Page 52 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
I should hate her for that. I should despise the way she turns away, the way she makes me feel less than king in my own house.
I want her closer. I want to unravel every answer she won’t give. I want her to see me—not the Bratva boss, not the monster, but the man who lost everything and clawed his way back for her.
Behind me, Lui clears his throat, a quiet warning that I’m making a scene just standing there, unmoving. I force my hands to relax, force my face to cool into something blank and cold.
“She’s a distraction,” I mutter under my breath, mostly to myself. “She’s always been a distraction.”
Lui only shrugs. “She’s their mother. They need her.” He studies my face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe you do too.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Jessa leads the girls back inside, their small hands looped through hers, and for one dizzy second, I let myself imagine what it would have been like if she’d never run. If this was ourhome, not a battleground. If the girls laughed and ran to me, not away. If Jessa smiled at me the way she does at them.
That world isn’t mine.
She catches my gaze one last time as she ushers the girls through the door, her mouth set, eyes shadowed but steady. She won’t beg. She won’t plead. She’s here because she loves them, not because she forgives me.
I know that’s what makes her more dangerous than ever.
I watch her disappear into the hall, the memory of her laughter lingering in the air, the sharp ache in my chest growing stronger. I will not let her slip away again.
Not this time.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Jessa
The twins are finally asleep, curled together in their new beds, the faint glow of a nightlight softening the edges of their faces. I stand in the doorway for a long time, watching the rise and fall of their chests, letting my heart slow, letting my anger simmer and settle.
Only when I’m sure they’re deep in dreams do I turn away, pulling the door nearly shut behind me. The rest of the house is too quiet, the kind of quiet that hums with the threat of something waiting just out of sight.
I pad down the hall, arms wrapped tight across my chest. My socks slide over polished wood as I keep to the edge of the carpet, trying to move silently, hoping to make it to the kitchen for a glass of water and a moment to breathe.
He’s there, waiting.
Markian stands at the far end of the hall, arms crossed, a shadow against the pale wall. He doesn’t move when he sees me; his eyes just track my every step.
I freeze. All that tension from before—the old terror, the newer fury—crashes over me again, an icy wave that leaves me breathless. I try to turn, to slip away, but his voice stops me cold.
“Why’d you run?” he asks, stepping closer. The question is quiet, more controlled than his usual thunder, but no less demanding. There’s a heaviness to it, a weight that makes it hard to swallow.
I press my lips together, refusing to answer. Not yet. Not like this. The old urge to hide, to shrink, claws at me, but I force myself to stay still, to meet his eyes. I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.
He closes the distance, slow and certain. His presence fills the hallway, the power of him almost physical.
“I brought you back because they need you,” he says, every syllable carved from ice. “I’ll take them, with or without your consent if I have to.”
My fury lights up—sudden, bright, uncontrollable. I snap before I can stop myself, voice sharp as broken glass.
“You said you were going to kill me, Markian. What choice did I have?” The words burn in my throat, years of fear and hurt suddenly laid bare. “Do you remember? Or do you forget things when it’s convenient for you?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, jaw clenched, gaze fixed on my face. The silence is worse than shouting. He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to rewrite what he said, what he threatened. That silence is the part that hurts the most.
Tears sting my eyes, hot and unwanted. I clench my fists, trying to hold myself together, but my voice still shakes.
“Do you think I wanted this?” I whisper. “Do you think I wanted to raise them alone? With no help? With no idea if you’d show up one night and kill me in my sleep?”
My voice cracks, but I don’t look away. I refuse to look away. “I was terrified, Markian, and I still am. Every day.”
He studies me, eyes narrowed, searching for weakness or maybe just the truth. My fists tremble at my sides. The hallway feels too narrow, the air thick with the weight of everything we’ve never said.
