Page 58 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

Vera shakes her head. “No. It’s too painful for him. Everything he does, everything he’s built—it’s because of Anatoly. To make sure nothing like that happens again.”

Her words resonate, and for the first time, I see Makar in a different light. He’s not just a man hardened by power and violence; he’s a man shaped by loss, by grief so deep it turned him into the cold, impenetrable figure he is today.

My hand lingers on my stomach as I glance back at the photograph. Will our child bring him some of the joy he lost? Will they help him find the part of himself he’s buried so deeply?

I take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside as a faint discomfort ripples through my lower abdomen. It’s subtle, more an ache than a pain, but enough to make me pause.

Vera notices immediately. “Are you all right?” she asks, concern etching her features.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, though my hand instinctively presses against my belly. “It’s just… a little discomfort. Probably nothing.”

“Still,” Vera says firmly, stepping closer, “you should rest. The baby’s growing quickly now. You need to take care of yourself.”

I nod, though the ache lingers, a faint reminder of how much has changed. I glance at Vera, her presence comforting, and offer a small smile. “Thank you, Vera. For telling me about Anatoly, and for everything else you do.”

Her expression softens, and she places a gentle hand on my arm. “It’s my pleasure, dear. You’re part of this family now.”

Her words make me chuckle softly, and I nod again before turning to leave the room. As I walk back to my own space, the discomfort fades, but my thoughts remain tangled in everything I’ve learned.

As I step away from the door to Anatoly’s room, Vera falls into step beside me, her quiet presence comforting in the otherwise silent hallway. The mansion feels too large at times, too cold and intimidating, but Vera has a way of softening its edges.

She glances at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

I nod, though my hand instinctively moves to rest on my stomach again. “I think so. It was just a little discomfort.”

“Even small things matter,” she says gently. “This is your first, isn’t it?”

I smile faintly. “It is. I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She chuckles, the sound warm and motherly. “No one does at first. The first child teaches you as much as you teach them.”

Her words are kind, but they carry a weight I can’t ignore. “You have children?” I ask, glancing at her as we walk.

Her face lights up, and there’s a spark of pride in her eyes. “Two. A boy and a girl. They’re practically adults now—late teens. They’re my world.”

I can’t help but smile at the way her tone softens when she talks about them. “Are they like you?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” she says with a laugh. “My daughter, Alina, is fiercely independent. She’s got a fire in her that reminds me of you, actually. Always questioning, always challenging.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m difficult?”

She grins. “Not at all. It’s a good thing to have fire. Life isn’t always kind, and it helps to be strong. Alina reminds me of that every day.”

“Your son?”

“Markus,” she says, her voice softening further. “He’s quieter. Thoughtful. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s always worth listening to.”

I can hear the love in her voice, the unshakable bond she has with her children, and it tugs at something inside me. I glance down at my own growing belly, wondering if I’ll ever feel that same connection.

“They sound wonderful,” I say honestly.

“They are,” Vera agrees. “They’ve taught me so much. Parenting isn’t just about guiding them—it’s about learning from them too. You’ll see. This little one of yours will change you in ways you can’t imagine.”

Her words settle over me, heavy but comforting, and I find myself asking, “Did you always want children?”

“I did,” she says with a nod. “Still, I was terrified too. I wondered if I’d be enough for them, if I’d make the right choices. Do you know what? I still wonder that sometimes. Love has a way of carrying you through.”

Love. The word lingers in my mind, bringing with it a wave of uncertainty.

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