Page 57 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
He went silent, his gun aimed at me, his hand steady like he didn’t mind putting a bullet in my skull.
My grip tightened on the pistol I held behind my back—the one I’d picked up minutes ago from a dead man. “What’re you gonna do, kill me too?” I asked, unafraid.
“You’re a disgrace to me and the entire Moretti family,” he spat, eyes dark with fury. He shifted his gaze toward Yulian and cocked his gun. “But blame him for all this madness.”
Before Dad could squeeze the trigger, I aimed my gun at him and, a split second later, fired once: a bullet to his chest.
The gunshot rang loudly in my ears, my hand trembling as I watched him drop to his knees. Blood streamed fromhis wound, his eyes wide with shock and agony. He wheezed, choking with his hand over the hole in his chest.
I stood there, frozen in place, shuddering, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened. I watched the life drain from his eyes—watched him draw his last breath before his body thudded to the ground like a dry log.
My knees quaked, and the gun dropped from my grip, the ground rising to meet me. I slumped into Yulian’s arms, the man who was fast enough to catch me.
He held me tightly, his palm smoothing down my hair as I wept on his chest. My body was shaking, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. I’d done the unthinkable. I’d just killed my own father.
Yulian didn’t say a word, but I could feel his concern—his worry. It was obvious that he felt my pain and shared in it.
The night was silent as he held me in the middle of the road, surrounded by dead bodies and burning vehicles. Broken glass littered the asphalt, blood flowing like a river, and in that stillness, I wept.
Chapter 22 – Yulian
After the incident at the clinic, I thought she’d seen enough killing and blood for one night. Clearly, that thought crossed my mind too soon. The ambush in the middle of the road left her rattled, trembling, and numb.
That numbness was a result of the stunt she pulled, the shocking choice she made. I was usually always two steps ahead in any situation—always playing out the different possible ways it could end.
However, tonight, I was caught off guard, shocked by her reaction to her father’s attempt to end my life. I anticipated him doing that, so my mind was at high alert, ready to do whatever was necessary. What I didn’t anticipate, though, was Ester’s reaction.
Didn’t see that coming.
Not even a glimpse of it.
She moved faster than both Marco and me, pulling the trigger before we could even blink. I froze, my gun already aimed at the enemy, finger inches from the trigger. If she hadn’t fired first, my bullet would’ve taken him down—perhaps his would’ve hit me too, seeing that I was a split second slower.
Guess I owed her my life.
All through the drive home, Ester hadn’t said a single word. She just sat beside me in the back seat, her trembling hands clasped together on her lap. Her body was still subtly shuddering, her eyes swollen, red-rimmed from all those tears. I could almost hear the sound of her racing heart, hammering in her heaving chest.
Her lips were quivering, her face pale, flat, and unreadable, smeared with dirt and dried blood that wasn’t hers.It was hard to tell what she was feeling right now: anger, guilt, pain, all of it, or nothing at all.
I had no idea what to do, how to comfort her, let alone find the right words to say. I just reached out and gently placed my hand over hers, feeling the slight tremble at my touch. Without a word, she lifted her head and looked at me, her glassy eyes locked onto mine.
My lips curled into a faint grin, and I gently squeezed her hand. She let out a soft sigh before resting her head on my shoulder.
Before long, we arrived at the estate, the car rolling to a stop in front of the towering mansion looming ahead. Ester barely reacted when the guards rushed to help her out of the car. Even when the housekeeper offered a concerned look and took her hand, she just let herself be led through the grand hallways, her steps mechanical.
Earlier, I’d phoned the house and asked them to fill the bathtub with hot water. Not for me. But for Ester.
“Thank you, Olga,” I said to the housekeeper once inside the master bedroom. “I’ll take it from here.”
She nodded once, flashed a faint grin at Ester, then left the room quietly, shutting the door behind her.
“Come,” I murmured, my hand steady on her waist as I led her to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Inside, I stood behind her, fingers slowly unzipping her dress, revealing the curve of her back and the delicate tattoo that ran along her spine.
My hand grazed over her shoulder, her skin smooth, warm beneath mine as I slipped the thin straps down. One after the other. The fabric slid off her body and pooled at her feet, leaving her bare and exposed. Breathtaking.
I’d never get used to seeing her naked—that sight would never get old. It would always feel like the time. But this time,I wasn’t drooling over her lithe figure. No. As attractive as it was, I was more concerned about her well-being, hoping that she wouldn’t collapse.
