Page 20 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
The stranger knocked again, and I swallowed hard before reaching for the door handle. Gently, I pulled the door slightly open, my grip tightening around the handle.
Three men in black suits stood outside my porch, cold and watchful. My eyes narrowed, my jaw tightening as I recognized them from the life I had long left behind.
Shit. If they’re here, that means trouble isn’t too far behind.
“Hello, Miss Moretti,” one of them said, his voice deep and gruff. “It’s time.”
Franco. One of my father’s most hardened criminals. I’d recognize that face and that signature snake tattoo of his any time, any day.
He looked a little different with the bandage on his nose and the black eye. Someone had roughed him up real good.
However, his new look was the least of my problems right now. Their presence here only meant that my father had sent them. And if that were the case, then I had no choice but to run. Again.
I slammed the door in their faces and rushed back inside, my heart racing in my chest. They kicked the door open and barged in, their heavy footsteps pounding behind me.
“Stop, Miss Moretti, we’re not here to hurt you,” Franco said, halting a few paces in front of me, arms stretched out.
The other two stepped forward like demon meatsuits, faces blank and flat.
“Stay back!” I warned, holding up the knife with a defensive stance. “I know how to use this, and I swear to God, I will not hesitate to do so.”
They stopped in their tracks, stealing a glance back at Franco. He nodded subtly, and they withdrew from me.
“Listen, kid,” Franco began, his expression softening ever so slightly as if attempting to buy my trust. “There’s a secret war going on right now, and it’s not safe for anyone with the Moretti last name.”
“Newsflash, I dumped that name a long time ago. I’m Ester Sharpe now,” I replied, standing my ground, defensive and ready to use that knife.
“You can change your identity, but you can’t change your blood, kid,” he said, taking cautious steps forward. “Sooner or later, those bastards are gonna find you. And your father can’t have that.”
“Well, tell my father that I don’t need his protection. He never cared before. Why start now?”
“Don’t be stubborn, kid, you’re in real danger,” he said through gritted teeth, frustration creeping into his tone. “If anyone finds out you’re a Moretti, you’re as good as dead.”
I hesitated for a second. “Yeah, I’ll take my chances alone out there.”
And with that, I bolted.
I heard Franco yell behind me, but it was too late. I shielded my face behind my hand, shoulders slamming hard into the window. Around me, the glass exploded in a storm of shattering shards as adrenaline roared in my ear. I flew through the frame, the night air slapping against my face as I twisted midair.
Seconds later, I landed with a reckless thud on the ground outside, and momentum carried me into a messy somersault. Pieces of broken glass crunched beneath me, stinging my flesh. But that pain was nothing compared to how I’d feel if they returned me to my father’s.
Like a friggin’ ninja, I rolled clean to my feet and took off into the darkness without looking back.
I ran like hell, and those relentless mutts chased after me. I didn’t stop. I kept running until I made it to the nearest subway station, hoping to lose them in the crowd.
The station buzzed with noise and motion—blaring announcements, rumbling trains, and bodies weaving in every direction. I paused to catch my breath, nervously glancing over my shoulder.
Pushing through the crowd, my heart raced in my chest, and sweat clung to my spine. I just needed to disappear—fade into the blur of strangers and steel before my father’s goons could catch up with me.
And then, out of nowhere, a hand grabbed my wrist from behind, strong and relentless. A gasp escaped my lips, and my breath caught in my throat. Spinning around, I came face to face with Franco, his cold eyes staring into mine.
“Don’t resist,” he said, too calm for a man who’d been chasing me through the city. “It’s time to come home.”
My throat tightened as I swallowed hard, my blood running cold.
Chapter 8 – Yulian
Two Months Later
