Page 8 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“The same.” The tears stung, but I choked them back. “Nana’s with her right now. I wish I could be there, but deepdown, I fear that I might not be as strong as Nana. I mean, look at me, far away from seeing how helpless she looks on that fucking bed, but I’m bawling my eyes out anyway.”
“Oh, Lena….”
She offered her arms out, and I fell into them without another word, holding her with a death grip while I cried silently. Even in the pain, I didn’t want Jaz to hear a single sniffle.
Katya didn’t flinch when I dug my nails into her shoulder, or my tears rolled down her neck. She just stood there, offering comforting pats on my back, silently reassuring me that I was not alone.
“I’m—I’m not…” I heard the thickness of the emotion lodged behind her every word, “trying to give you false hope, Lena, but I believe we’re going to figure out a way, okay?”
Sniffling, I nodded frantically and pulled back to clean my tear-stained cheeks. “Okay.”
“Cheer up. I’m here now, so I’ll be more useful. It doesn’t matter what it takes; I’ll look into getting a list of potential donors and sponsors for the liver transplant.”
“Thank you, Kat.”
She grabbed my hands with a wider smile, the exact type of smile that hinted at something mischievous. “The only way I’m accepting your gratitude is if you come clubbing with me tomorrow night.”
I knew it.
“Kat, come on….”
“You know you want to.”
Honestly, I didn’t want to, but I felt that Ihadto. Otherwise, I might lose my mind from being anxious. Katya was offering a much-needed temporary escape from my reality, and we both knew I had only one answer to everything when I needed to cool off.
“Sure. Why not? It’ll be just like old times.”
Chapter 3 – Damien
I opened the door and barely got a foot inside the foyer before I heard the quick patter of feet, small and fast.
“Papa!”
Katya’s voice hit me like a sweet melody, slicing through the weariness curling in my bones after the flight from São Paulo.
I dropped my suitcase just in time for her to crash into me, little arms locking around my neck as she climbed into my arms with the fierce determination only a six-year-old could summon.
I held her as if she were the only thing real in a world made of smoke and lies. Her face was buried in my collar, and her tiny hands gripped my coat, almost as if she thought that if she let go, I might vanish again.
“I missed you,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against my shirt. “It’s no fun without you here.”
I doubted that I was any fun, but my bunny always thought differently.
God, the things I’d done in the past forty-eight hours. The deals sealed with blood, the threats, the cold-eyed men in suits who respected me more for my ruthlessness than my words. I could still smell the sweat of the underground fight club where I brokered a deal that would strengthen the Bratva and make our businesses grow. I could still see the way the last man blinked before he hit the concrete.
But none of that existed in this moment.
“I missed you more,Zakya,” I whispered into her hair. She smelled like strawberries and bubble bath. Like innocence I would kill to protect.
She pulled back, eyes wide and curious, head tilted in that way that meant she’d been thinking a dangerous thing for a mind like hers. “Papa, why do you have to go away so much?”
My throat tightened. She was six, too young to know about bribes and bodies. About the kind of power that didn’t wear a crown but left a trail of silence in its wake.
“Well,” I said, setting her down gently, “I help people solve problems. Big problems. The kinds that need someone brave and smart. Like a knight. Or a superhero.”
She squinted up at me, lips pursed. “Like Batman?”
“Better,” I said, kneeling to her height. “I don’t wear a cape.”
