Page 12 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
Not much to show for twenty-four years of life.
I got out and took the bags from her, placing them in the trunk.
When Autumn got in the car, her eyes were red-rimmed but dry.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded.
As I pulled away from the curb, I glanced over at her—the delicate nose, the stubborn chin, the mouth that seemed permanently set in a line of determination.
Soon, that mouth would be smiling at me.
Soon, she would be grateful for what I’d done.
“This is the start,” I said quietly, eyes on the road. “Everything changes from here.”
She turned to look at me, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the fire in her that had captivated me from the start—that refusal to be broken, even when cornered.
“Just so we’re clear,” she said evenly, “I’m doing this for my sister. Not for you. Not for money. For her.”
“Your motives don’t concern me,” I replied.
And that was true. Because I knew that the future would be worth it. For her, and for me.
Chapter 4 - Autumn
The drive was mostly silent.
I didn’t see how it could be anything but. We were two strangers, entering a life together, and I, for one, couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
I stared out the window, pretending to admire the city rolling past us, when really, all I could focus on was him. His presence. The sensation that I sometimes felt his gaze on me. The fact that the air between us crackled with a current I didn’t know what to do with.
Federico. My husband-to-be.
Sometimes, I stole a glance in his direction. Caught a glimpse of his side profile, all chiseled angles, as he turned the wheel. My eyes dropped to his hands. Big, strong hands, maneuvering this expensive fucking car like a little Lego toy. He drove so casually, one hand on the automatic, head tilted at an angle, one on the wheel. As cool as could be.
I never felt more out of place. When I was a teenager, I had numerous posters of models, singers, actors, and athletes on my bedroom walls. They seemed like these otherworldly men, too handsome, too powerful, too intriguing to exist in my world. The kind of men who would never have spared a glance in my direction.
And as Federico drove me to his house, I felt like I had been thrown back to my childhood bedroom. Except in this scenario, an otherworldly man was interested in me.
Why? When he could have had anyone he wanted? Why marry a girl who came with debt? Who offered him nothing someone else couldn’t have?
Every inch of him screamed power. Sometimes, our eyes met when he threw the occasional glance my way. And the way he looked? So intense. So confident. It made my stomach tighten with nerves I shouldn’t have felt.
“You can turn on some music, if you like,” he offered, jolting me from my thoughts. I actually jumped.
“Oh, um.” I eyed what looked like a fifty-thousand-dollar music system. I was more of a Honda girl. Cars like these? Totally out of my league.
He looked over at me, noticed the confusion between my furrowed brows as I eyed the stereo. Without a word, he leaned over, put something on. I winced, thinking he’d make a wisecrack. But, to my relief and surprise, he didn’t say anything except, “Well, I hope you like this track.”
“It’s fine,” I muttered, leaning back and pretending the city held my interest.
A few minutes later, he started whistling.
And of course, he could whistle. Perfectly. Naturally.
God, how was it possible for someone to radiate so much presence while literally just driving?
