Page 65 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
Our home was filled with guests—men in tailored suits and women in elegant dresses. The air was thick with the soft hum of conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses.
The living room was bathed in the warm glow of the hanging chandeliers, the aroma of expensive wine and special delicacies wafting through the atmosphere.
It was a small gathering, organized to celebrate the soon-to-be baby, our first child and legacy. Nothing extravagant or loud—just a controlled kind of elegance that whispered power and strength rather than shouting it.
My wife wasn’t in support of this event, despite its small scale. Not at first anyway. She didn’t think it was necessary to have people over to celebrate with us. Ester was comfortable with staying home with me, popping a bottle of sparkling cider in our bedroom, and slow dancing together.
That was her idea of a small celebration. She didn’t want this.
I always respected her decision, always did things as she wanted, without question. However, this time, I thought being aroundmypeople would help her better understand the family she’d married into.
Ester was no longer a Moretti, and the Italians didn’t want anything to do with her after the death of her father. Word in the street was that they called a traitor and blamed her for Marco Moretti’s death.
She had no other family but mine—the Bratva, the Tarasovs.
That being said, it was only logical to organize a small gathering in her honor so the rest of the family would see the woman who stole Yulian Tarasov’s heart. I was so proud of herand couldn’t wait to flaunt her in front of everyone. Especially my older brother, Sergei.
Ever since he married that Irish chick, Ayla O’Hara, he never stopped talking about her with me. He was always bragging about how headstrong she was, how she was the best biker in the streets of Chicago, blah blah blah.
I’d have loved for both of them to be at my wedding, but something came up that day, and they couldn’t make it. However, this was a chance to reunite everyone. And this time, I wouldn’t be a “loveless bachelor” as Sergei called me soon after his marriage.
This should be fun.
“Be honest, you just wanna show me off tonight,” Ester said, her voice soft and gentle, her smile so beautiful.
We were both standing in front of a full-length mirror with me behind her, resplendent in a black tux.
“What? No,” I replied dismissively, fingers fastening a diamond jewel around her neck.
She caught my eyes in the mirror, her smile broadening, hands rubbing over her growing belly. “Oh, yeah?” A light chuckle left her lips. “Then why do you keep talking about how you can’t wait to see the look on your brother’s face every chance you get?”
I secured the necklace in place. “Done.”
She gently turned around, her arms across my neck, mine steady on her waist. Her growing belly rounded beneath the fabric of her emerald gown, her hair swept back in a low chignon, a few soft curls framing her face. The diamond sparkled in the warm light, enhancing her overall look.
“You look absolutely stunning,” I whispered, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand.
Her lips parted, a radiant smile lighting up her face. “Thank you. But you’re deflecting,” she replied with the same tone, her minty breath brushing against my skin.
“From what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“From the fact that you can’t wait to show me off to your family,” she said, holding my gaze.
“Is that such a bad thing?” I questioned, fingers toying with her soft curls.
She shook her head. “It shows how proud you are of me.”
“I am,” I answered, staring deeply into those stormy gray eyes of hers. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She squinted. “Aside from the rest of your family?”
I hesitated for a second. “Not necessarily.”
“Hmm. That’s not vague at all.” She beamed at me, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Apologies. It’s a surprise,” I replied.
She yanked her brows. “Okay, now you got me curious. Who is it?” Her smile broadened, eyes battering at me.
