flicker of heat in her eyes before she looks away.

Pushing myself upright, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, reaching for my discarded shirt. “Get dressed,” I tell her, my tone shifting back to the controlled, authoritative edge she’s become accustomed to.

“For what?” she asks warily, her gaze following me as I button up my shirt.

“For the discussion we’re about to have,” I reply, turning to face her. “Now.”

She huffs, reluctantly sliding out of bed, the sheet clinging to her as she gathers her clothes and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. When she emerges a few minutes later, fully dressed but still flushed, I’m seated in one of the armchairs near the window, waiting.

“Sit,” I command, gesturing to the chair across from me.

Her brows knit together, but she complies, folding her arms over her chest as she sits.

“I’m laying down some rules,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

“Rules?” she echoes, her voice laced with skepticism.

“Yes. From this moment forward, you’ll abide by them, without question.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “First, you’re not to leave this mansion unless escorted byme or my men. Your safety is paramount, and I won’t have you wandering into situations you can’t handle.”

Her lips part, but I cut her off before she can argue.

“Second, you will have no contact with anyone outside this house unless I approve it. No calls, no letters, nothing. You’re my wife now, and your allegiance lies here, with me.”

Her eyes narrow, and I see the defiance flicker back to life. “You can’t just cut me off from the world,” she snaps.

“I can,” I reply coldly. “I will.”

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