Page 29 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

Andrei recovers quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” I snap, irritation flaring at his doubt. “This isn’t a decision I make lightly, but it’s the only option. The child will have my name, my protection. That much is non-negotiable.”

He hesitates, his expression unreadable. “Hannah?”

I tilt my head slightly, my gaze narrowing. “What about her?”

“Will she agree to this?”

I laugh softly, the sound devoid of humor. “She doesn’t have to. She’ll do what’s necessary. For her own survival.”

Andrei nods slowly, but I can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“You think this is a mistake,” I say, my tone challenging.

“I think it’s… unexpected,” he replies carefully. “If it’s what you’ve decided, I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Good,” I say, leaning back once more. “The sooner, the better.”

He nods again, turning to leave, but pauses at the door. “Boss… a wife and a child. That’s a lot of vulnerability.”

I meet his gaze, my expression cold. “Don’t mistake my decision for weakness, Andrei. Vulnerability is only a problem if it’s left unguarded. I don’t intend to leave anything unguarded.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer before nodding and leaving the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

Alone, I reach for the glass of whiskey on my desk, staring into the amber liquid as if it holds answers I can’t find.

A wife. A child.

It’s not the life I wanted, but it’s the life I’ll gladly take.

My fingers tighten around the glass as my thoughts drift. She’s defiant, frustratingly so, but there’s something intoxicating about it. Even now, with her pregnant, she still challenges me at every turn. And the thought of her swelling with my child, of her belonging to me in every way that matters—it stirs something dark and undeniable in me.

My jaw tightens as I lean back in my chair, the glass held loosely in one hand. Control has always been the cornerstone of my existence. Everything I have, I’ve taken. Everything I want, I keep. Hannah is no exception.

The image of her flashes in my mind, her body soft and yielding under my hands. The curve of her belly, the life we created together growing inside her—it consumes me. The need to claim her, to remind her who she belongs to, burns low and steady in my chest.

A knock at the door shatters the thought like glass hitting the floor.

“Come in,” I say, my tone sharp as I set the whiskey down.

Vera steps inside, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her composure is impeccable, as always, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression—hesitation, maybe.

“I need to talk to you about Hannah,” Vera begins, her voice measured. “She’s scared.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Good. Fear keeps her in line.”

“No,” Vera says firmly, her gaze meeting mine without a trace of hesitation. “It’s not good.”

Her words hit like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. I stand, my chair scraping against the floor as I cross the room. “Watch your tone, Vera,” I warn, my voice low and edged with steel.

She doesn’t flinch. Vera’s one of the few people who’s never been afraid of me, and it’s both a blessing and a curse.

“With respect, Mr. Sharov,” she says, her tone steady, “fear will only push her further away. She’ll never be happy here if all she feels is terror. A woman who isn’t happy won’t raise a happy child.”

My jaw tightens as her words settle over me like a weight. “Her happiness isn’t my concern,” I say flatly. “She’s here because I chose for her to be here. That’s all that matters.”

Vera shakes her head, her gaze unwavering. “You might think that now. What happens when that child looks at you with the same fear you see in her, is that the kind of family you want?”

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