Page 50 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

Something I don’t recognize.

Something I don’twantto recognize.

Without thinking, I reach out, my hand resting on her shoulder. Her body flinches slightly at the contact, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You’re safe now,” I say, the words quiet but resolute. “It’s over.”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes lift slowly to meet mine. There’s fear there, yes, but also confusion.

I squeeze her shoulder lightly, grounding her, letting her feel my steady presence. For a moment, I consider pulling her closer, holding her until that fear subsides. I imagine wrapping my arms around her, letting her feel something more than the cold, detached protection I’ve offered so far.

I hold back.

Instead, my hand lingers on her shoulder, firm but impersonal, before I let it fall.

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, straightening to my full height. My tone is more commanding now, an anchor for both of us. “Come on.”

She stares at me for a beat longer, her brows furrowing slightly. Then she nods, her movements stiff and mechanical as she stands. I guide her toward the doorway, keeping my body close to hers, shielding her from the grisly scene behind us.

As we step into the hallway, the tension in her frame remains, her steps hesitant and unsure.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” she says suddenly, her voice breaking the silence.

My jaw tightens, but I don’t stop walking. “Yes, I did,” I reply, my tone firm. “He was a threat.”

“To me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“To both of us,” I correct, glancing down at her. “This wasn’t random, Hannah. That man wasn’t here by accident.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she doesn’t argue.

When we reach the sitting room, I guide her to the couch, motioning for her to sit. She does, her movements slow and reluctant.

I stand before her, my arms crossed, scanning her for any signs of injury. I step closer, crouching in front of her again.

“Hannah, listen to me,” I say, my voice low but firm. “I know this is overwhelming, but you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and for a moment, there’s something raw and unguarded in her expression. “Why do you care?” she whispers.

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. “Because you’re my wife,” I answer simply. “Because you’re carrying my child.”

She flinches slightly at the reminder, her hand brushing against her stomach almost instinctively.

“This is what it means to be with me, Hannah,” I continue, my tone softening slightly. “I protect what’s mine. Always.”

Her lips part, as though she wants to respond, but no words come. Instead, she nods faintly, her shoulders sagging as the adrenaline begins to fade.

I rise to my feet, glancing toward the hallway where the body still lies. My men will deal with it—clean up the mess, remove the evidence. But the lingering threat… that’s something I’ll handle myself.

For now, though, my focus is on her.

“You should rest,” I say, my voice gentler now. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

She hesitates, her gaze flicking to mine, then nods again.

As I turn to leave, she calls out softly, “Makar.”

I pause, glancing back over my shoulder.

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