Page 1 of Watched and Bred By the Bratva
Nikolai
Finally, the screen flickers to life. Took Maxim long enough. Two weeks to buy the damn fertility clinic, two weeks to get the feed in place, and I still have no idea what my girl’s been up to.
My girl.
She doesn’t know she’s mine yet. She won’t—not as long as I keep watching from the shadows like a fucking coward.
Why am I hesitating? She’s too young, too beautiful, too fucking precious. A treasure I could never deserve, never earn.
And yet, I open my laptop, settle into the leather chair in my office. The lights are on—bright, clean—as if their sterile glow could sanitize what I’m about to do. My desk gleams from a recent polish, the leather blotter perfectly squared. The handgun in its holster glints under the lamp light, a shadow reminder of who I am even here, in supposed safety.
I wait for her to speak.
But the doctor speaks first. “Zara, tell me why you’re here today.”
She bites her lip, shifts her hips in the chair. The subtle roll makes me want to pull my gun and shoot the damn doctor in the forehead just for making her uncomfortable. But I need her answer.
She clears her throat, blinking those big, luminous brown eyes—the eyes that undo me every time she looks my way.
“Well… I want to have a child, as you know.” She nods toward the folder on the desk. “I’ve gone through all of the blood work. I’m a healthy twenty-two-year-old female, and I’m ready to conceive. The last step in the process is this interview, where I guess you decide if I’m too crazy to have a baby or not.”
Another shift in that chair. What I wouldn’t give to have those hips shifting on my lap.
She straightens her spine, meets the doctor’s gaze. “So… yeah. That’s why I’m here.”
The doctor’s professional mask doesn’t slip. She’s probably heard this story before—just not from someone so young, so gorgeous.
“Why not do this the old-fashioned way?” the doctor asks. “You’re young, beautiful. Surely there’s someone who would be willing to father a child with you.”
Me. Me. Me.
I damn near shout at the screen. I’ll father a child with her. No one else even thinks about it.
“I suppose…” she says, biting that lip again.
When she’s mine, I’ll teach her that mouth belongs to me—and to keep it off her lip unless I put something there for her to suck.
“Well, those things take time. Time to form a relationship, build trust. Honestly, boys my age aren’t interested in that. And I get it—we’re all just starting our lives. But I want the one thing I’ve always wanted—a family. Someone to love me, and someone I can love in return.”
The doctor tilts her head. “Did you not feel loved as a child? Is this something you need to address before you bring a child into your life? Children don’t fix those things—you understand that, don’t you, Zara?”
“Yes, of course I understand.” She half-laughs, rolling her eyes. “I had a mother who loved me with all her heart. We have an excellent relationship.”
The doctor waits. So do I.
Finally, she asks, “No relationship with your father then?”
“I had a relationship,” Zara says softly. “But he died when I was seven. And honestly… as the years go by, I struggle to remember all the details of him.”
The doctor nods in sympathy.
What happened? How did her father die? Could I fix it? Bring him back?
I hate seeing her sad. But I know better than anyone—once someone’s in the grave, there’s nothing you can do.
“Is this child going to be a substitute for that missing love?” the doctor asks.
“No.” Zara’s voice steadies. “This child will be loved for who he or she is—wholly, unconditionally, in every possible way.”
