Page 48 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
And for the first time in a long time, I heard laughter in my house—genuine belly laughs that echoed off the walls. The maids seemed happier than I’d ever known them to be, including the guards. I wasn’t sure what Ester was doing or how she was doing it, but the woman was gradually transforming my home into a place I barely recognized.
Just the other day, I heard her singing along with the chef in the kitchen. Like that wasn’t bad enough, the next thing I knew, a few other maids joined in, their voices creating a rather beautiful melody. It was music to my ears.
Those women had lived with me in this house—some for the past decade—but I had no idea they had such angelic voices.
Ester was turning my home into a circus, a scene straight out of a fuckin’ musical. I hadn’t seen this many smiley faces in the house in a really long time, and it was starting to piss me off.
Why the fuck was everyone so happy all the fuckin’ time? What kind of spirit did she bring into this house?
I did notice that everyone was better at what they did: the chef, the cleaners, the gardeners. They’d all improved these last few days. Did it have anything to do with their recent change in mood, their happier state of mind?
It still marveled me how she managed to change the atmosphere in the mansion to something less dark. Ester wasn’t the playful type. Yet somehow, she made the place feel more like a home than a house.
All of my staff respected her—adored her, even. Slowly, she snaked her way into their hearts, earned their love and respect, and now they treated her like a queen.
How did she manage to pull that off in such a short period of time?
Ester and I still fought over the littlest things, never saw eye to eye on anything. She called me controlling, and I called her stubborn and manipulative.
The more we had this constant banter, the closer we became, connected in more ways than one. The attraction I once felt for her had now doubled, and as fascinating as that was, it was still very much concerning.
Then it happened. The sex.
Hard.
Fast-paced.
Desperate.
Angry.
It was everything we shouldn’t have felt. Yet a great, mind-blowing experience that still lingered in my head, keeping me entertained and also distracted.
So distracted, in fact, that I almost forgot I was in another Bratva meeting, seated amongst the elites.
“We’ve confirmed it.” Oleg’s deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Our man on the inside says Moretti’s men are tracing the girl’s last known movement.” His gaze shifted across our faces. “They suspect we’re behind the kidnapping.”
“Idiots,” Dmitry, an older man with grey hair and hollow eyes, chipped in, cold and arrogant. “They shouldn’t suspect us. They should know it was us, same way we knew they were the fuckers who killed Anton.”
A heavy haze of cigar smoke hung above the polished mahogany table that dominated the center of the room.
I sat at the head of the table, silent, legs crossed, fingers steepled under my chin. My glass sat untouched before me. Half vodka. Half melted ice.
“His men are moving,” Mikhail added, calmer. “No obvious aggression yet. Just strategic surveillance—watching our ports, trailing our drops, sniffing around. Quiet…but coordinated.”
“Sounds like Marco,” Maxim said, standing by the window, arms across his chest. “That’s how the bastard operates—strikes slowly like a poison.”
Oleg sighed. “Well, you can’t afford an open war. Not now anyway.” He looked at our faces. “Pakhan’s orders, remember?”
The men exchanged hidden glances in silence.
Dmitry added, his voice gravelly from years of smoke, “I want those bastards dead for what they did to Anton. But Pakhan Artem was right. Now isn’t the time to start an all-out war, especially not with the Feds sniffing around our docks.”
“So, what do you propose we do? Sit back and let them strike first?” One-eyed Viktor asked the old man.
“Moretti might be an animal, but evenheknows better than to start a war with the Tarasovs now,” Dmitry replied.
“Your faith in the enemy is admirable,” Viktor said, leaning back in his chair, his voice low and even. “But you saidit yourself, the man’s an animal, and there’s no telling what animals can do. Besides, you seem to rule out the fact that we have his daughter.”
