Page 23 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

I held on to him tightly, my heartbeat steadying by the minute as he carried me in his strong arms like I was something fragile. I listened to the beat of his own heart—a heart I’d once thought was made of stone and not flesh. A heart I’d thought was incapable of love.

How wrong I’d been.

Yulian was not the heartless monster I presumed he was; he was nothing like my father.

Not even in the slightest. There was a huge difference between those two men.

One only cared about what he’d gain by selling me off for his own personal interest. The other genuinely cared for me and the life in my womb.

When Yulian realized I was taken, it only took him a few hours to find me—something my own father never did when I was kidnapped by the Russians. He let me rot with the enemy because rescuing me was inconvenient for him at the time.

How lovely!

But with Yulian, it was different. He came raiding the clinic with his men, causing chaos and raising hell just to save me.

That was more than anyone had ever done for me.

He didn’t care about the casualties, about who’d get hurt in the process.

All this man cared about was getting to me before the procedure started.

And he did. He got there in the nick of time to save the damsel in distress. When he found me in that surgical room, the panic in his eyes melted my heart. Concern and fear etched his gaze, as if he was hoping he wasn’t too late.

If that wasn’t an indication of love, then I didn’t know what was.

Right now, in his arms, I felt safe—untouchable and at peace. His men were cleaning up the mess behind us, gunfire echoing through the clinic walls, muzzle flashes lighting up the windows. Yulian’s boots scuffed against the pavement as he headed toward the getaway car across from us.

Maxim, his right-hand man, opened the backseat door, and Yulian gently lowered me inside. He shut the door, walked over to the other side, and then slid into the car. I lay down on the seat, my head resting on his lap as the engine started and we drove into the night.

I’d always known my father was evil. But this…

this was on a whole new level. He didn’t just pay some doctors to get rid of my baby; he also subjected me to marrying his bodyguard.

That asshole Franco. Dad was the weapon fashioned against me; he was put on this earth just to make my life a living hell.

First, he killed my mother, now this?

No.

There was no way in hell that I’d ever forgive this easily. Yulian was never my enemy. My own father was. And tonight, I’d made up my mind that he would never hurt me ever again. With or without Yulian’s protection. I’d had enough of his tyranny. No more.

His hand smoothed my hair, the other one sitting protectively on my belly like he was keeping the baby safe. His chest rose and fell in a way that indicated the monster inside him was only half-caged. He was quiet, and I didn’t bother asking what was running through his mind.

I had a couple of questions of my own: Now what? What was the plan? What was my next move? What did this mean for us, Yulian and me?

I just shut my eyes and drew a deep, long breath, feeling the wind from the broken window caress my face. One step at a time. I may not have all the answers at the moment, but one thing was certain: Yulian and I would figure it out.

The lesson I learned tonight was that there was nothing this man wouldn’t do for me and his unborn child. No lengths he wouldn’t go to. That, on its own, was comforting, a testament to the fact that I wasn’t alone anymore. We were in this together.

Yulian was with me; he was by my side. What could possibly go wrong?

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, fate answered.

“RPG!” someone shouted from one of the vehicles ahead.

I barely had time to register the word when the car in front of us burst into flames, a blinding flash swallowing it whole. The shockwave from the explosion slammed into our vehicle like a fuckin’ fist from hell.

I screamed, both hands over my ears, my body jerking forward, almost falling off the seat. Yulian held me in place, his body shielding me from the glass shattering around us.

“You’re okay—you’re okay,” he said to me, his voice dripping with urgency as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Chaos erupted around us.

Smoke. Flames. Screams.

Rapid gunfire filled the air, fleeting bursts of light punctuating the night like fireflies.

“Stay down!” Yulian barked, his body sprawled over me.

Bullets sprayed wildly, shattering glass and ripping through the air. Even with my eyes shut and my ears covered, I could hear the screams of men dropping to the ground, hit by the hail of gunfire.

My father’s men must have ambushed us, and now both sides had clashed in a bloody battle.

Yulian kicked the door open with one fluid motion. “Come on,” he said to me. “Stay low.” He grabbed his pistol, drilling two holes in the armed assailant who’d appeared just outside the door, squeezing a round.

I screamed, flinching at this close-up gunfire.

With three precise shots, Yulian gunned down three others before they could even pull their triggers.

He turned to me, eyes scanning my body. “Are you okay? Were you hit?” His gaze dropped to my belly, where my hands sat protectively.

I nodded, then shook my head, then nodded again, my breath caught in my throat. I was trembling, confused, and unable to speak or think straight.

“You’re in shock; it happens,” he said calmly, holding my hand. “Come on, let’s get you outta here. Remember, stay low.”

With all that chaos outside and the burden of taking both me and the baby to safety, Yulian wasn’t panicking. It was almost like this was just another Tuesday for him.

The man was focused. Laser-focused, and that determination in his eyes made him the most dangerous man out here. The way he moved, leading the way with me behind holding his hand, was terrifyingly effortless. He gunned down all the enemies in his sight like violence was his second nature.

I watched Yulian take down all of our attackers with just a pistol and years of experience. His moves were fluid and swift for a man being slowed down by a defenseless woman.

Within seconds, after we were out in the open, all the armed Italians dropped dead, leaving just their leader, my father, Marco.

He stood there, surrounded by his lifeless soldiers, his pistol held up in front of him. The night was lit up by the flames of burning cars, and the air was filled with the stench of blood and burnt skin. Fire crackled, and smoke curled around the survivors of this blood bath.

Yulian stepped forward, his men pointing their guns at Marco Moretti, ready to shoot at his command.

My father’s eyes flicked past Yulian and landed on me. “You ungrateful bitch,” he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You side with the enemy against your own father? After all I’ve done for you?!” he snapped, furious.

My fear turned to anger immediately, my brows furrowing to form deep creases between them. “You’re no father of mine, Marco,” I said, stepping forward, my blood boiling with rage.

Yulian tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t let him.

I continued, “I’m done running from you. I’m done being afraid of the man who ruined my life.”

He squinted, shocked by my boldness.

“You’ve never cared about me or given a shit about my decisions, so why start now?” I asked, glaring at him.

“I clothed you!” he yelled. “And this is how you repay me? I fed you, gave you a fuckin’ education!”

“And you also killed my mother!” I yelled back, feeling all that rage coursing through my blood. My scowl deepened, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

He went silent, his gun aimed at me, his hand steady like he didn’t mind putting a bullet in my skull.

My grip tightened on the pistol I held behind my back—the one I’d picked up minutes ago from a dead man. “What’re you gonna do, kill me too?” I asked, unafraid.

“You’re a disgrace to me and the entire Moretti family,” he spat, eyes dark with fury. He shifted his gaze toward Yulian and cocked his gun. “But blame him for all this madness.”

Before Dad could squeeze the trigger, I aimed my gun at him and, a split second later, fired once: a bullet to his chest.

The gunshot rang loudly in my ears, my hand trembling as I watched him drop to his knees. Blood streamed from his wound, his eyes wide with shock and agony. He wheezed, choking with his hand over the hole in his chest.

I stood there, frozen in place, shuddering, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened. I watched the life drain from his eyes—watched him draw his last breath before his body thudded to the ground like a dry log.

My knees quaked, and the gun dropped from my grip, the ground rising to meet me. I slumped into Yulian’s arms, the man who was fast enough to catch me.

He held me tightly, his palm smoothing down my hair as I wept on his chest. My body was shaking, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. I’d done the unthinkable. I’d just killed my own father.

Yulian didn’t say a word, but I could feel his concern—his worry. It was obvious that he felt my pain and shared in it.

The night was silent as he held me in the middle of the road, surrounded by dead bodies and burning vehicles. Broken glass littered the asphalt, blood flowing like a river, and in that stillness, I wept.