Page 28 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

Our home was filled with guests—men in tailored suits and women in elegant dresses. The air was thick with the soft hum of conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses.

The living room was bathed in the warm glow of the hanging chandeliers, the aroma of expensive wine and special delicacies wafting through the atmosphere.

It was a small gathering, organized to celebrate the soon-to-be baby, our first child and legacy. Nothing extravagant or loud—just a controlled kind of elegance that whispered power and strength rather than shouting it.

My wife wasn’t in support of this event, despite its small scale. Not at first anyway. She didn’t think it was necessary to have people over to celebrate with us. Ester was comfortable with staying home with me, popping a bottle of sparkling cider in our bedroom, and slow dancing together.

That was her idea of a small celebration. She didn’t want this.

I always respected her decision, always did things as she wanted, without question. However, this time, I thought being around my people would help her better understand the family she’d married into.

Ester was no longer a Moretti, and the Italians didn’t want anything to do with her after the death of her father. Word in the street was that they called a traitor and blamed her for Marco Moretti’s death.

She had no other family but mine—the Bratva, the Tarasovs.

That being said, it was only logical to organize a small gathering in her honor so the rest of the family would see the woman who stole Yulian Tarasov’s heart. I was so proud of her and couldn’t wait to flaunt her in front of everyone. Especially my older brother, Sergei.

Ever since he married that Irish chick, Ayla O’Hara, he never stopped talking about her with me. He was always bragging about how headstrong she was, how she was the best biker in the streets of Chicago, blah blah blah.

I’d have loved for both of them to be at my wedding, but something came up that day, and they couldn’t make it. However, this was a chance to reunite everyone. And this time, I wouldn’t be a “loveless bachelor” as Sergei called me soon after his marriage.

This should be fun.

“Be honest, you just wanna show me off tonight,” Ester said, her voice soft and gentle, her smile so beautiful.

We were both standing in front of a full-length mirror with me behind her, resplendent in a black tux.

“What? No,” I replied dismissively, fingers fastening a diamond jewel around her neck.

She caught my eyes in the mirror, her smile broadening, hands rubbing over her growing belly. “Oh, yeah?” A light chuckle left her lips. “Then why do you keep talking about how you can’t wait to see the look on your brother’s face every chance you get?”

I secured the necklace in place. “Done.”

She gently turned around, her arms across my neck, mine steady on her waist. Her growing belly rounded beneath the fabric of her emerald gown, her hair swept back in a low chignon, a few soft curls framing her face. The diamond sparkled in the warm light, enhancing her overall look.

“You look absolutely stunning,” I whispered, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand.

Her lips parted, a radiant smile lighting up her face. “Thank you. But you’re deflecting,” she replied with the same tone, her minty breath brushing against my skin.

“From what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“From the fact that you can’t wait to show me off to your family,” she said, holding my gaze.

“Is that such a bad thing?” I questioned, fingers toying with her soft curls.

She shook her head. “It shows how proud you are of me.”

“I am,” I answered, staring deeply into those stormy gray eyes of hers. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She squinted. “Aside from the rest of your family?”

I hesitated for a second. “Not necessarily.”

“Hmm. That’s not vague at all.” She beamed at me, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Apologies. It’s a surprise,” I replied.

She yanked her brows. “Okay, now you got me curious. Who is it?” Her smile broadened, eyes battering at me.

“You’ll see,” I said, holding her hands. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

With her elbow locked to mine, we headed out of our bedroom and through the hallway. A round of applause filled the air as we descended the steps, a small quarter of the Tarasov family lingering in the living room.

One by one, they greeted us, laughed, and exchanged pleasantries. I shook hands with a few cousins and business associates while scanning the room for any sign of Sergei. He promised to be here tonight, and he’d better show up with my surprise package.

A few of our guests stole my wife from me, and while they were getting to know each other, I stood a few feet away, checking my watch.

“Where the hell are you, Sergei?” I murmured.

“Right behind you,” he replied, his voice smooth and easy.

My lips curled into a small smile, and I turned around to find him standing by the staircase with a glass of champagne in his hand.

“I missed your wedding. Did you honestly think I was going to miss this gathering?” He flashed a cocky grin at me.

I laughed, stepping over to slip into his embrace. “Thanks for coming, brother.”

He tapped my shoulder, fingers digging into flesh in a massaging motion. “Look at you, no longer a loveless bachelor.”

“I’m a happily married man who’s expecting a kid. Show some respect,” I teased.

We both chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“I’m taking it she’s somewhere around,” I said, a glint of anticipation creeping into my tone, my gaze sweeping over the room.

“Indeed.” He emptied the glass down his throat. “Now let’s go surprise your wife, shall we?”

Ester was still talking with a few women when I interrupted, conspicuously clearing my throat.

“Ladies, mind if I borrow her for a moment?” I asked, my voice calm and polite.

They smiled, nodded, and excused themselves.

Ester’s eyes dropped slightly to the floor in a bid to avoid Sergei’s gaze.

“This is my brother, Sergei,” I said, introducing him.

“Older brother,” Sergei corrected me, extending a hand. “Nice to finally meet the woman who stole this fucker’s heart.”

She shook his hand, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Pleasure’s all mine. Your brother’s said a lot about you.”

“I can guarantee you that seventy percent of whatever he told you is probably false,” he replied, a hand in his pocket.

She chuckled softly. “I might have believed you if you didn’t use ‘guarantee’ and ‘probably’ in the same sentence. No offense.”

Sergei laughed. “None taken.” He turned to me, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “I like her.”

“Of course you like her, sweetheart,” a woman spoke from behind my wife, her voice tinged with gladness. “What’s there not to like about Ester Sharpe? Sorry, I mean, Ester Tarasov.”

Ester’s eyes widened, shock flickering in her gaze, a testament to the fact that she recognized that voice. Her chest heaved subtly, her gaze pinned on me.

“Told you it’s a surprise,” I said, beaming with pride. “Turn around.”

She did.

And then came the joyous shout. “Oh, my God!”

“Ester, honey.” Ayla spread her arms wide open, her smile radiant and contagious.

My wife almost lost her composure. Her emotions were heightened, her laughs and smiles completely genuine. The two women embraced each other, kissing their cheeks and getting all sentimental to the point my wife started shedding tears.

Pregnancy hormones, I guess.

“How?” Ester stuttered. “What…what’s going on here—what’re you doing here?” she asked Ayla, shocked, confused, and surprised.

“Well, my husband told me that his brother wanted to surprise his new bride and that I was the element of surprise,” Ayla replied, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Hold on, your husband?” Ester tilted her head to the side, confused.

“That would be me,” Sergei chipped in, calm and collected as always.

For a moment, Ester paused like her brain had frozen, her gaze shifting across the three of us.

“I know you have a lot of questions,” Ayla said to her. “I do too. So, come on, let’s catch up, shall we?”

As she led my wife away, I heard her make remarks about how Ester’s belly bump looked great on her and how she looked stunning, like a pregnant goddess.

“So this is what love feels like,” I said, my voice tinged with wonder as I watched our wives mingling with the rest of the family.

“Funny feeling, isn’t it? Especially for men like us?” Sergei asked me, lighting a cigarette.

“Nothing could’ve prepared me for it,” I said, my gaze unwavering.

“You think this is the worst it can get?” He scoffed, releasing a puff of smoke.

“Wait until that baby comes out; then you’ll know what emotional attachment truly looks like.

” He glanced at me, then returned his eyes to his wife.

“You’d burn the world in the blink of an eye for that child.

You’d start a fuckin’ war if that’s all it took to keep her and her mother safe. ”

He was right. I would.

The mere thought of any harm befalling my family made my blood boil. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, and my jaw locked.

“People say hate is greater than love, but that’s bullshit,” he added. “Love is the most powerful emotion, and that makes it the most dangerous.” He turned his head to face me. “Fatherhood is uncharted territory, brother.”

I looked at him, paying rapt attention to his next words.

He continued, “It changes you in ways you never thought possible.” Sergei paused for a second, as if letting the words sink in first. “You see, brother, the Bratva taught us to be strong, ruthless—turned us into monsters and cruel businessmen. What the brotherhood didn’t teach us is how to be husbands and fathers.

That, we’ll have to figure out on our own. ”

I nodded.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Man to man, your family comes first. Not the Bratva. Your family. Got it?”

Again, I nodded.