Page 54 of Bratva Ruin

Benedikt

Her words replay in my head on a loop.

I’m pregnant.

It hits harder than any bullet I’ve taken. Harder than every fight I’ve ever been in. It’s a different kind of violence, one that cracks something open inside me and refuses to let it close.

Sienna’s still standing there, breathing fast, her cheeks flushed, wearing nothing but the nerves I can feel radiating off her skin.

My princess.

My woman.

My future.

And now, with my child.

I don’t realize I’ve pulled her close again until her bare chest is pressed to mine, my hand is fisted in her hair, and my mouth is on hers.

The kiss isn’t gentle.

It’s rough and consuming; the kind of kiss that brands. She tastes like salt and fear and something else. Like fucking hope.

My pulse hammers in my throat as I break away just enough to look at her. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. I can see the panic flicker in her eyes, but underneath it, there’s a bit of trust.

Just enough to keep me grounded.

I drag my thumb along her bottom lip, watching her breath hitch. “You think I’m going to let anyone touch you now? You think anyone gets near what’s mine?”

“Ben—”

“Don’t,” I murmur. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to lose what little control I’ve got left.”

Because the truth is, I already have.

The second she said pregnant, something in me changed. Everything I’ve been fighting for—every brutal night, scar, and deal—suddenly has a purpose.

No one’s taking this from me.

Not my father.

Not my brother.

Not the ghosts of everything I’ve had to become.

I pull her closer again, one hand sliding down her spine until I reach her ass. I squeeze hard enough to make her gasp, needing to feel her, needing to prove she’s real.

“You don’t even know, do you?” I say against her mouth. “You don’t know how much I wanted this. How much I’ve dreamed of something that’s mine and only mine. You’re carrying my blood, Sienna. My legacy.”

“Five years,” she whispers, and my temper ruptures over that fucking reminder.

“Yeah, fuck that, princess.”

My lips slam into hers with a ferocity that screams what I’ve been saying.

Sienna isn’t getting out of this in five years.