Page 11 of Dark Desires (Chicago Bratva #1)

ISABELLA

“ W ell, Miss Mancini, all your tests came back clear. No lasting issues from the injury, and most importantly, the baby is perfectly healthy.”

I blink, my breath catching. “The baby’s OK?”

The doctor nods, a small smile on his lips. “Yes, absolutely. No abnormalities, no concerns. You’re about ten weeks along now, based on the bloodwork and how the baby is measuring.”

ten weeks. That means the first trimester is almost over. Two more, and I’m going to be a mom.

He finally looks up from his notes. “Anything else?”

“How much time before I start showing? I mean, I can see a little bump. But how much time…” I trail off, hoping my implication is enough.

“Everyone is different and a lot of it is based on your body frame and how quickly you gain weight. Though I would guess you still have a couple of months before it’s obvious.”

I nod and he sits down, his expression turning serious.

“Is there a home life situation that’s making you want to hide your pregnancy? Do you feel unsafe?”

I cut him off right away. “No. Nothing like that. Just that this wasn’t expected, and I want to know how much time I have to figure out how to drop this particular bomb.”

Another smile forms on his face. “I understand. Please take care of yourself and let me know if you need anything at all.”

“Got it. I appreciate it.”

“Any other questions?”

I shake my head. “No. Thanks, Doc.”

“Take care of yourself—and the little one. And congratulations. Make sure you make an appointment with an OBGYN as soon as you can. You’re going to need monthly visits and vitamins.”

With that, he gets up and leaves. The door clicks shut, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I step out into the hallway, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. My head’s spinning, my chest tight. Ten weeks. Healthy baby.

As I round the corner, I freeze. Alexei is standing a few feet away, his phone to his ear. He hasn’t seen me yet, but he’s close—too close. Close enough to have heard everything if he was paying attention.

His conversation wraps up, and his gaze lands on me. His expression shifts, concern flickering in those sharp blue eyes.

“Isabella,” he says, slipping the phone into his pocket. “You were with the doctor? What did he say?”

My heart skips. “Nothing important.”

“So, everything’s alright with your arm?”

“Yeah. Arm’s fine. Might need a little therapy to help get the image of a guy getting blown away in front of me out of my head, but you know, all part of the Mancini lifestyle, right?” I offer a weak laugh, one that he doesn’t match.

He frowns. “You look pale. Are you sure you’re alright?”

I fold my arms, putting up a wall. “I’m fine, Alexei. Don’t start playing the worried brother-in-law-to-be now.”

His brow furrows, confused. “Isabella, what the hell are you talking about?”

Before he can say another word, I turn on my heel and bolt down the hallway. My thoughts are a tangled mess, and I need air. I need space. I need not to feel like my world is crumbling under the weight of this secret I’m carrying.

The cold air bites at my skin as I step outside. As soon as I’m out in the chill, it dawns on me how alone I am in all of this. How the hell am I supposed to tell anyone about this baby? And what do I do when my family finds out?

It’s all so overwhelming. Nightmare scenarios flash through my mind, like the Ivanovs learning the truth and throwing the alliance in the trash. Without the Ivanovs, we’re sitting ducks for whatever might come. Did a single night of reckless fun doom my father, my cousin, my whole family?

All the emotions spill over, and I break down. I don’t know how long I sit there, crying, but then I feel a presence. I look up to find Alexei standing over me.

He crouches besides me. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head, wiping at my face. “Just leave me alone, Alexei. I can’t do this right now.”

But he doesn’t move. “Can’t do what? Isabella, talk to me.”

The tenderness in his voice makes the tears come harder. His arms are around me, holding me steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

“You can’t be doing this here,” he says. “This is no place for tears.”

I laugh, just a bit.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just that even you being empathetic is hard-edged.”

A small smile curls his lips. “This isn’t my forte, exactly. You need a man—hell, a few men—dead? Come talk to me. But this…”

“I get it. Anyway, you don’t have to be here. I can work through this on my own.”

“But you don’t have to,” he quickly replies. “You’re family. Or you’re about to be. We look after our own.”

This reminder of the fact that I’m putting all of that at risk brings fresh tears.

“Isabella,” he says, his voice firmer.

I make a decision then and there. “We might not end up a family after I tell you what I have to tell you.”

“Tell me.” His tone is hard, uncompromising, like he’s speaking to someone he’s trying to grill for information.

I pull back slightly, my voice shaky. “I need a break from all of this: the hospital, Stephania, the doctors… I can’t talk here.”

He nods without hesitation. “OK, let’s go.”

I blink at him, surprised. “What?”

“You need out? I’ll make it happen,” he says, standing and pulling out his phone. “I’ll have my people let the hospital know you’re checking out. We can go back to my place and talk there.”

I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. I’m too tired to argue, and honestly, part of me is relieved.

“Good. Come, Devotchka .”

Ten minutes later, I’m in my street clothes and we’re in his forest-green sports car, flying through the city.

The drive to his place is silent. Rain starts to fall, streaking the windows as the city blurs past. I sit there, staring at my hands, my mind spinning. Alexei doesn’t say a word, his focus on the road.

We step into his apartment, the rain pattering on the towering windows of his apartment.

“Now I know how you can afford a place like this,” I say, stepping inside.

He slips out of his rain-slicked coat and hangs it up, gesturing for mine. I take it off and hand it over.

He gestures to the massive sectional couch, and I step over and plop onto it. He vanishes, and I hear the sink running in the kitchen for a moment. When he returns, he hands me a glass of water.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says.

“You have no idea,” I shoot back.

He shrugs and looks at me. “I bet I do. We’re not all that different. You’re Italian and I’m Russian, but our lifestyles are very similar, no?”

I nod. “Yeah, I guess they are. Do you really want to marry my cousin?”

“They were fresh out of full-blooded Ivanovs for this union,” he replies. “She’ll have to settle for scraps.”

“Which is ridiculous, by the way.”

“Ridiculous or not, this is our life,” he says flatly. “We’re like royalty, in a way. We get married to cement alliances, and what we really want has nothing to do with any of it.”

“What do you want?” I ask, both interested and slightly afraid to know the answer. “It should be obvious,” he tells me, his eyes darkening a shade.

“Humor me.”

“You, Devotchka .”

Just like that, my heart races faster, my blood turns hot, my pussy clenches.

He pulls me to my feet and doesn’t waste a second before taking my face into his big hands and kissing me hard.

I freeze, his hands tangling in my hair. His kiss is slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to unearth every secret I’m keeping. It’s different than before—and it leaves me breathless.

I melt into him, parting my lips and letting his tongue find mine.

After several long, delicious moments, he pulls away.

“We can stop,” he says.

Too late. I’m already turned on like crazy, needing him more than anything.

“Don’t you dare.”