Page 17 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

I sat alone in the quiet stillness of my study, with the faint scent of aged paper drifting through the air. An untouched glass of vodka sat on the table, the ice long melted as the desk lamp cast a golden glow against the towering bookshelves.

The chair squeaked beneath my weight, my fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table’s surface. My mind was a whirl of tangled thoughts.

I wasn’t sure why, but the scar on my ribcage was starting to burn again—pulsing with a dull ache as if memory itself had claws. My jaw locked in a bid to suppress the images flooding my mind. I tried to fight back the awful memory creeping back in—a memory I buried decades ago.

The harder I fought against it, the more my ribs ached. I reached to the wound with my hand, eyelids fluttering shut. Those buried images started to surface, forcing me to remember the one incident I desperately wished I could forget forever.

I could still hear the sound of her voice in my head, her innocent laughter before the attack. She was just fourteen, and I’d promised to keep her safe, to always protect her.

But I failed.

I failed my own sister because I trusted the wrong person.

I tightened my jaw, refusing to take that trip down my memory lane. There was nothing to find there but pain and regret. Yet, these images in my head were relentless. Glimpses of that afternoon flashed in my mind.

Snow. Lots of it.

My younger sister, Maria—her blue eyes and charming smile.

Hector, my best friend—his blade swinging violently at me.

Blood.

Maria’s screams.

The avalanche.

“…Yulian…Yulian?” A familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I blinked back to the present, panting, cold sweat dampening my forehead. My gaze settled on Ester as she stood across my desk, eyes narrowing at me. I glanced behind her to find the door halfway open—I must have been so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her come in.

Her gaze dropped to my ribcage, probably wondering why my hand was pressed against it. She watched me in silence, her expression softer than it had ever been since her arrival at the mansion.

I hated that she saw me like this—rattled, almost vulnerable. Breaking eye contact, I cleared my throat, reached for the glass of vodka on my table, and took a sip. “How long have you been standing there for?” I asked.

“Long enough,” she replied without taking her eyes off me. “Does it hurt?” Her gaze dropped to my ribcage.

“What, are we buddies now?” I took another sip, my tone harsh and unwelcoming. “Weren’t you just about to run away about an hour ago?”

She paused, letting out a long, slow exhale. “You’re right. I was. But that’s because I feel trapped within these walls.”

“So, you’d rather run back to your father’s house?” My brows raised, and my expression darkened. “The same father who hasn’t lifted a finger to find you yet?”

She gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath. “I didn’t have a choice; it’s not like you’re any better than he is. You threw me in a dungeon and left me for dead.”

Ester was calmer now, but I could still hear faint traces of anger in her tone.

“I got you out, didn’t I?” My fingers rubbed my eyes. “I got you cleaned up and checked out by a doctor. I gave you a room with a comfortable bed and had my maids treat you like a queen. What else do you want from me, Ester?”

“My freedom, for starters,” she said, arms across her chest.

“I’m afraid that’s not gonna happen,” I said, a hand still pressed over my wound. “There’s a baby involved now, and there’s no way in hell that I’m letting you out of my sight.”

She scoffed and lowered her head, her index finger tapping against her temple. “So what, I’m just supposed to live here with you?” A scowl formed on her face.

I paused for a while, my gaze locked to hers. “You’re carrying my child, Ester—that changes everything. Including how your father sees you.” I let the words sink in first before asking, “Does he know? Does your father know about us?”

“There is no us,” she cut me off, her sharp voice laced with traces of disdain.

Fair enough.

I rephrased, “Does he know about New York?”

Silence.

My lips curled into a faint smirk. “I thought as much.” I rose to my feet, cradling my glass of vodka. “Now, tell me, Ester. How do you think he’s gonna react when he finds out that you’re carrying his enemy’s child?”

Again, silence.

I walked over to the other side of my desk, sipping from my glass. “Do you think he’s gonna throw you a party—pat your shoulder for making him proud?” I leaned against the edge of my table. “Or do you think he’s gonna ask you to get rid of the baby in your womb?”

Her scowl deepened. “I’m not stupid, Yulian. I’m not going back to the Moretti mansion with your baby in my belly. I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself and the baby. I don’t need my father or anyone else to do that.”

I set my glass on the table and faced her.

“See, that’s where the problem is, Ester; you don’t need your father.

But that baby needs theirs.” I pointed at her stomach.

“I don’t doubt your ability to raise that child.

But it’s my flesh and blood, too. It is my responsibility to keep you both safe.

” My hand reflexively pressed against the side of my ribs again.

She locked her jaw, her chest rising and falling with slow breaths. Despite her anger, I could see in her eyes that she knew I was right. Ester was just having a hard time processing it.

Her eyes traced my hand. “What’s the deal with the rib?”

“Nothing,” I replied almost immediately, emptying the remaining vodka down my throat.

“Uh-ha.” She nodded, watching me in silence, clearly trying to figure me out. “I noticed it’s the same spot I tattooed—the knife wound I covered with ink.”

I ignored her and poured myself another glass of vodka. Her curiosity was starting to get under my skin. She was tugging at a memory I was still struggling to suppress.

She continued, “That night, at the tattoo studio, you said you were stabbed by somebody you trusted. What happened?”

I was quiet, fighting back the memories crawling up to the surface. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Just curious to know what had you so distracted you didn’t hear me come in,” she replied, letting out a soft sigh. “Plus, I’m bored, and I’m clearly stuck here with you. So why not?” Ester took a seat on a nearby couch.

She didn’t look like she was going back down until I answered—until I gave in and told her what she wanted to hear. A part of me didn’t want to open up, but these memories wouldn’t stop tugging at my mind.

“I’m no psychologist, but I can sense your struggle,” she said, her eyes pinned on me. “You’re fighting something that doesn’t want to be fought. Take it from me; it’ll mess with your head.”

I clenched my jaw, massaging my ribcage.

“That wound is healed, Yulian,” she declared, her gaze dropping to my ribs. “Whatever pain you feel, it’s all in your head. And it’ll only get worse if you don’t face what you’re running from.”

“I’m not running from anything!” I growled, nearly snapping at her.

“Yes, you are,” she insisted. “I know this because I spent more than half my life running, too.”

I squeezed against the glass in my hand until it cracked, my face contorted into a frown.

“It’s just a memory, Yulian,” she said. “Let it in.”

It was awkward that Ester was the one schooling me about facing my past, the same Ester who almost ran away just a few hours ago.

As much as it pained me to admit, she was right. It was time I let those memories back in. Perhaps I’d feel better after this trip down memory lane.

It was supposed to be a simple trip—just me and my best friend Hector—hunting in the wild as we used to. But this time, my younger sister, Maria, decided to tag along and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

My sister was stubborn and only did what she wanted, regardless of what anyone said or thought about it. At fourteen, she already knew how to handle the rifle, how to hunt, but I just didn’t like her endangering her life.

However, that afternoon, Maria’s mind was made up, and there was nothing that I could’ve done or said that would’ve convinced her otherwise. Hector thought it was a great idea to have her come with us, and so it was.

We were out in the snow heading toward our usual spot, the wind howling in our ears. I stopped in my tracks, observing the whistling breeze, the surrounding mountains, and the birds in the sky.

“I think we should turn back,” I said, scanning the snow-covered environment. “There’s a storm coming.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Hector said, his voice deep and venomous.

I turned around, thinking this was one of his jokes, only to find him standing with his gun aimed at me. “Hector…what’re you doing?”

“Drop your rifle,” he declared. “Both of you.”

“Hector, this isn’t funny,” Maria said, attempting to step forward.

Hector fired a bullet in the air, and she screamed in shock. “I said drop it!”

My sister and I tossed our weapons to the ground and threw our hands in the air.

“What is the meaning of this, Hector?” I demanded, pulling Maria behind me.

“Your family’s a lot of enemies, Ian. No hard feelings.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“No hard feelings? You’re my friend!” I hollered, my blood boiling with rage. “I trusted you, and you manipulated me!”

“Trust is for the weak!” he yelled at me. “Do you know how easy it was to be your friend, how difficult it was to keep up with your weak ass? I had to pretend every time I was around you just so I could get the mission.”

“Mission? What mission?” Maria asked, seething silently.

“Shut up, bitch! The grown-ups are talking,” he shunned her.

My fingers curled into fists, my eyes blazing with fury. “You’re a mole, aren’t you? You’re working for the Red Serpents.”

“Oh, you’re a genius. You finally figured it out,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks to you, I now have the information I need, meaning I no longer have any use for you.” He cocked his gun. “Orders are orders, Ian. You understand that. No hard feelings.”

Face to face with death, all I could think of was how to protect my sister and take that bastard down. But while I was thinking—strategizing—my sister bolted and speared into Hector, sending them both crashing to the ground.

He tossed her off him before she could attack him with her nails. That’s when I lunged at him, throwing heavy punches and kicks. We fought in the snow like two gladiators fighting to the death.

What I didn’t realize until it was too late was that when Hector had tossed my sister off him, she’d hit her head on a rock. I had struck the enemy down and battered his face with my bare hands when I caught a glimpse of her motionless body out of the side of my eye.

“No,” the word fell off my mouth. “No, no, no….” I left Hector and rushed over to my sister.

She lay in the snow, her blood smeared on the rock’s surface.

“Maria!” I took her head in my arms and tapped her face. “Come on, stay with me.”

Still no response.

With a shaky hand, I reached and felt for a pulse, but to my biggest shock, it was futile. “No….”

I sensed Hector’s presence behind me, and when I turned, I felt his blade piercing my skin. A deep groan escaped my lips as he pushed his knife through my ribs.

The hot, searing pain forced me down to one knee, gasping, blood soaking through my parka. Determined to take Hector down with me, I struggled against his strength to pull the blade back out. And with everything in me, I jabbed the knife in through his throat.

He fell to his knees before me, both hands on his neck as his blood—thick and warm—flowed like a river. I stood over him, clutching my wound, and watched the life fade from his eyes until his now limp body thudded onto the snow.

Just when I thought it was over, the storm I sensed earlier came upon me.

The snow shifted beneath me with a sickening crack, and the mountain roared.

Avalanche.

I tried to save my sister’s body, but it was too late.

The world blurred to white chaos. Trees snapped, and snow rushed like a living wall. I crawled, struggling against the storm, blood trailing behind me. Snow was everywhere, and I could barely see a damn thing. The biting cold seeped into my wound, causing my lungs to scream.

Soon, I fell unconscious, buried in the snow that swallowed everything.

I blinked back to the present after narrating the incident to Ester. Lifting the glass to my lips, I took another sip. “When I woke up, I had to dig my way out with frostbitten fingers—clawed up through the cold.”

Ester stared at me with sympathy in her eyes, like I was something to be pitied, and I hated that.

“Your sister?” she asked.

“Never found her body,” I replied. “So, we buried an empty coffin.”

She paused for a moment, her eyes never leaving me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I ignored her sympathy and walked back to my chair.

“For what it’s worth.” She rose to her feet, both hands in the back pockets of her pants. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I know what it’s like to lose family.”

There was an awkward silence between us, the kind that bred vulnerability and all the nonsense that came with it.

Her expression was soft and welcoming, and when she looked at me, there was no anger in her eyes, no disdain.

Nothing. Just someone who’d truly experienced my kind of pain. Someone who genuinely understood.

It was comforting in a strange way, and even the way she looked at me was different tonight.

I broke eye contact, cleared my throat, and sank into my chair. “I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. And you need to rest,” I said, glancing up at her.

She nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

Ester lingered a little while longer before turning around to take her leave.

It was clear to me now, after this little conversation, that whatever I felt for her that night in New York was still very much alive.

Ester had ignited a flame in me tonight, and with this baby she was carrying, I couldn’t help but think this was the start of something new.

It was both fascinating and alarming at the same time.