Page 12 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“He should be grateful his nose is the only thing he has to worry about,” I said, my words slow and deliberate.
“You should leave the city, brother,” Egor said, “before shit gets blown into an all-out war.”
I raised my brows, shocked by his suggestion. “Wouldn’t be my first battle, Egor.”
“True,” he said, locking eyes with me. “But we need you back in Chicago. I can handle those rascals.”
I was quiet for a while, then a slow, charming grin lined the corner of my lips.
“What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side, his face showing confusion.
“I’ve got a hot date tonight,” I said, suppressing my smirk as I lit a cigarette.
“A hot…?” He yanked his brows up, eyes wide with shock and surprise. “You’re kidding.”
I cast one of my serious looks to clear the air.
“Gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming. But Ian, now isn’t the time—”
“Relax, little brother,” I cut him off. “I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning. I hate it here anyway.”
And with that, I let my mind be consumed by the thoughts of the tattoo lady, Ester. Her gorgeous smile, small and mysterious, flashed in my head, her sweet voice still echoing in my mind.
She said she liked to leave a permanent mark on people’s skins. I guess she wasn’t kidding because she hadn’t just marked my body; she marked my soul, too. Now, there was no way in hell that I’d leave New York City without seeing her one more time.
Chapter 5 – Ester
Everything happened so fast, and just like that, I was here—on a date with the strange man from the other night. It was probably not a good idea, considering the bad aura my senses had picked up from him the very moment we met. Yet, I couldn’t resist—kept telling myself that it was just a harmless date.
What could possibly go wrong? Right?
For a mysterious stranger, Yulian’s presence sure offered some sort of peace and comfort that I never thought possible. I felt safe around him—secure and maybe even…happy.
Strange.
The air was filled with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses as the night unfolded. Away from the crowd, suited men and women in elegant dresses, we sat, tucked into the far corner of the rooftop lounge. Low amber lights hung from the wire fixtures above, casting warm, golden halos over our meal and drinks.
He looked exceptionally handsome this evening, the unique scent of his cologne adding to his overall sophistication. His ash-blond hair was styled to perfection, his impeccably tailored black suit gleaming in the soft light. The fabric’s warm sheen made him look even sharper than before—dangerous in a quiet, clean way.
His blue eyes weren’t as cold as the last time; they were warmer tonight, crinkling at the corners every now and then. He sprawled in his chair, his intense stare piercing through me like he was studying me, trying to figure out what was underneath the surface.
He wasn’t looking. He was watching. And as unnerving as it was, it was just as exciting at the same time.
In the background, the music was low, some kind of lazy jazz that melted into the air like smoke, toiling with the butterflies in my belly. Behind him, the skyline stretched, a jagged row of steel and glass softened by distance and night.
Above, the moon was at its peak, white, sharp enough to cut, its ethereal glow cast over the concrete cityscape. The stars scattered faintly across the celestial canvas, twinkling like diamonds while a breeze moved through, cool and gentle.
“If this is a staring contest, I can assure you that you’re definitely gonna lose,” Yulian said, his voice husky and smooth, lips curling into a sexy grin.
“Really?” I pulled my cropped leather jacket tighter around me and leaned forward. “What makes you so sure?”
“Let’s just say I’m a man of few words with a knack for staring at beautiful things,” he replied, lifting his glass to take a sip.
My eyes dropped to the table between us, lips pursed to suppress my smile. His words had somehow melted my reserve, making my cheeks flush. “Some people might find that creepy,” I said, meeting his gaze again, my expression soft and inviting.
“Which one exactly, the truth or the action?” he asked, those blue eyes snagging on mine like a trap.
“Both, maybe.” I reached for my glass, gently tapping my manicured nail against it.
