Page 30 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“Marry me,” he declared, bold and unapologetic.
Instinctively, my brows arched, a faint scowl settling on my face. “Excuse me?”
He looked me dead in the eye and tried explaining further, like what he said seconds ago wasn’t at all weird on so many levels. “Think about it; with me, you get to be your authentic self. You get the freedom you’ve always wanted—I can make that happen. As your husband, I’d never tie you down.”
I stared at him, in awe of his guts and how stupid he thought I was. The man was so confident that somehow, he’d win me over with his silver tongue. That was both ridiculous and disturbing at the same time, not to mention disgusting.
“We can have a contract if it makes you feel better, you know,” he continued, “that after, say…two years—or less—we both go our separate ways. Easy peasy. In the end, it’s a win-win; we both get what we want.”
“Right.” I nodded once, disbelief clouding my features. “And what is it you want, Franco?”
He hesitated, then answered, “What every man in our world wants. Power.”
I bit on the inside of my cheeks, eyes pinned on him.
“I wanna make a name for myself in the Mafia, and you want your freedom. So I figured, why not make it happen?” He paused, as if to let his words sink in. “It’s basic quid pro quo, Ester. Something for something. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
“I see what’s happening here.” I scoffed, stepping in until we were eye to eye. “You wanna use me as a tool for your own personal gain. Cut a deal, pull some strings, and ride my back straight into the Mafia’s good graces.”
“No, that’s not it,” he said, but I wasn’t done.
“Oh, but it is,” I insisted. “You see, Franco, I’ve seen power-hungry men like you before—slick with charm, thinking the world owes them something. But I’m not your shortcut. I sure as hell am not your stepping stone.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
I leaned in, my voice cold as ice. “If you’re looking for a pawn, pick someone stupid.” And with that, I turned and walked away, leaving him to his anger and embarrassment.
It was freezing outside, and most of the guests—if not all of them—had left already. The streets appeared to be more deserted than usual, the lamps casting long, eerie shadows along the sidewalk.
My heels clicked against the pavement, my hands rubbing against my cold shoulders as I made my way to the parking lot. The driver was supposed to be waiting for me, but when I got to the car, I realized there was no one inside.
“Great,” I grumbled, scanning the surroundings for any sign of him.
All I saw was the quiet street. Nothing more.
I reached for my purse and withdrew my phone. I was about to dial his number when I heard movement in the bush behind me.
Maybe it was just the wind.
It wasn’t.
I heard it again, this time like someone had stepped on a twig. Slowly, I turned, observing the bush and the leaves rustling in the cool breeze. “Hello?” I called. “Anyone there?”
No answer.
Just silence.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me.
That thought barely settled in when a huge man stepped out of the bush like a predator from one of those Hollywood horror movies. Everything about him screamed danger, and when he approached me, the first thing that came to mind was: run.
I turned around but bumped into a larger man, my lithe frame slamming against his broad torso.
His hand snapped out, grasping my wrist with a firm grip. I screamed, my foot flying to his groin. The man groaned, reflexively letting go of my hand. I took off without thinking twice, but the other guy moved like lightning for a man his size. He seized my waist from behind, effortlessly lifting me off the ground.
My legs flailed in the air, my voice echoing into the night, screaming for help that never came. With every strength in me, I slammed the back of my head into my kidnapper’s face, his nose breaking with a sickening crack.
“Argh!” he groaned, forced to drop me, his voice thick with pain.
