Page 58 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
She turned to face me, her lips curling into a faint grin. “It’s just a bath, Yulian. I promise I won’t drown.”
I nodded, hesitated for a moment before stepping out, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Figured she needed some time to think anyway. I waited in the room for about 30 minutes, wondering what was taking so long. Finally, she stepped out, clad in a white robe, hair still moist from the warm bath.
Her footsteps were silent against the marble floor as she glided over to the bed and slipped underneath the sheets. I was seated on the sofa across from her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
The silence between us grew louder by the second, until she broke it.
“I still see her face in dreams, you know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “My mother.” Her eyes rose to meet mine as she lay on her side, her expression softening by a whisper. “She was the kindest person I ever knew, and her only mistake was marrying a monster. A monster that ended her life with his own hands.”
My jaw clenched, and my eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
She continued, “I was fifteen when Marco Moretti killed my mother with his bare hands.” A disdainful scoff escaped her lips. “He’d found us after she attempted to run away with me, to keep me from the death and destruction of his world. They had a heated argument that night, and she stood up to him, challenged him.” Ester paused, wiping the tears from her eyes.
It broke my heart watching her recount the incident as if it were something she’d held on to for so long. Her voice cracked as though reliving the memory opened a wound that hadn’t completely healed yet.
She continued, “Marco got pissed that she spoke back at him, and he hit her.” Ester drew a deep, long breath. “She fell backward, hitting her head against the edge of a granite table. Blood. Lots of blood.” She sniffled, blinking back her tears. “And he just stood there. No remorse. None whatsoever.”
I knew that feeling—was familiar with that pain. And I hated that she was going through it, that she had to experience that. No one should have to experience that.
“So, I ran—ran to New York and lived with a relative of my mom’s until I was old enough to get my own place.” Her lips quivered, her breathing hard and uneven. “He killed my mother, Yulian, said that I had to marry his lieutenant, tried to kill my unborn baby—aimed a fucking gun at me…!” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush.
I watched her eyes light up with fury, her jaw tightening as she spoke.
“And then when…when he threatened to kill you…I lost it.” She dried her tears. “He’d already taken someone I loved so dearly. I couldn’t stand by and watch him do it again.” She shook her head, her glassy eyes locked on me. “Not with you…not with the father of my unborn child.”
It was clear to me now that when she pulled that trigger, she made a choice; she chose me and our baby over him. This grand gesture was a game changer, an eye-opener to the fact that nothing would ever be the same between us again.
Something unlocked inside me that night, and I may have found the name of this feeling in my stomach.
Love.
It had to be.
Why else would she pull a trigger to save me? Ester had never fired a gun in her life before; she was no killer. I knew that for sure, considering that I was one myself. Yet, she became a murderer because of me. She took a life to protect mine.
What in the world was greater than that?
I rose to my feet and sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting on her cheek. She shut her eyes, exhaling slowly as if reveling in the feeling of my skin on hers. I caressed her hair, realizing now what a strong woman she was.
Ester had survived worse than I thought, and with the violence and trauma that shaped her childhood, she sure turned out great. No thanks to Marco Moretti. I stared in silence, my lips curling into a smile, pride flickering in my gaze.
It was time I stopped lying to myself. I cared for her deeply. There was no point hiding away from the truth that I’d always known but chose to ignore.
We were past the pretense now. It was time to accept and give in to emotions. It was time to turn a new leaf, flip to the next page of our story, and see what fate had in store for us.
Fate brought us together. Yes. It was up to us to decide whether or not we’d remain together. As for me, my mind was made; I knew exactly what I wanted.
The question was: What did she want?
Chapter 23 – Ester
The soft piano keys of the classic “Wedding March” filled the air as I walked down the aisle. My arm was linked to no one, my heels clicking quietly against the floor. The elegant white silk lace fit me perfectly, highlighting my curves and contours.
My heart was hammering in my chest, a wave of anxiety washing over me as I drew closer to the man waiting for me at the altar. He stood sentinel before the priest, resplendent in a black suit—an impeccably tailored one, of course. He had his signature unreadable expression on, a stark contrast to the small grin tugging at his lips.
Heavily-built Russian men in black dominated one corner of the altar, standing like characters pulled from a mafia film—stern, silent with razor-sharp eyes. The war with the Italians was over now, yet these folks looked ready for any surprises.
Familiar and unfamiliar faces filled the pews, powerful men and women from Yulian’s side of the family. Essentially, I was surrounded by the very people the Morettis once hated, the same people who had spilled blood for me and the baby growing inside my womb.
