Page 19 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my mind like a ghost I couldn’t escape. I was pregnant for a man I was supposed to hate, and there was no refined way of saying it. No safe means of offering it as a gift, when it was closer to a confession.

And I was no longer able to hide it.

Every time I breathed, it was a lie. Every time I gazed in the mirror, every time I thought of Matvey, it was heavier on my ribs, tighter at my lungs.

The gown I wore tonight was made of gold silk, featuring a high neckline and a low back. Classy. Royal. Breathtaking.

And I hated it.

I hated how it rested too perfectly against my stomach. Hated how it felt like a disguise. Like it was designed to hide the truth lurking just beneath the surface.

I’d eaten just two bites of one of the meals they served tonight. I couldn’t speak without my mouth drying out.

At this rate, I would die from anxiety before I even had the chance to tell him, and I had to tell him.

I had to look at his face when I did, to see if the storm between us would churn or break or disappear entirely.

I slipped through a cluster of revelers, fingers tracing the edge of a gold tray, the scent of saffron and champagne hanging heavy in the now suddenly hot air.

My eyes scanned the room for him. That chill, killing shadow who had somehow become the axis of my life turned around.

But I did not find him near the dining hall, or the bar, or with Rurik’s men.

I could save the news for later, but I needed to get the weight off my chest, and I needed to do it now. I sauntered off to the garden doors. They were slightly open, letting in a whisper of chilly night air.

I moved quietly, looking around for him.

After my discussion with Elena, I’d come to the conclusion that she was right. Matvey wasn’t that bad. I was insanely attracted to him. We had sex and made a baby together, and we were married. Having a baby wasn’t such a bad idea anyway.

But my chest constricted with fear at what his reaction would be, too. What if he didn’t want a child, and I’d misunderstood that little moment with Damien’s son?

I shook my head, trying to break the loop of thoughts inside.

There were no what-ifs. I couldn’t tell how he would react until I told him the truth.

I halted when I heard his voice drifting from the corner of the garden just right by the window. There was someone with him—Damien. I could hear their voices as they discussed something or someone.

“Didn’t think you’d stop looking,” Damien said, his voice cool, curious, as if he already knew too much but was probing for more.

“I haven’t stopped looking. Yulia was family too.”

My blood curdled at the mention of my sister’s name. Why were they talking about her? What was he looking for?

I stood just at the edge of the curtain, not meaning to eavesdrop, but my curiosity piqued at the fact that they were talking about my sister.

I stood frozen. My heart tightened, as if punched.

They were talking about her death.

I knew it in my bones before they even said it.

Matvey said, his voice softer now, “She didn’t die of stress or natural causes. Her heart failure was induced.”

There was a pause, as if something in me had just completely shattered, because as much as I knew she hadn’t just died, something in me hoped it wouldn’t be true that she was murdered.

It was unbearable knowing my sister was lying six feet underground while her killer was having the time of his life..

I braced myself against the wall.

“You think it was someone on the inside?” Damien asked after a pause.

“Yes.”

My gut dropped.

I glared in the empty space ahead of me as if it would reshape itself. As if I could change what I’d just overheard.

But I couldn’t.

They weren’t making guesses or assumptions; they knew what happened to my sister.

Someone had killed Yulia.

Someone in this world.

My ears pounded. The blood in my veins beat too fast, too hard. The silk of my dress was too tight now. And inside me, developing under the force of my madness, was life.

Yulia’s niece or nephew.

Matvey’s son.

My hands trembled, my legs almost giving out from the weight of what I just heard.

My fingers curled inward, searching for something to hold onto, but the wall I had clung to was now out of reach, as if the ground beneath my feet had shifted.

Yulia had been murdered.

And they knew.

Matvey knew.

My breath was caught in my throat as I backed away from the heavy curtain, each step sounding like it echoed on the floor. I turned to the nearest window, desperate for air, and my eyes rested on the scene beyond the glass. The garden. The patio.

The group of men.

Damian, glass in hand.

Rurik, still among the others.

Isaak—the smooth, nice one, the specter who just happened to know too much. He must’ve known, too, the night he sat beside me at dinner. Maybe that was the message he was trying to pass, and I just didn’t listen enough.

All of them knew.

Gathering like this was just another party, like one of theirs had not been taken. Like they did not just so happen to be monsters in suits and smiles.

I placed my palm against the glass and just tried to breathe.

And Matvey.

Matvey had held me. He’d kissed me and looked into my eyes and claimed me like I was just another shiny toy, yet he knew what happened to my sister under his brother’s protection.

How many nights had I fallen asleep in his arms? Still, he knew what happened all along and buried it while I mourned my sister in ignorance.

My heart ached, a burning, raw knot—as if something was tearing loose from inside.

I spun, having to move, having to take a breath outside, and I nearly collided with him.

“ Kotyonok ,” he breathed.

My body jerked back before I could stop myself. A reflex. One he caught immediately.

His brows furrowed slightly—not with annoyance, but with something that seemed more like confusion and concern. That low calculation he always wore when something did not add up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning my face like he could read through my thoughts if he looked long enough.

His tone was softer now, cautious, but I could sense the steel beneath. That familiar edge.

And I couldn’t do it.

Not here. Not yet.

Not with that whole room standing behind me, full of men who could smile and kill in the same breath.

I pasted on a brittle, fake smile that came close to hurting my cheeks, and I tilted my chin. “Nothing.”

His jaw snapped shut. “You’re pale. Something’s wrong with you.”

“It’s just the wine.” I laughed mirthlessly. “And the heels. I’m not used to standing for long with heels.”

His eyes ran over me once again. He didn’t believe me. I could tell. Matvey was already someone who didn’t trust people easily, so I wasn’t surprised he could pick the signs that I was lying.

But he didn’t call me out on it; maybe he would later.

“I’ll tell you later,” I added on quickly, stepping back before my legs betrayed me. “I’m fine.”

My shoulder jostled against his chest, just a little, and I could sense the tension coiling inside him.

But he let me go.

He didn’t grab my wrist or call my name as I started to walk away.

I didn’t look back; I couldn’t care to. Not after what I’d just learned.

Matvey would never know what I’d heard. Not yet. Not until I had the full picture on what happened to my sister.

Because one thing was certain.

Yulia was murdered; they knew she was, and there had to have been a reason for it. Maybe she learned or saw something that she shouldn’t have, just like I’d heard something that I shouldn’t have.

And the one human being I trusted among the Yezhovs had buried all of that. He’d looked me in the eyes and held back on that information.

I couldn’t trust anyone. I had to be careful to make it out of here alive.

Even if it meant learning to lie to the one man I’d nearly let myself love.