Page 10 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

“Shit, shit, shit….” The words fell out of my mouth in a nervous rush as I walked into my room, trembling like I’d just seen a fuckin’ ghost.

I tossed my purse on the nearest table, hands flying into my hair in confusion. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I couldn’t stop pacing back and forth.

It was him. Yulian.

After these few months, I finally ran into him—the only man who’d messed with my sanity. This would’ve been a great reunion if he didn’t turn out to be my father’s worst enemy.

Tarasov.

The name was spat out like venom in this household, and my father’s hatred for the man knew no bounds. I wasn’t sure what exactly sparked their quarrel, but one thing I knew for sure was that Dad hated his guts. And from what I’d gathered, the feeling was mutual.

I dropped onto a couch by the window, cupping my face in my palms and pondering how messed up things had become. Yulian might have left without so much as a goodbye after giving me the best time of my life, but he was still the one man my heart beat for.

Seeing him tonight affected me more than I cared to admit.

His voice—that deep, husky tone that always sent shivers down my spine—worked its magic on me.

The scent of his cologne invaded my senses, leaving me disoriented and confused.

And when his skin brushed against mine, I felt a familiar warmth spread across my body.

It took me two fuckin’ months to get over him. And then, just when I was starting to live again, he walked back into my life a more dangerous man than before. It was almost like he was sent to destroy me, and that sucked.

I leaned into the couch’s backrest, fingers massaging my temples as I struggled to block out the images of his handsome face flashing in my head. I’d almost forgotten just how ridiculously attractive he was, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It seemed to me like this whole situation was designed to mess with my mental health.

First, my dad found me and forced me back to his mansion against my will.

Now, Yulian weaseled his way back into my life, as if he had never left, his presence stirring up emotions in me that I had chosen to lock away.

The Morettis and the Tarasovs were sworn enemies, so whatever Romeo-and-Juliet-thing we had going on was doomed to fail from the start. The two men—Marco and Yulian—had never seen eye to eye and would never do so. And I was caught between both of them.

But I shouldn’t be.

Yulian was just a one-night stand, someone who helped me scratch an itch. He shouldn’t matter so much. Whatever I thought I felt for him was not real, and with time, it would fade.

Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, a voice whispered in my head.

***

I spent the rest of the night replaying the brief moment we shared—the tension, the spark, and the flame he ignited within me. Despite all my efforts to shut him out of my head, I just kept drowning in the thoughts of him. It was almost impossible to sleep with such a busy, restless mind.

Every now and then, I’d roll from one end of the bed to the other, hoping to woo the goddess of sleep. Clearly, it was the only way to escape my sad reality. Maybe if I slept, I’d drift to a dream world where everything worked in my favor—where I was happy and fulfilled.

Eventually, though, I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and later woke up to the sound of a knock on my door. My eyelids snapped open, and a dull ache nagged the back of my head. I winced, blinking away the remnants of sleep in my eyes.

“Miss Moretti?” Laura called, her voice soft and polite. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Great,” I grumbled, sitting up with my feet on the cool marble floor.

“Are you okay in there?” she added, her Italian accent strong and authentic.

I hesitated for a moment, jaw tightening as I thought about how my dad had everyone in the house treat me like I was a little girl.

“Miss Moretti?” she called again, this time with a glint of concern in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Laura, thank you,” I replied, my voice sharp but polite.

It was useless to snap at her; the poor woman was only doing as she was told.

Laura was like a mother to me—nice, kind, and super observant.

She was the only reason I hadn’t tried to run away again.

Laura knew that I hated it here; she knew that, given the slightest opportunity, I’d bolt without turning back.

She would always remind me that no matter where I ran to, no matter what identity I chose for myself, I’d always be a Moretti.

Her words echoed in my head: “We don’t choose what family we’re born into. But family will always be family.”

Dad had me surrounded all day, every day, since I was forced back here. It felt like everyone was assigned to watch me—the guards, the maids, the chauffeurs, the chefs. Everywhere I turned, there was at least one pair of eyes observing from a distance.

This was supposed to be my father’s mansion, but it felt more like a prison. And with each passing day, it was like the walls were closing in on me. I felt suffocated, drained of life.

All I wanted was to get as far away from here as possible, away from the one man who ruined my life, my childhood. Because of him, I’d been on the run for years, stranded on the streets of New York before finally finding my footing.

The man who was supposed to be my father, the one to bring me joy and peace, was the same man who took from me the one thing I cherished most.

I hadn’t forgiven him for that. And I wasn’t sure that I would.

My mind flashed back to my conversation with Laura the night Franco brought me back. I was furious and was ready to raise hell—to fight my way out of the mansion.

I’d already injured two of my dad’s men—broken their noses after they underestimated me—when Laura stepped in and took control of the situation.

She helped calm me down before convincing me to have a word with her in my room.

“I know every part of you wants to run, but listen to me, sweetheart. You’ve seen what your father’s anger can do—what it’s already done. Please…don’t let hatred make your choices.”

“I can’t do this, Laura,” I objected, my lips trembling, voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. “I can’t stay here—I can’t face him!” I sprang to my feet, combing my fingers through my hair. “Not after what he did—what he took from me.”

“You have to.” She rose to her feet, reaching out to hold my hands. “Listen to me, I know exactly how you feel—”

“I doubt that, Laura,” I cut her off.

She insisted, “I do….” Her fingers squeezed against mine. “…more than you realize. But child, there are other ways to handle this. And right now, fighting your way out isn’t one of them.”

“So what? You just want me to sit back and pretend like he didn’t kill my mother, like I don’t hate his guts?” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a nervous rush, tears trickling down my cheeks.

Gently, Laura lifted her hand to my face and wiped my tears with her thumb.

“I’m sorry, child. No one should have to experience what you did.

But your father is…well…a beast.” She paused, looking into my eyes, sympathy clouding her gaze.

“If you decide to be stubborn right now, there’s no telling what he would do. ”

“You’re basically asking me to stand down,” I said, raising my brows in disbelief.

“For now, yes.”

I broke out of her hold and walked toward the window, gazing out at my freedom.

“Wisdom is knowing when to act and when to stand down,” she said from behind. “Be wise, child.”

Ever since that night, Laura had made it her personal mission to try and keep me in check. She knew my father better than anyone else, considering that she was the oldest maid in the mansion. That sweet soul had served the Moretti family long before I was even born.

She was right. My father was unstable, and if I was going to get my freedom, I would have to play smart.

The problem was that I was running out of time. My father didn’t ask Franco and those two idiots to come get me out of the goodness of his heart. No. He was up to something, and whatever it was, I was certain that I’d hate it.

After I’d freshened up and headed to the dining room, I heard my father barking orders in his office. The walls in the house were pretty thin, and from the hallway, I could already hear his muffled voice.

I stopped in my tracks, glancing back and forth to be sure no one was watching at the moment. Carefully, I glided toward the door to his office, eyes squinting as I tried to make out what he was yelling about. I let my curiosity push me until my ear was inches from the door.

Then, I heard him clearly.

“Those Russian pigs! I warned them!” His voice dripped with venom. “If it’s war they want—hell, if it’s blood they want, then so be it. We will raise hell and burn every last one of them alive!”

My heart skipped a beat, and my breath hitched. Father was talking about Yulian and his people, and he sounded so upset. Whatever the Russian had done must have poked the beast within. My father wasn’t human, not when he was mad. And now, he was really, really mad.

I couldn’t help but fear for Yulian. He might be a ruthless Mafia boss, but my father was not just a notorious monster; he was a mindless one. I hadn’t seen Yulian in action before, but I’d watched my father chop off a man’s head with a kitchen knife just to make a point.

In his rage, he’d struck his wife dead right in front of his fifteen-year-old daughter: me. Till now, I’d yet to recover from that. It was almost like he had a knack for killing the people I cared about.

I retreated from the door immediately before someone caught me eavesdropping.

***

Later that evening, Laura informed me that my father would like to have a word with me, that he was waiting in the garden. This was the first time since I got here that he’d called for me. Specifically.

The few times we had passive conversations were over breakfast or dinner, and even then, fewer words were spoken. Nothing serious. He often passed his message to me through Laura or Franco.

As expected, Laura briefed me on what to say and what not to say around him, especially because he was still pissed about what happened with the Russians.

The garden was quiet, wrapped in the warm hush of early evening, a cool breeze rustling the leaves. Perfectly manicured hedges lined the stone path, and soft petals from the jacaranda trees littered the ground like fallen confetti.

The scent of jasmine and roses, blended with the chirping of birds, wafted through the air as the sun dipped across the horizon.

Dad sat on a weathered bench beneath an old oak tree, watching the sunset. His white hair gleamed in the sun’s yellow glow, his hazel eyes squinting against the breeze.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked without taking his eyes off the horizon.

The old man must have sensed my presence as soon as I walked into the garden.

I didn’t respond, just quietly stood behind him, struggling to keep my emotions in check.

“Come. Sit.” He patted the vacant side of the bench.

Reluctantly, I stepped forward, a twig snapping beneath my left foot.

“I know you think I’m a monster,” he said, eyes still fixed on the yellow sun. “Especially after…” he paused for a second, expression as blank as a sheet of paper, “…the incident.”

He was referring to my mother’s death. Or murder, to be more exact.

“That’s what we’re calling it now?” I murmured under my breath, fighting back the rage rising inside me.

He turned to face me, his cold hazel eyes piercing into mine. “Take a seat,” his voice was low but laced with a command.

I heaved a sigh and sat on the bench, a reasonable distance away from him.

“Like it or not, I want what’s best for you,” he began, returning his gaze to the horizon. “Even though you chose to run away all those years ago, I let you live your life because the truth is, I’m not the monster you think I am.” He glanced at me.

“If you wanted what’s best for me, then why did you send your goons to kidnap me?” I asked, jaw tightening.

“Don’t play the victim card here, Ester. Two of my men had their noses broken because of you,” he said, and looked at me, a glint of pride flickering in his eyes.

“They had it coming.”

He scoffed, lips curling into an almost imperceptible grin. “I’m sure they did.”

For a moment, silence fell between us, and I didn’t bother trying to fill it. I sat there, waiting to hear the real reason he called for me.

Then finally, he spoke, “You remember the Di Bianchi family, don’t you?”

Another powerful Italian crime family with a long history of violence and murder. Yeah, how could I forget?

My silence meant “yes.”

He continued, “They’ve invited us to, uh…a small dinner.” He glanced at me. “And your presence is of the utmost importance.”

My heart sank into my chest on his last statement. I clenched my jaw, my pulse quickening, expression darkening ever so slightly. Fury flashed in my eyes, but Laura’s words about knowing when to speak and when to be silent echoed in my head.

The reason my attention was of “utmost importance” was because he wanted to flaunt me, his daughter, ripe for marriage. This was his plan all along: to display me like an expensive piece of art from his collection. He planned to use me to secure an alliance with the Di Bianchi family.

Why was I not surprised?

I knew from the start that he wasn’t after my safety but his own personal interest. After all these years, the only reason he remembered I existed was so he could marry me off to a total stranger and make millions off of it.

Father of the year!

I didn’t argue, didn’t oppose the motion. Instead, I mustered a smile and told him I’d be there. The way he looked at me was proof that he’d expected some sort of resistance from me. Now, he was confused, unsure of what to make of my compliance.

He knew that there was no way in hell I’d just agree to something as heavy as this. I should at least put up a fight. But I didn’t. I disappointed him, left him in the dark, confused and uncertain about anything.

Good.

Let him ponder whether or not I had a plan of my own, even though at the moment, my head was blank.

I rose to my feet, smiled like a good, obedient daughter, and then walked away. His gaze lingered on me as I headed back into the house. The good thing about this was that now my father was on the edge, wondering what my next move would be.

I was about to be sold off like one of his properties, and if I didn’t cook something up real fast, this man would ruin my life completely.

Laura said to be wise and not act on impulse. It was time to put on my thinking hat.