Page 77 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

“This is amazing,” I say, grinning at him.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replies, taking a seat across from me.

We eat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around us like a warm blanket. Every so often, I catch him watching me, his expression soft and unreadable.

The quiet stretches between us, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against the plates. Makar eats methodically, his movements precise, his focus seemingly on his food. Yet every so often, I catch his eyes on me, their intensity softened by something unspoken.

“You’re staring again,” I tease lightly, taking another bite of the pasta.

“You’re imagining things,” he counters smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“Or you’re terrible at minding your own business,” he replies, his tone carrying just enough warmth to make it clear he’s teasing.

We lapse back into silence, the comfortable kind that doesn’t demand filling. I twirl my fork in the pasta, the weight of the day starting to lift. Yet, there’s something lingering on my mind, a question I’ve been hesitant to ask.

“Makar?” I say finally, my voice quieter now.

He looks up from his plate, his blue eyes locking on mine. “What is it?”

I set my fork down, brushing a hand over my belly. “I’ve been thinking about names,” I admit.

His brow lifts slightly, his expression curious. “Oh?”

“For the baby,” I continue, glancing at him nervously. “I know we said we’d wait until they’re born, but… if it’s a boy—” I hesitate, biting my lip.

“Go on,” he says, his tone gentle but urging.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “If it’s a boy, I thought maybe we could name him Anatoly.”

The name hangs in the air, heavy with meaning. For a moment, Makar doesn’t respond, his expression brightening. His fork hovers just above his plate before he sets it down carefully.

“Anatoly,” he repeats, his voice low.

I nod, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “I know it’s your brother’s name,” I say softly. “I just thought… it might be nice. To honor him, but if you don’t want to—”

He cuts me off with a slight shake of his head. “It’s not that,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “It’s a good name.”

I search his face, trying to decipher the emotions flickering behind his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, though there’s a faint hesitation in his tone. “It’s… fitting.”

I can tell there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he picks up his glass, taking a slow sip as though to steady himself.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice softer now.

“For what?”

“For thinking of him,” he replies, meeting my gaze.

His words are simple, but they carry a weight that makes my chest tighten. I smile faintly, reaching across the table to touch his hand.

“I wish I could have met him. He’ll always be part of your family,” I say gently. “Now, part of ours.”

Makar doesn’t respond, but the faint nod he gives me and the way his fingers briefly tighten around mine tell me everything I need to know.

Chapter Twenty-Six - Makar

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