Page 26 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

It has been almost six months now since my wife’s pregnancy—and it’s undoubtedly been the best six months of my life.

Leona and I no longer fought over trivial things; we no longer got on each other’s nerves.

It was as if we had finally understood our differences and decided to accept the reality of our individuality.

I didn’t think it was possible to live such a peaceful life—one without so much anger and bitterness.

However, within the past few months, I had a glimpse of what a happy marriage looked like.

And it was amazing. Things were starting to fall in place, like pieces of a puzzle, teaching me to view life in general through a different lens.

Slowly, Leona had crept into my heart and secured a permanent place for herself—a place only she occupied. I’d stopped fighting back the emotions she’d stirred up within me; it was useless to do so. She was here to stay, and that was final.

Interesting how much joy and peace her presence had brought into my life in such a short period of time.

Leona had initially manipulated my emotions, tricking me into thinking she was actually changing and had come to terms with her new reality—when, in fact, that was all an act. I should doubt this shift in her behavior, considering how well she played me the last time.

She was a good actress; that was for sure. And there was no telling when she was reciting a script and when she wasn’t. I shouldn’t trust her—I shouldn’t let down my guard, seeing that she could pull another stunt that could break me.

But I couldn’t help trusting her.

She was a smart woman. No doubt. And that was why I was convinced she wouldn’t do anything stupid, especially now that there were more lives tied to this than just hers.

She knew it would be stupid to attempt another escape—at least for now.

The odds were against her. Plus, she’d never do anything that would endanger her siblings or the baby growing in her womb.

I’d spent countless nights wondering, thinking—hoping that I wasn’t wrong about her, that all of this wasn’t just another act.

What if she tried to run again—not now, obviously, but maybe in the years to come?

What if she acted so well and planned her escape with her siblings right under my nose?

What if she carried out the plan a few years from now, when she already gained my complete trust?

It was possible. It was something that I could do if I were in her shoes.

No.

Leona was nothing like me. She was cut from a different cloth—a much better one. She wouldn’t.

Maybe I was getting soft, too soft to see the possibility of manipulation. It happened two years ago with Nikolai—the childhood friend who betrayed me in the worst way. I saw the signs then, but I chose to ignore them; I chose to believe him. And that nearly cost me my life. But Leona wasn’t Nik.

No, she wasn’t. She could be worse.

Or, she could just be a woman, true to her feelings and emotions.

Leona might be great at pretending, but this time, I was convinced that she wasn’t.

She was just being her natural self—raw and unfiltered.

Leona had accepted her fate, and she was working toward making this work.

I wasn’t sure why, but she was. Perhaps it had something to do with the coming of the baby.

Whatever the case, I concluded that it was high time I stopped worrying about the future and focused on the present. It was, by the way, a gift, one that I intended to appreciate.

Her siblings, except for Emmy, still lived with their father. However, every now and then, she’d drop by and pay them a visit. I never restricted her from doing so—instead, I encouraged it. She never went back home empty-handed—she’d stop by the mall and get them stuff to eat and wear.

I had my best men—including the two guards she’d put down on her first day at the mansion—escort her wherever she went. Leona moved with so much security that one could mistake her for a politician’s wife. She didn’t like it. But it was necessary to keep both her and the baby safe.

In this world, I had a lot of enemies, and there was no telling the extent that any of them could go just to hurt me. Being a Tarasov—my wife—already put a giant bullseye on her back, and it was my duty to protect her at all costs.

She also visited her friend Liam in the hospital at least three times before he was discharged.

I let her go—there was no point in denying her wish.

It was almost like I couldn’t find it in me to turn her down, to refuse her requests.

Perhaps it had something to do with how she always presented herself.

She studied me like a fuckin’ book and understood when to speak to me about certain things and when not to.

She also knew how to talk to me, how to make me see things from her perspective.

It was crazy how it worked every time, and it was both intriguing and disturbing.

Intriguing because she proved she was a good wife—one who was skilled at handling even the most tricky situations with a strategic approach.

She was a thinker—an excellent one. Wise.

Her wisdom, if applied correctly, could be beneficial to the business in numerous ways.

Because if she could get through to me without pissing me off, she could do the same to my business partners.

She could help convince them to do our bidding in ways I never could.

What an asset!

And then there was the disturbing part.

The fact that she could easily persuade me was a huge problem. Her wisdom and strategic thinking, if used the wrong way, could end me and my entire empire in one day.

Better to have such a woman as my wife than as my enemy.

***

The morning air was crisp, tinged with that sharp, clean scent that came after a light shower. I stood in the living room, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. One hand was in my pocket, the other holding a slim, polished violin case behind my back.

Emmy’s laughs and chatter had been vibrating through the very walls of the mansion all morning—bright as usual, contagious in ways I hadn’t admitted out loud.

I stood there, waiting patiently, listening to the sound of her tiny footsteps padding down the hallway. She was humming a nursery rhyme, her tone melodious and innocent. A flutter rose in my chest, my heart warm with affection.

“Hey, Egor,” she greeted me, her voice echoing off the walls as she leaped toward me.

“Hey, there,” I replied, wearing a smile, slightly bending my knees.

She halted in front of me, eyes squinting suspiciously. “What’re you hiding at your back?”

“Just a little something I hope you’ll love,” I answered, revealing the violin case.

Her eyes widened, a loud gasp escaping her lips. “That’s for me?”

I nodded, handing it to her.

“But—but…but how did you know—” she stuttered, accepting the gift with a face etched with surprise.

“I overheard you telling your sister that you wanted it.”

She lifted her gaze, flashing me a broad smile. “Thank you, Egor.” She ran up and hugged my leg, the gesture strangely warming my chest.

I looked down at her, unsure of how to respond to this. I froze, feeling her squeeze tighten. My body remained stiff, posture wary, until I lifted a hand and placed it gently on her head. Not quite a pat. Something heavier. Protective.

The front door opened, and a woman in her late forties stepped inside.

My eyes flickered toward her and then back to little Emmy. “Your tutor’s here,” I said to her.

She broke the hug with a bounce, smiled at me, and then ran off to meet the woman. “See you later, Egor!”

I waved, watching her leave, backpack swinging, ponytail dancing. My smile broadened, and when I was about to step out, my gaze flickered up the balcony.

There she was, Leona, at the head of the stairs, her belly protruding from underneath the fabric of her gown. Her skin glistened in the soft light, her red hair cascading down her back like a river of blood.

I met her gaze, watching the small smile flash across her face. She looked gorgeous and attractive despite her swollen belly. Something shifted inside me like it always did each time I set eyes on her.

Her steps were slower these days, her appetite stronger, craving even worse. She was in a lot of pain, but was so great at masking it. Her ankles were swollen, and just the other night, I massaged them with oil and hot water.

She couldn’t stand too long now without flinching or holding on to something or someone for support. And although I wasn’t exactly husband of the year, I did make sure she had the best doctors, nutritionists, and staff assigned to her.

However, in spite of all that, I still never neglected her, never left her alone.

To the best of my abilities, I helped out in my own way—especially those times in the middle of the night when she’d wake up craving crazy things.

Or when the baby would kick and I’d have to hold her close until she fell asleep.

Quietly, I climbed up the stairs and joined her at the head, my hand reaching out to cradle the back of her neck. She rolled her head in a massaging motion as my fingers dug into her flesh. I placed my other hand on her belly, my face mirroring hers.

“How’re you feeling today?” I asked, locking eyes with her, my voice soft and gentle.

She exhaled sharply. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck.” Her lips curled into a sly grin.

I scoffed, my gaze dropping to her belly. “And the baby?”

“Like they’re the truck that ran me over,” she replied teasingly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

A quiet laugh escaped my mouth, my arms dropping to her waist. “That’s the Tarasov spirit.”

“Easy for you to say,” she snapped, wearing a plastic frown. “You’re not the one who has to deal with the back aches and the mood swings and the nausea and all the crazy stuff that comes with being pregnant….” The words rushed out of her like water from a faucet.

“Whoa—slow down, feisty pants.” My hands rose in defense, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “No need to get all worked up.”

She swallowed the rest of her words, her eyes glaring at me with her arms crossed.

I drew her close, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for being strong for the both of us,” I whispered in her ear. “Your strength hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

She uncrossed her arms and lifted her chin, her expression mild and gentle. A genuine smile played on her face, and she wrapped her hands around me. I pulled her closer—cautious enough not to press against her protruding stomach.

We stood there in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth we provided. Time seemed to hold its breath in that moment, and gradually, everything else faded into the background.

***

Later that night, while my wife slept in the room, I was in my office, buried in some paperwork that needed my attention. I sat behind my desk, the laptop screen flickering, its light illuminating the space around me.

The scent of vodka wafted through the air, a half-empty glass sitting on the table beside my laptop. Smoke from the burning tip of my cigar curled up toward the ceiling, the moon’s ethereal glow streaming in through the window.

The door creaked open, and Simon walked in, his boots scuffing against the floor.

I didn’t raise my head, didn’t need to. I knew it was him. No one else walked into my office without knocking. He halted in front of my desk, the scent of his cologne mixing with the aroma of vodka in the air.

He didn’t say a word—just stood there like a fuckin’ statue.

“Are you gonna keep standing there, or are you gonna talk?” I asked without raising my head.

“We have a problem, Boss,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of concern.

Still didn’t lift my head.

“Aleksei is making a move, and from what I gather, he’s well-prepared and heavily armed,” Simon added.

I paused, brows knitting together. Simon wasn’t the kind to scare easily, and so the worry I picked up in his tone had me concerned. I lifted my gaze and looked at him, suspicion flickering in my features. “You say his name like it’s supposed to ring a bell.”

“He’s Malik’s brother,” he answered, sliding a file across the table.

Malik. Why did that name sound so familiar?

Oh. Right. That was the rat I shot in the chest six months ago. The idiot had a brother?

“He’s coming, Boss,” Simon added.

I frowned at the way he glorified the son of a bitch like he was some god I couldn’t handle. Then, when I looked at the file in front of me, my scowl deepened.

Aleksei Stanislav.

According to the file, they called him “The Mad Wolf”—not because he foamed at the mouth, but because he stalked his prey with the patience and ruthlessness that defied reason.

He was an assassin who wasn’t bound by rules, by honor, or by the invisible lines that most killers didn’t cross. And that was the problem. The son of a bitch didn’t have limits, meaning he was the kind of man who would burn an entire village to the ground just to make a fuckin’ point.

Based on what I read, Aleksei had a habit of sending chunks and pieces of his victims to their families before finishing the job. He was a mindless beast straight out of the pit of hell.

And I pissed the fucker off.

He was deadly. Yes. But so was I.

Let him come. I’d eliminate him quickly before he’d get the chance to come near my wife or Emmy.

“Double the security around the house,” I said to Simon. “If the bastard decides to be stupid enough to come barging in through the front door, then we must be ready.”

He nodded and left quietly, leaving me alone with my thoughts.