Page 27 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

I gave her space.

At first.

I told myself it was what she needed, what she asked for. She didn’t want to see me, didn’t want to hear my apologies or explanations, or feel my presence clawing at her with reminders of all the ways I had failed her.

So I stayed away.

A day. Then two. Then four. Then a week.

And by the second week, I couldn’t take it anymore. For two weeks, I hadn’t done anything except think of Autumn. Missing her had become my new normal.

“Boss?” My lieutenant stood in the doorway, waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t even heard.

“What?” I snapped, harsher than I meant to.

He flinched. “The Serafini account. Do we move forward?”

“Yes. Fine.” I waved him off, turning back to the window.

I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t focus. Every single conversation felt hollow, for I knew when I went home that night, she wouldn’t be there.

Just then, Beatrice called.

“How is she?”

My sister sighed. “Good morning to you, too, Federico.”

“Beatrice. Please.”

“She’s fine,” Beatrice hesitated. “Still not talking about you.”

The words cut deep, but I deserved every slice. “Is she eating better?”

“Yes, Federico, I’m making sure your wife gets three square meals a day.” Her voice softened. “She misses her job at the casino.”

I closed my eyes. “She can come back anytime.”

“I don’t think she’s ready to see you yet.”

“I know.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Just... take care of her.”

Beatrice hung up, and I was left with a terrible truth. She misses her job. Not me. Just the job I’d given her.

I grabbed my jacket and keys.

“Cancel my meetings,” I barked at my assistant on the way out. “All of them.”

“But, Sir, the Galanti family—”

“I said all of them.”

Outside, rain pounded on the pavement. I barely noticed as I slid into my car and peeled away from the curb.

Giving her space clearly wasn’t working. Maybe what she needed was a gesture—something to show her how sorry I was, how much I wanted her back.

I walked into Cartier like a man possessed and left with a classic diamond tennis bracelet, which I happened to know was all the rage those days.

I stopped by a bakery she loved for her favorite pistachio cream puffs.

I bought her a goddamn vintage record player just because she mentioned once that she and Megan used to dance around the kitchen to Sinatra.

It was a pathetic plan. I knew that. But I was running out of ideas, and the thought of losing her completely was worse than the thought of taking a bullet.

I’d take that bullet any day if it meant she’d just talk to me.

I drove to Beatrice’s, and only when I reached my sister’s door with hands full of gifts, I hesitated.

What if Autumn slammed it in my face?

What if she wouldn’t even see me?

I knocked anyway.

Beatrice opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of me, loaded with shopping bags. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I need to see her,” I said simply.

My sister crossed her arms. “Did I call and tell you she was ready for that?”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you here? And what’s all this?”

I looked down at the bags, suddenly feeling stupid. “I wanted to... I don’t know. Show her I’m sorry.”

Beatrice’s expression softened marginally. “With... stuff?”

“I don’t know how else to do this,” I admitted.

She sighed heavily, then stepped back. “Fine. Come in. But if she throws you out, I won’t stop her.”

The apartment was quiet as I walked in. Then I heard her—Autumn’s voice from the kitchen, soft and clear. My heart raced just at the sound of it.

“Bea? Who was at the—”

She stopped short when she saw me. Her face went pale and then flushed. She was wearing sweatpants and one of my t-shirts—one she must have accidentally packed when she left. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

She looked tired. Beautiful. Mine—even though she wasn’t anymore.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice flat.

I set the bags down on the floor between us, feeling more awkward by the second. “I wanted to see you. To bring you... these.”

Autumn stared at the pile of shopping bags, then back at me. God, she looked angry. Hurt. Like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“You think you can buy me back?” she asked quietly.

“No,” I said quickly. “That’s not—”

“Because that’s what this looks like.” She gestured at the bags. “You manipulated me once with money. Are you trying again?”

I flinched. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what is this, Federico?” Her voice rose slightly. “What exactly do you think a bunch of expensive presents will accomplish?”

Beatrice shot me a look that said, I told you so , before tactfully retreating to her bedroom.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just... wanted to see you.”

“Well, you’ve seen me.” Autumn crossed her arms. “And now I’d like you to leave.”

I took a step toward her. “Autumn, please. Can’t we talk? I know I screwed up. I know what I did was wrong. But I never meant for things to end up like this.”

“Of course you didn’t!” she snapped. “Because you would have lied your way to the grave. Were you ever going to tell me the truth, Federico?”

The words aimed right at the heart of my guilt.

“I wanted you,” I whispered. “The only truth is that I wanted you. From the first moment I saw you. Everything else I did was wrong. I know that now. But what I feel for you is real, and I know I would have come clean. Eventually. If only we had more time…”

She laughed with such scorn that I wished the ground would open and swallow me whole. “Real? You don’t even know what that word means.”

“I do with you,” I insisted, taking a step closer. “Please, just give me a chance to show you—”

“Don’t.” She backed away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Just... go.”

“Autumn—”

“I said go!” Her voice cracked. “This isn’t helping. You aren’t helping. I need space, Federico. Real space. Not you showing up with gifts like I’m some kind of problem you can throw money at.”

I stood there, watching her face crumple slightly before she got it under control. I’d done that. Put that pain there.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything. “I’ll go. But Autumn, I’m not giving up on us.”

She said nothing. Just shook her head.

I walked out of Beatrice’s apartment with the heaviest heart I’ve ever felt. The gifts remained on the floor where I’d left them—unwanted, unneeded. Just like me.

* * *

“You look like shit,” Dante announced, dropping into the chair across from my desk.

I looked up from my paperwork. “Thank you for that insightful observation.”

“No, seriously.” Achille appeared behind him, leaning against the doorframe. “You look worse than when you got shot last year.”

“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” I growled. “Preferably far away from me?”

Dante whistled low. “Damn, who pissed in your vodka?”

I slammed my pen down. “What do you want?”

My brothers exchanged glances. Achille, the quieter of the two, stepped forward. “We’re concerned.”

“About?”

“You’re being an asshole,” Dante said bluntly. “More than usual.”

“I’m always an asshole.”

“Not like this.” Achille sat on the edge of my desk. “You snapped at Elena yesterday. Made one of the new guys actually cry. And you’ve been walking around like you’re ready to murder someone just for breathing wrong.”

I rubbed my face, exhaustion seeping into my bones. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Dante said. “This is about Autumn, isn’t it?”

At the sound of her name, something in me twisted painfully. I glared at him. “Stay out of it.”

“Can’t,” Achille said simply. “You’re making everyone miserable. Beatrice told us what happened. That you showed up with a mall’s worth of gifts.”

I groaned. “Of course she did.”

“That was your big plan?” Dante snorted. “Buy her forgiveness?”

“I didn’t see you offering better ideas,” I snapped.

“Because you didn’t ask!” Dante threw his hands up. “Man, you’re supposed to be the smart one. The strategist. And your grand gesture was... shopping?”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted quietly.

My brothers fell silent. It wasn’t often that I admitted weakness, especially not to them.

“Start with an actual apology,” Achille suggested. “One that doesn’t come with price tags attached.”

“I tried that,” I said. “She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to see me at all.”

“Then maybe you need to respect that,” Dante said, surprisingly gentle. “Give her real space. Not the kind where you call Beatrice every day for updates.”

I turned to argue when my phone rang. Beatrice. As if we’d summoned her.

“Speak of the devil,” Dante muttered.

I answered immediately. “Beatrice?”

“Federico.” My sister’s voice was tight with worry. “I’m at the clinic with Autumn. I brought her in when she—”

“What happened?” My heart slammed against my ribs. “Is she hurt?”

“She—” There was commotion in the background. “The doctor’s coming now. I have to go.”

“Beatrice, wait—” But she’d already hung up.

I stared at the phone, blood rushing in my ears. Clinic. Autumn. Doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Achille asked, alert now.

“Autumn’s at the clinic,” I said, pushing back my chair. “Beatrice didn’t say why.”

I grabbed my keys.

“We’re coming with you,” Dante said.

“We’ve got that meeting,” Achille said with guilt.

“Fuck!” Dante groaned.

“It’s fine,” I snapped.

Honestly? I just needed to get to the hospital. Without my brothers chattering in my ear, holding me back.

“I’ve got this,” I said, and took the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

The entire drive over, my mind was racing through every terrible possibility. Had she been in an accident? Was she sick?

The drive to the clinic was a blur. I broke every traffic law in place.

When I arrived, I barely remembered to put the car in park before jumping out, rushing through the automatic doors like I was running a raid.

The receptionist looked up, startled. “Sir, can I help you?”

“My wife,” I said, voice rough. “Autumn Lebedev. She was brought in. I need to see her now.”

“Let me check for you.” She tapped at her computer while I paced, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Are you family?” she asked.

“I’m her husband,” I growled.

“I’m sorry, but the computer is a little slow.”

I slammed my hand on the desk, making her jump. “Where is she?”

“I…I really can’t say, Sir.” She looked petrified.

A doctor stepped out of a hallway, and I rushed toward him. “My wife—Autumn Lebedev. Where is she?”

He frowned. “And you are?”

“Federico Lebedev.” I fought to keep my voice level. “Her husband.”

The doctor’s expression cleared. “Ah, yes. Your sister mentioned you might be coming.”

“Is Autumn okay?” The words tumbled out, desperate.

“She’s fine,” he assured me. “Just a little spotting, which is perfectly normal during early pregnancy. Nothing to be concerned about.”

The world tilted on its axis.

“During... what?” I heard myself say, as if from a distance.

The doctor’s expression turned to confusion. “The pregnancy. First trimester spotting is common, especially with increased stress levels. But everything looks good. The baby’s heartbeat is strong.”

My ears were ringing. My vision narrowed to a pinpoint.

Baby. Heartbeat. Pregnancy.

Autumn was pregnant.

With my child.