Page 59 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

“He can say what he likes. He won’t be saying anything else. Not after tonight.”

She nods. A tear slips down her cheek.

I take off my coat and wrap it around her. Carefully. Slowly. The blood on my hands stains the fabric, but I don’t care.

Yuri appears at the stairwell, gun raised, breathing hard.

“Clear,” I say.

He nods and steps back.

I guide Esme toward the exit, one arm firm around her waist. She stumbles once. I steady her.

I walk Esme down the steps, shielding her body with mine. She doesn’t speak. Her breathing stays shallow, chest rising too fast beneath my coat. I can feel it—her trembling. Not just from the cold. From what nearly happened. From what could have.

Yuri’s already pulled the car around. He gets out silently and opens the back door, then moves to the front and slides behind the wheel. I lower Esme into the seat, then slide in beside her. She curls in, knees tucked up, hands still hidden in the coat’s sleeves.

I pull the door shut. The locks click. The engine hums.

We start to move.

Her voice breaks the silence. Quiet. Unsteady. “I didn’t think I was going to get away.”

My chest tightens. I shift closer. Pull her into me, one arm slung around her shoulders, my hand rubbing slow circles across her back.

“I saw him,” she says. “That man, Damien. He said it was my fault. That I caused Aaron’s death.”

“You didn’t.”

“I kept thinking—” She swallows. “What if he’s right? What if this is what happens now, because I stayed?”

I tilt her face up gently, fingers under her chin. Her eyes are glassy. Wet. “You didn’t cause anything,” I say. “That blood is on his hands. Not yours.”

“But he found me. I thought—Kion, I thought he was going to kill me, and then when I said I was pregnant, he laughed.” Her voice catches. “Like it didn’t matter.”

My jaw tightens. I drag in a breath, hold it, then let it out slowly so I don’t shatter something.

“I’ll kill anyone who looks at you that way again,” I say.

“I was so scared,” she whispers. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to die like that. In some alley. Alone.”

“You weren’t alone.” I tighten my hold on her. “I will always come for you.”

She leans into my chest, head tucked beneath my chin. Her scent is faint—vanilla and salt and something I can’t name. I brush my hand over the back of her head, threading my fingers gently through her hair.

“Did you really know where I was?” she asks, voice softer now.

“I did.”

She nods against my chest. “Good.”

We stay like that the rest of the drive. Quiet. Wrapped around each other. The city passes in shadows. Streetlights flicker over her face every time we stop, but I don’t let go.

Not for a second.