Page 21 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

The mansion felt empty today, maybe because Yulian had been gone all morning, leaving me all to myself again. Ever since the rough sex the other night, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind—I couldn’t stop reminiscing on our time together, no matter how hard I tried.

The truth was, that wasn’t the kind of sex to be forgotten in a hurry. The incident was etched in my mind like a friggin’ tattoo. Now, I was starting to question my feelings, evaluate my emotions, and my claims to hate his guts.

Yulian had marked me—he’d made me his, and there was no denying that. How else would I explain this constant need for him, this emptiness I felt in his absence? It was almost like I felt more alive when he was around, when we were arguing over small things.

Yulian had snaked his way into my heart, stole my attention, and the ability to be fine on my own. It was clear that I’d grown so attached to him to the point where I could barely function or be myself in his absence. And I hated it. I hated it so much. But at the same time, I couldn’t help it.

As time went on, I started to feel more at home, like I truly belonged here. I was getting used to this place and the people, to the point that deep down, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to be rescued. I was better off here than at my father’s mansion.

It didn’t matter that I was still somewhat Yulian’s prisoner.

I’d rather be his prisoner than my father’s daughter.

Yulian might be a devil, but at least he was the kind that adorned me—except for the time he threw me in his dungeon, of course.

Somehow, that felt like a lifetime ago, and I barely even remembered it.

As far as I was concerned, he’d made up for those times. I knew I shouldn’t let him off that easily, but it wasn’t like I had much say in the matter—my heart did whatever the damn thing wanted.

I loathed admitting this to myself, how much I missed him whenever he wasn’t home.

Today, it was different; the mansion was quieter for a building crawling with Bratva men.

This afternoon, I was strolling through the garden, fingers trailing over the perfectly manicured hedges, when I felt a presence behind me. I figured it was one of the guards closest to me, Andrea, Viktor, or Ilya.

But when I turned around, the man I saw was no Russian. He just stood there like a ghost, eyes pinned on me. “Hello, Ester,” Franco said, his voice low and even.

I swallowed hard, my heart sinking into my stomach. “Franco, what…what’re you doing here?” I whispered, stuttering, glancing around to be sure no one was watching us.

“That’s odd,” he said, “I thought you’d be more excited that the cavalry’s here to save you.”

I pushed my head back, a million thoughts tugging at my mind. “I don’t need saving. And how the hell did you even get past security?” Curiosity flickered in my eyes.

“I have my ways,” he answered, calm and collected.

I paused, thinking of ways to dismiss him without drawing attention to ourselves. But I knew better. Since Franco was here, I was certain he wasn’t going to leave without me.

“Listen, I don’t know how you got in here, but I’m gonna tell you to leave now before someone sees you,” I said, nervously scanning the surroundings.

“My orders were simple: Infiltrate the Tarasov building and save the girl,” he said, unmoving.

My face contorted into a frown. “A few weeks ago, I’d have left with you in a heartbeat.” I shook my head. “Not anymore.”

His brows furrowed, faint creases forming between them. “Why is that?” he asked, stepping forward. “You’re a prisoner here. These people kidnapped you, yet you’re choosing to stay?” A glint of anger crept into his low voice.

I was quiet for a while, holding his gaze. “Things have changed, Franco.” My jaw locked, my scowl deepening. “Don’t blame me for choosing to stay; blame yourself for not coming sooner.”

He seethed in silence.

“Tell my father that I’m not coming home. I’m fine where I am,” I declared boldly.

He hesitated for a moment. “Sorry, princess. Can’t do that.”

I tilted my head to the side, eyes narrowing in bewilderment, when I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. A soft whine escaped my lips, my vision blurring by the second. My head was spinning, my legs suddenly too weak to carry my weight. I recognized the feeling; I’d been tranquilized.

Oh, God, not again.

My eyes shut, and that was it—I was out like a light.

***

My head hurt when I came to, and my fingers rubbed my eyes. Although my vision was still blurry, I recognized the setting of this room: the golden ceiling, the suffocating air, and the fragrance of a familiar cologne. My father’s.

I sat up immediately, eyes wide with shock and fear, my chest heaving subtly. There they were across the room, watching me. Dad was seated with his legs crossed on a sofa while Franco stood sentinel beside him.

My throat wobbled as I swallowed hard, my back against the headboard.

“Franco tells me you didn’t wanna come home,” Dad said, calm and gentle, casually setting down the magazine in his hands. “Care to explain?” He met my gaze, his expression flat and unreadable.

I drew a deep breath and rose to my feet, summoning all the courage that I could. “You want an explanation? Here it is,” I began, letting out all the pain I’d suppressed over the years. “I didn’t wanna come home because what you call home is nothing but a prison.”

“I was trying to keep you safe,” he said, still composed.

“No, Dad! No, you weren’t,” I cut him off, feeling my blood boil with rage. “You didn’t care about me—never did—the only reason you sent your men after me was because you needed me for reasons best known to you,” I blurted out, my eyebrows furrowing to form deep creases between them.

His jaw locked in, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

“I was fine on my own—”

“You call working two menial jobs ‘fine’?” he interrupted me, a mocking smirk on his lips.

“At least then my life wasn’t in danger!” I snapped, raising my voice. “I was safe, Dad—safe from you and all the violence of your world!” A nervous laugh left me. “Until you decided it was time for me to come home. You ruined my life—ruined everything I worked so hard to build—and for what, hmm?”

“You don’t understand—”

“You see, that’s the problem, Dad. I do understand,” I cut him off again, eyes blazing with fury. “I understand that as long as I’m around you, I’ll never be safe—I’ll never be happy—because it’s always going to be about you.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in an angry rush.

“Ester—”

“I was kidnapped barely two months after you forced me back to Chicago,” I continued, my voice trembling, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “And what did you do about it? Nothing. You let me rot in the hands of your worst enemy, like I was disposable!”

Silence.

“I was there for weeks, Dad. Weeks !” My throat tightened, lips quivering.

“How could you? How could you just stand by while I suffered for your sins—for your war?” I paused, fighting back the tears that welled in my eyes.

“And then just when things were starting to fall in place, Franco came along, demanding I leave with him. Perfect timing, guys.”

Quietly, Dad rose to his feet, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Franco, if I didn’t know better, I’d say my daughter is siding with the enemy,” he said, his eyes pinned on me, his voice annoyingly calm.

Dad halted before me, the intoxicating scent of his cologne invading my nostrils. “There’s a reason you didn’t want to leave the Russians,” he said, suspicion creeping into his face. “The same reason you want to go back. What is it?”

I swallowed hard.

“What hold does Yulian have over you?” he demanded, cold as ice.

Silence.

“Ester, what are you not telling me?” The menace in his tone sent chills down my spine. “I will not ask you again.”

My heart pounded like a drum, my pulse quickening. His gaze was too intimidating to hold, his eyes too cold to look at. He raised my chin and held my gaze as if reading my mind.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fell from my mouth, raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, his expression didn’t shift; he just stared at me in silence. “Pregnant?” he asked.

My body stiffened, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.

I nodded.

Dad wiped a palm over his mouth and took two steps back. “Are you saying you’re carrying that bastard’s child in your womb?”

I frowned at his insults. “I’m carrying Yulian’s child. Yes.”

Dad’s face reddened, his scowl deepened, and the veins in his neck began to show. His fingers curled at his sides, knuckles whitening, and his eyes were sharp enough to cut through steel.

A chill ran down my spine. My breath hitched in my throat. His silence was louder than a scream, and for a moment, I wasn’t facing my father; I was facing the monster who killed my mother.

This was how it happened eight years ago. He was in a heated argument with my mother when he lost his temper and struck her so hard. She fell and hit her head against the edge of a table, blood pooling beneath her.

For a second there, I was afraid history would repeat itself. Yet, I braced myself, masking my fear with anger.

Dad walked back to me quietly. He didn’t yell, didn’t raise his hand at me. No. He just mirrored my face and said with a cold, menacing voice. “I will not let you bring shame upon this family. That being said, we will see to it that that thing in your belly is taken care of.”

My brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored the question and walked away, saying, “Get ready. You will marry Franco and redeem yourself from this abomination.”

“Wait, what?!” My eyes widened, and my feet hurried me toward my father. “Dad, you can’t do this!” I snapped, pissed off at his decision.

“I can and I will.” He paused to face me again. “It’s been decided. You’re marrying Franco. End of discussion.” Dad picked up his pace and walked out of the room.

Franco followed behind him, but not until he’d flashed me a mocking grin.

I shook my head, frozen in place—unable to move a muscle.

The door was shut and then locked with a key from outside. Again, I was trapped in here: alone, confused, and fuckin’ furious.