Page 23 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

The walls were beige, the lighting sterile, and the faint scent of antiseptic filled everything. I was in the corner of the tiny exam room, perched on the edge of the paper-covered table with my rigidly positioned hands on my thighs.

My knees shook nervously despite my attempt to keep them motionless, nervousness diffusing itself into every cell of my body.

This was not how I’d pictured my first ultrasound to be.

Under a fake name, with a fake ID card.

All by myself.

I’d found the clinic on the last page of an old phonebook back at the apartment. It didn’t ask questions, didn’t take insurance. Just cash up front, and I was assigned a doctor.

The walls in this place were too thin. I could hear muffled conversation outside, the faint squeak of chairs, the clang of equipment being rolled by. And most of all, the pounding of my own heart.

I hadn’t even known what I needed to hear from the doctor. I just needed to know the baby was still there. Still okay.

The door eventually opened, and a soft-eyed woman in navy scrubs entered with a warm smile. She was carrying a folder in one hand and a small, sealed printout in her other.

“You’re about six weeks,” she said, her tone even, like she’d done it a thousand times. “All good. Good strong heartbeat, steady growth. The baby is coming along beautifully.”

I nodded once, biting the inside of my cheek as I accepted the file from her. My hands were cold.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

Too many. But not a single one that I could speak. Not a single one with answers in a medical file.

I shook my head and smiled at her. “No. Thank you.”

She didn’t press; she just placed the ultrasound printout in a small envelope and handed it to me gently. “Thank you,” I said once again as I took the file from her and placed it in my bag without caring to open it.

***

Outside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of earth and rain. The sun had sunk behind a layer of gray clouds, its light dimmer than usual.

I moved fast, arms wrapped tightly around myself as if it could keep the pain inside from spilling over.

This was supposed to be a beautiful moment.

One I remembered forever.

One I’d share with someone—with him.

Instead, all I had was an envelope and an emptiness that no amount of walking could ease.

My stomach tightened. Not with nausea but with the grief that still trailed after me like a second shadow.

I missed him.

God, I hated it, but I missed him, even now.

Even after everything.

I spotted a small café near the roadside. The windows were misted up; there were some strands of dim, yellow lights over the windows. A hand-painted “OPEN” sign dangled from the door, swinging a bit.

Making my way inside the café, I moaned as the smell of burnt coffee and croissants invaded my nose. A buzz of conversation hummed softly beneath a tune on an old speaker.

I slid into the last booth in the corner, against the wall, and scanned through the menu more out of habit than hunger.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten properly.

A waitress came over to take my order, chewing gum like it was the only thing keeping her alert throughout the day.

I ordered toast and hot chocolate.

After writing down my order, she smiled at me. “Your food will be ready in ten minutes.”

Nodding in approval, I exhaled and leaned back into the booth, allowing myself to feel how bone-tired I was.

And for five minutes maybe, it was possible to simply be.

But the peace didn’t last very long as an older man entered the café. He was forty at most, greasy hair, denim jacket, and the kind of smirk that made my skin crawl before he’d even opened his mouth.

“Well, hey there, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” I replied, just to be polite. Then I shifted my gaze to the flowerpot by the window.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. I just figured a pretty thing like you wouldn’t be eating alone.”

I didn’t look up. “Thanks for your concern, but I do enjoy eating alone.”

“C’mon, don’t be that way. I’ll even pay for your tea. That a baby bump beneath that coat, or you hiding curves?”

His grin broadened like he was attempting to be attractive but failing miserably at it. All he did was make me want to wince in disgust.

I tensed, fists forming beneath the table. I did not wish to make a scene, but I had so much on my mind and I just wanted to be left alone.

“Animal,” I said to him, shooting a glare at him before looking away.

He just laughed. “Feisty, huh? You look like you could use a little company. Might even be fun.” His hand reached across the table, fingers closing around my wrist.

Something inside me snapped.

In one smooth motion, I twisted my arm, grasped his fingers, and shoved him backward with a force I didn’t know I was even capable of.

He crashed onto the edge of his seat with a grunt, his eyes wide as if he had no clue how he’d ended up on the floor.

I stood up slowly, towering over him.

“Touch me again,” I drawled, “and I’ll break every bone in your hand before you can even blink.”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He backed away with a mutter of curses under his breath, something about “crazy pregnant bitches” as he staggered toward the door.

The whole café had gone quiet, looking back and forth between me and him, and back to me.

I didn’t even give a shit as I sat down again, shaking slightly at how wrong that could’ve gone if he hadn’t hurried off like a scaredy cat.

I didn’t need to guess where I’d learned that move.

Matvey.

He was rooted deep in every move and every reflex. Every part of me that reacted without thinking—it was all him. His voice in my head. His hands correcting mine. His smile when I finally got the angle of the wrist hold right.

Turned out the little training he gave me in the garden the other day actually stuck, even though neither of us took it too seriously at the time.

Just as I was catching my breath, the noises of the café returned, lowered chatter, some spoons clinking against mugs. Then the TV in the corner broke into breaking news, and I didn’t so much as glance at it until I heard the name Blake Carter—my father.

The anchor’s voice was dispassionate, serene, and sharp as she delivered the news.

“He was last seen exiting his private estate just after dusk. Sources say there was no sign of forced entry, and security footage has been erased. Authorities are investigating what they’re calling a ‘targeted abduction.’ More to follow. ”

My blood went cold instantly. I stared at the screen, frozen.

Dear God, no. This could not be happening.

But it was, and I guessed it would.

The final image appeared on the screen, my father’s picture accompanied by stark white lettering below it: Missing since last night.

The nausea churned in my stomach. I clutched the edge of the table to maintain balance, trying to force my hand to stop trembling.

I knew Matvey was responsible for whatever was going on, and I knew this was only his first move.

He was making a statement.

I’d drugged him and run away from home. Now, he wasn’t going to hold back on anything or spare anyone I cared about. That was his payback.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them back in. Not now. I couldn’t lose it. I couldn’t break—not here. Not yet.

I groped for my bag and gripped it tight, fingers brushing over the envelope still within.

The ultrasound of our child. And in a moment, all the fear in me vanished.

I didn’t care what he did. I had to protect my child, and the only way to do that was by not going back.

My father agreed to this marriage with Matvey despite my protest, and I was no longer going to be the sacrificial lamb for their little games.

I didn’t care what Matvey did to him; that was his price to pay for the role he played in forcing me into this marriage.

And for Yulia’s death.