Page 43 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
He didn’t ask why I’d stopped. Probably knew why.
Because it was complicated.
The rest of the drive passed in the same awkward silence.
When we finally reached home, I practically bolted from the car, muttering a hasty goodnight before heading straight for my room.
I didn’t look back, afraid of what I might do if I saw his face again.
I closed my bedroom door and fell back down on my back, my heart still hammering. It took a solid fifteen minutes for it to settle before I changed and got back into bed.
Properly this time.
But I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake, my heart lurching every time I heard a sound outside. And every time that happened? I hoped it was the sound of footsteps. Hoped for a knock on my door. Hoped he would follow and finish what we started.
But it was never him.
***
The next morning, I carefully timed my breakfast to avoid Federico. The day after that, I made sure to be busy reading when he came home from work. By the third day, it was clear we were both experts at avoidance.
But avoidance didn’t stop the tension from building. If anything, it made it worse. The few times we did cross paths—a brief moment in the hallway, an awkward exchange over coffee—the air practically crackled between us.
His eyes would meet mine, and my traitorous body would remember exactly how his hands felt, how his lips tasted.
I was determined to get over it. This attraction, this... whatever it was, would fade. It had to, because anything else would complicate our arrangement beyond repair.
By the fifth night, I’d convinced myself I was making progress.
I’d spent the day focusing on charity work—something the other wives in Federico’s circle seemed to do constantly—and returned home pleasantly tired. Maybe tonight I’d finally get some decent sleep.
I was just drifting off when a noise jolted me awake. Like something falling.
I sat up, listening. The house was usually silent at this hour. Did one of the staff members drop something?
Then I heard it again—a soft thud, followed by muffled footsteps. They were coming from the direction of Federico’s room.
Curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out of bed, pulled on my robe, and cracked my door open just enough to peek out.
Federico was moving down the hallway, dressed entirely in black. But what made my blood run cold wasn’t his outfit—it was what he carried.
A gun. He was tucking it into his waistband.
What the hell?
This wasn’t normal.
Normal people didn’t sneak around their own homes armed in the middle of the night with a gun in their hands.
Normal people didn’t come home bleeding from unexplained injuries.
What the hell was going on here? My mind rushed back to that night he came home covered in blood.
I’d found no answers. No plausible explanations.
Questions raced through my mind—Where was he going? Why the weapon? Was he in danger?
Perhaps tonight, I could finally get some answers.
