Page 24 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

After the incident at the clinic, I thought she’d seen enough killing and blood for one night. Clearly, that thought crossed my mind too soon. The ambush in the middle of the road left her rattled, trembling, and numb.

That numbness was a result of the stunt she pulled, the shocking choice she made. I was usually always two steps ahead in any situation—always playing out the different possible ways it could end.

However, tonight, I was caught off guard, shocked by her reaction to her father’s attempt to end my life. I anticipated him doing that, so my mind was at high alert, ready to do whatever was necessary. What I didn’t anticipate, though, was Ester’s reaction.

Didn’t see that coming.

Not even a glimpse of it.

She moved faster than both Marco and me, pulling the trigger before we could even blink. I froze, my gun already aimed at the enemy, finger inches from the trigger. If she hadn’t fired first, my bullet would’ve taken him down—perhaps his would’ve hit me too, seeing that I was a split second slower.

Guess I owed her my life.

All through the drive home, Ester hadn’t said a single word.

She just sat beside me in the back seat, her trembling hands clasped together on her lap.

Her body was still subtly shuddering, her eyes swollen, red-rimmed from all those tears.

I could almost hear the sound of her racing heart, hammering in her heaving chest.

Her lips were quivering, her face pale, flat, and unreadable, smeared with dirt and dried blood that wasn’t hers. It was hard to tell what she was feeling right now: anger, guilt, pain, all of it, or nothing at all.

I had no idea what to do, how to comfort her, let alone find the right words to say. I just reached out and gently placed my hand over hers, feeling the slight tremble at my touch. Without a word, she lifted her head and looked at me, her glassy eyes locked onto mine.

My lips curled into a faint grin, and I gently squeezed her hand. She let out a soft sigh before resting her head on my shoulder.

Before long, we arrived at the estate, the car rolling to a stop in front of the towering mansion looming ahead.

Ester barely reacted when the guards rushed to help her out of the car.

Even when the housekeeper offered a concerned look and took her hand, she just let herself be led through the grand hallways, her steps mechanical.

Earlier, I’d phoned the house and asked them to fill the bathtub with hot water. Not for me. But for Ester.

“Thank you, Olga,” I said to the housekeeper once inside the master bedroom. “I’ll take it from here.”

She nodded once, flashed a faint grin at Ester, then left the room quietly, shutting the door behind her.

“Come,” I murmured, my hand steady on her waist as I led her to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Inside, I stood behind her, fingers slowly unzipping her dress, revealing the curve of her back and the delicate tattoo that ran along her spine.

My hand grazed over her shoulder, her skin smooth, warm beneath mine as I slipped the thin straps down. One after the other. The fabric slid off her body and pooled at her feet, leaving her bare and exposed. Breathtaking.

I’d never get used to seeing her naked—that sight would never get old. It would always feel like the time. But this time, I wasn’t drooling over her lithe figure. No. As attractive as it was, I was more concerned about her well-being, hoping that she wouldn’t collapse.

She turned to face me, her lips curling into a faint grin. “It’s just a bath, Yulian. I promise I won’t drown.”

I nodded, hesitated for a moment before stepping out, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Figured she needed some time to think anyway. I waited in the room for about 30 minutes, wondering what was taking so long. Finally, she stepped out, clad in a white robe, hair still moist from the warm bath.

Her footsteps were silent against the marble floor as she glided over to the bed and slipped underneath the sheets. I was seated on the sofa across from her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

The silence between us grew louder by the second, until she broke it.

“I still see her face in dreams, you know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“My mother.” Her eyes rose to meet mine as she lay on her side, her expression softening by a whisper.

“She was the kindest person I ever knew, and her only mistake was marrying a monster. A monster that ended her life with his own hands.”

My jaw clenched, and my eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

She continued, “I was fifteen when Marco Moretti killed my mother with his bare hands.” A disdainful scoff escaped her lips.

“He’d found us after she attempted to run away with me, to keep me from the death and destruction of his world.

They had a heated argument that night, and she stood up to him, challenged him.

” Ester paused, wiping the tears from her eyes.

It broke my heart watching her recount the incident as if it were something she’d held on to for so long. Her voice cracked as though reliving the memory opened a wound that hadn’t completely healed yet.

She continued, “Marco got pissed that she spoke back at him, and he hit her.” Ester drew a deep, long breath.

“She fell backward, hitting her head against the edge of a granite table. Blood. Lots of blood.” She sniffled, blinking back her tears.

“And he just stood there. No remorse. None whatsoever.”

I knew that feeling—was familiar with that pain. And I hated that she was going through it, that she had to experience that. No one should have to experience that.

“So, I ran—ran to New York and lived with a relative of my mom’s until I was old enough to get my own place.

” Her lips quivered, her breathing hard and uneven.

“He killed my mother, Yulian, said that I had to marry his lieutenant, tried to kill my unborn baby—aimed a fucking gun at me…!” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush.

I watched her eyes light up with fury, her jaw tightening as she spoke.

“And then when…when he threatened to kill you…I lost it.” She dried her tears. “He’d already taken someone I loved so dearly. I couldn’t stand by and watch him do it again.” She shook her head, her glassy eyes locked on me. “Not with you…not with the father of my unborn child.”

It was clear to me now that when she pulled that trigger, she made a choice; she chose me and our baby over him. This grand gesture was a game changer, an eye-opener to the fact that nothing would ever be the same between us again.

Something unlocked inside me that night, and I may have found the name of this feeling in my stomach.

Love.

It had to be.

Why else would she pull a trigger to save me? Ester had never fired a gun in her life before; she was no killer. I knew that for sure, considering that I was one myself. Yet, she became a murderer because of me. She took a life to protect mine.

What in the world was greater than that?

I rose to my feet and sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting on her cheek. She shut her eyes, exhaling slowly as if reveling in the feeling of my skin on hers. I caressed her hair, realizing now what a strong woman she was.

Ester had survived worse than I thought, and with the violence and trauma that shaped her childhood, she sure turned out great. No thanks to Marco Moretti. I stared in silence, my lips curling into a smile, pride flickering in my gaze.

It was time I stopped lying to myself. I cared for her deeply. There was no point hiding away from the truth that I’d always known but chose to ignore.

We were past the pretense now. It was time to accept and give in to emotions. It was time to turn a new leaf, flip to the next page of our story, and see what fate had in store for us.

Fate brought us together. Yes. It was up to us to decide whether or not we’d remain together. As for me, my mind was made; I knew exactly what I wanted.

The question was: What did she want?