Page 50 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“We’ll be ready when he does,” the old man concluded.
After the meeting was over and everyone had left the room, Dmitry walked up to me and said, “It’s true what they say: Love does make a man reckless.” He flashed a faint grin at me, patted my shoulder, and walked away.
Love?
I scoffed, brushing off the thought, even though deep down, it lingered. Maybe even a lot longer than it was supposed to.
I couldn’t fall for her.
No.
Whatever I felt for Ester was not love. Couldn’t have been. I was too cold for that shit. The old man was mistaken.
Chapter 19 – Ester
The mansion felt empty today, maybe because Yulian had been gone all morning, leaving me all to myself again. Ever since the rough sex the other night, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind—I couldn’t stop reminiscing on our time together, no matter how hard I tried.
The truth was, that wasn’t the kind of sex to be forgotten in a hurry. The incident was etched in my mind like a friggin’ tattoo. Now, I was starting to question my feelings, evaluate my emotions, and my claims to hate his guts.
Yulian had marked me—he’d made me his, and there was no denying that. How else would I explain this constant need for him, this emptiness I felt in his absence? It was almost like I felt more alive when he was around, when we were arguing over small things.
Yulian had snaked his way into my heart, stole my attention, and the ability to be fine on my own. It was clear that I’d grown so attached to him to the point where I could barely function or be myself in his absence. And I hated it. I hated it so much. But at the same time, I couldn’t help it.
As time went on, I started to feel more at home, like I truly belonged here. I was getting used to this place and the people, to the point that deep down, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to be rescued. I was better off here than at my father’s mansion.
It didn’t matter that I was still somewhat Yulian’s prisoner. I’d rather be his prisoner than my father’s daughter. Yulian might be a devil, but at least he was the kind that adorned me—except for the time he threw me in his dungeon, of course. Somehow, that felt like a lifetime ago, and I barely even remembered it.
As far as I was concerned, he’d made up for those times. I knew I shouldn’t let him off that easily, but it wasn’t like I had much say in the matter—my heart did whatever the damn thing wanted.
I loathed admitting this to myself, how much I missed him whenever he wasn’t home.
Today, it was different; the mansion was quieter for a building crawling with Bratva men.
This afternoon, I was strolling through the garden, fingers trailing over the perfectly manicured hedges, when I felt a presence behind me. I figured it was one of the guards closest to me, Andrea, Viktor, or Ilya.
But when I turned around, the man I saw was no Russian. He just stood there like a ghost, eyes pinned on me. “Hello, Ester,” Franco said, his voice low and even.
I swallowed hard, my heart sinking into my stomach. “Franco, what…what’re you doing here?” I whispered, stuttering, glancing around to be sure no one was watching us.
“That’s odd,” he said, “I thought you’d be more excited that the cavalry’s here to save you.”
I pushed my head back, a million thoughts tugging at my mind. “I don’t need saving. And how the hell did you even get past security?” Curiosity flickered in my eyes.
“I have my ways,” he answered, calm and collected.
I paused, thinking of ways to dismiss him without drawing attention to ourselves. But I knew better. Since Franco was here, I was certain he wasn’t going to leave without me.
“Listen, I don’t know how you got in here, but I’m gonna tell you to leave now before someone sees you,” I said, nervously scanning the surroundings.
“My orders were simple: Infiltrate the Tarasov building and save the girl,” he said, unmoving.
My face contorted into a frown. “A few weeks ago, I’d have left with you in a heartbeat.” I shook my head. “Not anymore.”
His brows furrowed, faint creases forming between them. “Why is that?” he asked, stepping forward. “You’re a prisoner here. These people kidnapped you, yet you’re choosing to stay?” A glint of anger crept into his low voice.
I was quiet for a while, holding his gaze. “Things have changed, Franco.” My jaw locked, my scowl deepening. “Don’t blame me for choosing to stay; blame yourself for not coming sooner.”
He seethed in silence.
