Page 23 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter twenty-one

The Secret

M ila

I know I'm pregnant the moment I wake up and the smell of Alexei's coffee makes me want to throw up.

It's been six weeks since we killed Roman Volkov and rescued my parents.

Six weeks of healing, rebuilding, and pretending that shooting a man in the chest didn't fundamentally change something inside me.

Three weeks of increasingly frequent morning nausea that I've been attributing to stress and trauma.

But coffee has never made me sick before.

I make it to the bathroom just in time, retching into the toilet while my body confirms what my brain has been trying to ignore. The timing is perfect, really—we've been actively trying since that conversation about wanting children, and my cycle has always been predictable.

Which means I'm probably six weeks along.

Pregnant with Alexei's child while the man himself is downstairs in his study, planning the expansion of legitimate business operations now that Roman's threat is eliminated.

The irony isn't lost on me. We fought a war to protect our family, and now our family is literally growing inside me.

"Mila?" Alexei's voice carries up from the hallway. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," I call back, splashing water on my face and trying to look less like someone who just discovered she's carrying the next generation of Morozovs. "Just getting dressed."

I need to be sure before I tell him. Need to confirm what my body is already screaming at me so I can see his face when I share the news that will change everything.

The pregnancy test I buy from a pharmacy in Manhattan comes back positive so fast it's almost insulting. Two pink lines that appear before I can even set the stick down, like my body is eager to announce what it's been doing for the past month and a half.

I'm pregnant.

I'm going to have Alexei's baby.

The realization hits me in waves—excitement, terror, overwhelming love for the tiny cluster of cells that represents our future. This child was conceived in love and passion and the desperate hope for something beautiful to grow from all the violence and pain we've endured.

"Mrs. Morozov?" Irina's voice through the bathroom door makes me jump. "Your husband is asking if you'd like lunch brought up, or if you prefer to eat downstairs."

"Downstairs," I manage, tucking the pregnancy test into my pocket. "I'll be right there."

I need to tell Alexei. The knowledge feels too big to contain, too important to keep secret even for an hour. But I also want to do this right—to give him news that will probably make him happier than anything in his adult life in a way that's special and memorable.

I find him in the small dining room, reading financial reports while picking at a sandwich Irina probably forced on him. He looks up when I enter, and the smile that transforms his face makes my chest tight with emotion.

"There you are," he says, setting aside his papers. "I was starting to worry."

"Just running errands."

"Anything interesting?"

"You could say that."

He studies my face with those pale green eyes that see too much. "You look... different. Excited about something."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Like you have a secret."

If only he knew.

"Maybe I do," I say, settling into the chair across from him.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"After lunch."

"That's cruel."

"That's incentive to eat what Irina made you instead of just staring at it."

He laughs and obediently takes a bite of his sandwich, but I can see curiosity burning in his expression. Good. I want him eager, want him wondering, want the anticipation to build until the revelation hits him like lightning.

We eat in comfortable conversation about business, about my parents' adjustment to living under Bratva protection, about the legitimate investments that will form the backbone of our cleaned-up operations. Normal things, domestic things, the kind of mundane planning that married couples engage in.

Except we're not just planning our financial future anymore. We're planning for a family.

"All right," Alexei says when Irina clears our plates. "I've been patient enough. What's this secret you're holding onto?"

Instead of answering, I reach into my pocket and place the pregnancy test on the table between us.

For a moment, he just stares at it like he's not sure what he's seeing. Then his gaze snaps to my face, and I can see the exact moment understanding hits him.

"Is that...?"

"Positive. Very positive."

"You're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant."

The words hang in the air between us, huge and life-changing and absolutely perfect. I watch emotions cascade across his face —shock, joy, overwhelming love, protective fury at the idea of anything threatening this new life we've created.

"How long?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

"Six weeks, I think. Maybe seven."

"Since before the war with Roman."

"Since the morning you told me you wanted children with me."

His smile is brilliant, transforming his entire face. "Our baby was growing while we were fighting for our future."

"Our baby is the reason we had to win."

He's out of his chair and around the table in two steps, pulling me into his arms and spinning me around like I weigh nothing. When he sets me down, his hands immediately go to my still-flat stomach.

"There's really a baby in there?" he asks wonderingly.

"Really."

"Our baby."

"Our baby."

He drops to his knees in front of my chair, pressing his forehead against my stomach with reverent care.

"Hello, little one," he whispers to my belly. "I'm your papa, and I love you already more than you'll ever know."

The tenderness in his voice makes tears spring to my eyes. This dangerous, powerful man is talking to our unborn child like it's the most precious thing in the world.

Which, to him, it probably is.

"Are you happy?" I ask, threading my fingers through his hair.

"Happy doesn't begin to cover it." He looks up at me with eyes that are bright with unshed tears. "You've given me everything, Mila. A reason to live, a reason to fight, and now a future that's bigger than just us."

"We made this together."

"The best thing we'll ever make together."

"I don't know about that. We make pretty good war strategies too."

His laugh is shaky with emotion. "True. But this is better."

"Much better."

He stands and cups my face in his hands, looking at me like I've just performed a miracle. "I love you," he says. "I love you for choosing me, for fighting beside me, for carrying my child. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone."

"I love you too."

"And I love our baby."

"Our baby loves you too. I can tell."

"How can you tell?"

"Because it's part of me, and I love you completely."

The kiss he gives me is soft and reverent, like I'm made of something precious and fragile. When we break apart, I can see plans already forming behind his eyes.

"We need to call Dr. Petrov," he says. "Set up prenatal care, make sure everything is progressing normally."

"Already done. Appointment tomorrow at ten."

"Security detail for medical visits."

"Already arranged with Boris."

"Dietary changes, exercise modifications, preparation for—"

"Alexei." I place my hands over his where they rest on my stomach. "Breathe. We have seven months to plan everything."

"Seven months to make sure you and the baby are safe and healthy and have everything you could possibly need."

"Seven months to enjoy being pregnant and plan for our future as parents."

"Yes. That too."

I can see him already building mental fortresses around our unborn child, already calculating threats and defenses and ways to ensure this baby grows up safe and loved and protected from the ugliness that touches our world.

"Come here," I say, tugging him toward the couch by the window.

"Where?"

"I want to show you something."

We settle onto the soft leather, and I pull out my phone to open the pregnancy app I downloaded this morning.

"According to this, our baby is about the size of a sweet pea right now," I tell him. "It has a heartbeat, tiny arm buds, and the beginning of facial features."

"A heartbeat," he repeats wonderingly.

"Dr. Petrov should be able to detect it at tomorrow's appointment."

"I want to be there."

"Of course you'll be there. You think I'd experience our baby's first heartbeat without you?"

"Our baby's first heartbeat." The words seem to amaze him. "God, Mila, we're really doing this."

"We're really doing this."

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified," I admit. "This world we live in, the dangers that come with your name, the possibility that our child will grow up with guards and bulletproof cars and constant awareness of threats..."

"Our child will also grow up with love and resources and two parents who would die to protect them."

"I know. It's just... I want normal things too. Soccer games and birthday parties and the kind of childhood where the biggest worry is homework."

"Then we'll give them that. We'll make sure they have both—the protection they need and the normalcy they deserve."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He pulls me closer, arranging us so my head is on his chest and his hand rests on my stomach.

"I have something to confess," he says quietly.

"What?"

"I've been hoping for this since our wedding night. Every time we made love, every time I came inside you, part of me was hoping it would take."

"The breeding kink wasn't just bedroom talk?"

"The breeding kink was me desperately wanting to see you round with my child."

"Well, congratulations. You're going to get your wish."

"Best wish that ever came true."

We lie together in comfortable silence, processing the magnitude of what's happening. In seven months, we'll be parents. In seven months, there will be a tiny person who depends on us for everything, who carries our DNA and our hopes for the future.

"Mila," Alexei says eventually.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For choosing to build a life with me. For trusting me with your heart and your body and now our child. For being brave enough to love a man like me."

"A man like you is exactly who I want loving our baby."

"Even knowing what I am? What I've done?"

"Especially knowing that. You'll protect our child with everything you have, love them unconditionally, and teach them to be strong enough to survive in any world."

"And you'll teach them to be good. To have honor and principles and the kind of moral compass I lost years ago."

"Together, we'll teach them everything they need to know."

"Together."

The afternoon passes in a haze of planning and dreaming and gentle touches as the reality of our expanding family settles over us. By evening, I can see Alexei's protective instincts shifting into overdrive.

"No more fieldwork," he declares over dinner.

"Alexei—"

"No more exposure to potential violence. No more situations where you could be hurt or stressed or put in danger."

"I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"You're carrying my child, which makes you the most precious thing in my world."

"I'm still me. I'm still your partner."

"You're still my partner. But you're also going to be the mother of my child, which means your safety is now non-negotiable."

I can see this is going to be an ongoing battle—his need to protect versus my need for independence. But looking at his face, seeing the love and wonder and fierce protectiveness there, I decide to pick my battles carefully.

"Fine," I say. "No more fieldwork. But I still want to be involved in planning and strategy."

"Deal."

"And I still want to help with the legitimate business expansion."

"Deal."

"And when this baby is born, I want them to know that their mother is more than just someone who stayed home and worried."

"Our child will know that their mother is brilliant and brave and absolutely deadly when protecting what matters most."

"Good."

"But first," he says, standing and offering me his hand, "let me show you how much I appreciate the woman who's giving me everything I never knew I wanted."

"Is that a proposition?"

"That's a promise."

I take his hand and let him lead me upstairs, to the bedroom where we've loved and fought and planned our future. Where we conceived the child growing inside me, where we've built something beautiful out of chaos and violence and impossible circumstances.

"I love you," I tell him as he begins to undress me with reverent care.

"I love you too. Both of you."

"Both of us?"

"You and our baby. My whole world, right here in my arms."

When he makes love to me this time, it's with a gentleness that takes my breath away. Like I'm made of spun glass, like I'm carrying something infinitely precious, like I'm the miracle he never dared hope for.

And maybe I am.

Maybe we both are.