Page 64 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

The words are soft, almost hesitant, and they do nothing to soothe the ache in my chest. “Important,” I echo, my voice thick with emotion. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. “Hannah, I’m trying to do what’s best for you. For both of you.”

“If you really cared about me,” I say, my voice breaking, “you wouldn’t be trying to force this decision on me. You’d trust me to make the right choice.”

We’re both silent for a long moment, the weight of the argument settling over the room like a heavy fog. My tears fall freely now, and I don’t even bother to wipe them away.

“I’m tired,” I whisper finally, my voice barely audible.

His expression softens, just enough for me to notice, and he steps closer again, this time crouching in front of me. His hand moves to my knee, his touch hesitant but grounding. “Hannah,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just… I need to know you’re safe. That you’ll make it through this.”

I meet his gaze, my vision blurred with tears. “What about the baby?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Would you really take them away just to keep me safe?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then he says, “If it came down to it, yes.”

The honesty in his words makes my chest tighten, and I look away, unable to hold his gaze.

He squeezes my knee lightly, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Your health is my priority,” he says quietly.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. “If you’re so worried about me,” I say softly, “then stop trying to control me. Trust me to know what I need. Trust me to protect this baby as much as you want to protect me.”

His silence stretches on for so long that I almost think he’s going to walk away again. Then he speaks, his voice low and rough.

“I don’t want to lose either of you,” he admits, the vulnerability in his tone catching me off guard. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

The rawness in his words stirs something inside me, but it doesn’t erase the hurt he’s caused.

“I’m keeping this baby, Makar,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze once more. “Whether you like it or not.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods once, almost imperceptibly. “Then we’ll do it your way,” he says finally. “I’m not letting you take risks, Hannah. Not with this.”

I nod slowly, my breath hitching as the tension in the room begins to ease.

For now, it’s enough. The question still lingers in my mind, haunting me even as he stands and moves to leave the room:

If there was no baby, would I still matter to him? Is it the only thing keeping me safe?

Makar stands, his broad shoulders taut as if carrying the weight of the world. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turns and heads for the door.

“You’re so sure about everything,” I call after him, my voice sharp despite the tears still streaking my face. “Maybe for once, you should think about whatIwant instead of deciding for me.”

He pauses in the doorway, his back to me, and I see the slightest shift in his posture. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll respond, if he’ll turn around and say something cutting in return.

He doesn’t.

He walks out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of the room.

I sink back into the cushions, the fight draining out of me as exhaustion takes over. My body feels heavy, like it’s sinking into the sofa, and the tears come again, slow and silent this time.

I think about Vera, her kind words, her reassuring presence. Part of me wants to call for her, to let her comforting voice guide me out of this dark place. Even that feels like too much effort.

Instead, I sit there, my arms wrapped around my stomach, trying to anchor myself to the only thing that makes sense in this chaotic, suffocating life—this baby.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Makar

The hospital smells like antiseptic and despair. The sharp fluorescent lights overhead do nothing to ease the tension gripping my chest as Hannah and I walk through the sterile halls. My men are stationed discreetly outside, ensuring no one disturbs us, but their presence feels meaningless compared to the storm raging inside me.

I glance at Hannah as she walks beside me, her hand resting protectively over her belly. The bump is more pronounced now, a visible reminder of what we’re here to do. Each step closer to the doctor’s office feels heavier, like my body knows what my mind refuses to admit—I don’t want to lose this child.

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