Page 53 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

He leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “Your mother?”

The question surprises me, but I nod. “She used to make these all the time. After school, on weekends… they were her way of making everything feel normal.”

Makar’s eyes flicker with something—curiosity, perhaps—but he says nothing, letting me continue.

“She passed away when I was fourteen,” I add, my voice trembling slightly. “And after that, nothing felt… right anymore.”

The silence between us deepens, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels heavy with understanding, a shared weight that neither of us speaks aloud.

“She must have been a good mother,” Makar says finally, his tone quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“She was,” I say, a small, wistful smile tugging at my lips. “She would’ve hated this.”

“This?” he echoes, one brow arching slightly.

“This… arrangement. The baby. Everything.”

Makar doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the table. “She would have wanted you safe,” he says after a moment, his voice firm.

I meet his eyes, and for once, I don’t feel the usual cold detachment. There’s something softer there, something I can’t quite name.

I pick up the fork beside my plate and cut into the cinnamon roll, the aroma of cinnamon and cherries hitting me like a wave. The first bite melts on my tongue, and for a moment, the world feels a little less chaotic.

Makar watches me, his gaze steady. “Better?” he asks.

I nod, swallowing. “Better.”

The faintest smirk touches his lips, and I realize it’s not the usual smugness I’ve come to expect from him. It feels… genuine.

“You’re full of surprises,” I say quietly, setting my fork down.

His smirk widens slightly. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

I roll my eyes, a small laugh escaping me despite myself. “You’d complain too if you were in my position.”

“I don’t complain,” he replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I adapt.”

I shake my head, another laugh bubbling up. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension in my chest eases.

As we finish the meal, the silence between us isn’t the heavy, oppressive quiet I’ve grown used to. It feels lighter, easier, like something has shifted between us.

When I glance up at Makar, I catch him watching me, his blue eyes thoughtful.

“You’ve changed,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His brow lifts slightly. “Have I?”

“Yes,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know if I like it.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I don’t need you to like it. I just need you to eat.”

I roll my eyes, but the faint smile on my lips lingers as I take another bite.

Chapter Eighteen - Makar

The mansion is quiet as I step through the front doors, the click of my shoes on the polished marble floors the only sound. The event looms over the evening, a formal gathering of Bratva allies and high-ranking members—a display of unity and power, and my attendance is mandatory.

This time, I’ve decided Hannah will accompany me.

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