Page 24 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
It took me two fuckin’ months to get over him. And then, just when I was starting to live again, he walked back into mylife a more dangerous man than before. It was almost like he was sent to destroy me, and that sucked.
I leaned into the couch’s backrest, fingers massaging my temples as I struggled to block out the images of his handsome face flashing in my head. I’d almost forgotten just how ridiculously attractive he was, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
It seemed to me like this whole situation was designed to mess with my mental health. First, my dad found me and forced me back to his mansion against my will. Now, Yulian weaseled his way back into my life, as if he had never left, his presence stirring up emotions in me that I had chosen to lock away.
The Morettis and the Tarasovs were sworn enemies, so whatever Romeo-and-Juliet-thing we had going on was doomed to fail from the start. The two men—Marco and Yulian—had never seen eye to eye and would never do so. And I was caught between both of them.
But I shouldn’t be.
Yulian was just a one-night stand, someone who helped me scratch an itch. He shouldn’t matter so much. Whatever I thought I felt for him was not real, and with time, it would fade.
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,a voice whispered in my head.
***
I spent the rest of the night replaying the brief moment we shared—the tension, the spark, and the flame he ignited within me. Despite all my efforts to shut him out of my head, I just kept drowning in the thoughts of him. It was almost impossible to sleep with such a busy, restless mind.
Every now and then, I’d roll from one end of the bed to the other, hoping to woo the goddess of sleep. Clearly, it was the only way to escape my sad reality. Maybe if I slept, I’d drift to adream world where everything worked in my favor—where I was happy and fulfilled.
Eventually, though, I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and later woke up to the sound of a knock on my door. My eyelids snapped open, and a dull ache nagged the back of my head. I winced, blinking away the remnants of sleep in my eyes.
“Miss Moretti?” Laura called, her voice soft and polite. “Breakfast’s ready.”
“Great,” I grumbled, sitting up with my feet on the cool marble floor.
“Are you okay in there?” she added, her Italian accent strong and authentic.
I hesitated for a moment, jaw tightening as I thought about how my dad had everyone in the house treat me like I was a little girl.
“Miss Moretti?” she called again, this time with a glint of concern in her tone.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Laura, thank you,” I replied, my voice sharp but polite.
It was useless to snap at her; the poor woman was only doing as she was told. Laura was like a mother to me—nice, kind, and super observant. She was the only reason I hadn’t tried to run away again. Laura knew that I hated it here; she knew that, given the slightest opportunity, I’d bolt without turning back.
She would always remind me that no matter where I ran to, no matter what identity I chose for myself, I’d always be a Moretti.
Her words echoed in my head:“We don’t choose what family we’re born into. But family will always be family.”
Dad had me surrounded all day, every day, since I was forced back here. It felt like everyone was assigned to watch me—the guards, the maids, the chauffeurs, the chefs. EverywhereI turned, there was at least one pair of eyes observing from a distance.
This was supposed to be my father’s mansion, but it felt more like a prison. And with each passing day, it was like the walls were closing in on me. I felt suffocated, drained of life.
All I wanted was to get as far away from here as possible, away from the one man who ruined my life, my childhood. Because of him, I’d been on the run for years, stranded on the streets of New York before finally finding my footing.
The man who was supposed to be my father, the one to bring me joy and peace, was the same man who took from me the one thing I cherished most.
I hadn’t forgiven him for that. And I wasn’t sure that I would.
My mind flashed back to my conversation with Laura the night Franco brought me back. I was furious and was ready to raise hell—to fight my way out of the mansion.
I’d already injured two of my dad’s men—broken their noses after they underestimated me—when Laura stepped in and took control of the situation.
She helped calm me down before convincing me to have a word with her in my room.
“I know every part of you wants to run, but listen to me, sweetheart. You’ve seen what your father’s anger can do—what it’s already done. Please…don’t let hatred make your choices.”
“I can’t do this, Laura,” I objected, my lips trembling, voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. “I can’t stay here—I can’t face him!” I sprang to my feet, combing my fingers through my hair. “Not after what he did—what he took from me.”
