Page 24 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I meet his eyes, unflinching. “Yes.”

The admission surprises me as much as it seems to surprise him. Andrei straightens slightly, crossing his arms. “You’ve never struck me as the paternal type.”

“I’m not,” I say, my voice clipped. “If she’s carrying my child, that changes things. I don’t leave what’s mine to chance.”

Andrei smirks faintly, his head tilting. “You sound almost… protective.”

I glare at him, and he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Boss. I’m just saying. It’s not like you.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”

The silence stretches for a moment before Andrei speaks again, his tone more serious this time. “If it’s true, what happens next?”

I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. The thought of a child—a part of me I never asked for, never wanted—sits heavy in my chest. It’s not just about me anymore.

“If it’s true,” I say finally, my voice firm, “then I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Andrei nods, seeming satisfied with the answer. He turns to leave, pausing at the door.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, glancing back at me, “I think she’ll be fine. She’s tougher than she looks.”

I don’t respond, and a moment later, the door closes behind him.

Alone again, I pour another glass of vodka, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

If she’s telling the truth, nothing will ever be the same.

Chapter Nine - Hannah

The early morning air is brisk, biting against my skin as I’m led out of the mansion. Two of Makar’s men flank me, their expressions unreadable but their presence unmistakably intimidating.

Andrei walks a few steps ahead, the quiet authority in his stride making it clear he’s in charge.

The black SUV is parked in the circular driveway, its sleek exterior glinting faintly under the muted sunlight. One of the men opens the door, gesturing for me to get in.

“Let’s go,” Andrei says curtly, not bothering to glance back as he slides into the front passenger seat.

I hesitate, my feet rooted to the ground for just a moment too long.

“Move,” the man nearest me says, his voice low and impatient.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I climb into the back seat, the leather cool against my skin. The door shuts with a heavy thud, sealing me inside the confined space. The other man takes the seat beside me, his large frame making the already cramped area feel even smaller.

The ride begins in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound as we pull out of the driveway and onto the quiet street. My hands fidget in my lap, my nerves twisted into a knot that tightens with every passing second.

The journey feels endless, the city blurring past the tinted windows as we drive. I glance at Andrei occasionally, hoping for some sign of humanity, some indication that this isn’t as cold and calculated as it feels. But his face remains impassive, his focus fixed straight ahead.

After what feels like hours, the SUV pulls into a gated private clinic. The building is small but modern, its clean white facade gleaming under the daylight. The gates slide shut behind us with a metallic clang, the sound making me flinch.

“We’re here,” Andrei announces, turning slightly to look at me. His eyes are sharp, assessing, but he doesn’t say anything more as he opens his door and steps out.

One of the men opens the door on my side, and I climb out hesitantly. The cold air wraps around me again as I follow Andrei toward the entrance, my heart pounding harder with every step.

The clinic’s interior is pristine, the air sterile and faintly scented with antiseptic. A nurse greets Andrei with a respectful nod before leading us down a hallway.

“In here,” she says, opening a door to a private examination room.

I step inside, my stomach twisting as I take in the clean, clinical space. The walls are pale blue, adorned with generic artwork meant to soothe, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

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