Page 85 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

“I spent so much of my life trying to be invisible. Safe. Palatable. I didn’t want to make waves. Didn’t want to be seen as loud or bossy or difficult.”

“You’re none of those things.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Some would disagree.”

“I don’t care what some think.”

She looks at me again, brow furrowed. “What do you think?”

I don’t hesitate. “I think you’re smart. Dangerous when you want to be. Graceful in a way that makes people underestimate you—and brutal in a way that makes them regret it.”

Her eyes soften. “You think I’m brutal?”

“In the best way.”

She bites her lip, but the smile breaks through anyway. “I didn’t expect you to let me speak in there.”

“I didn’t let you. You took the floor. I would’ve stopped anyone who tried to interrupt you.”

“I noticed.”

“You belong in that room.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

She leans back in the chair, eyes half closed now. “It felt good. Having something to offer.”

“You’ve always had something to offer.”

“Not like that.”

She’s quiet again, but this time it’s content. Peaceful.

I rise and move to the armchair beside hers, not bothering to keep space between us. When I reach out, she shifts immediately, leaning into me, her head resting against my shoulder. My arm wraps around her without thought.

“I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to prove yourself to me,” I say.

“I know, but it’s not just about you. It’s about me too.”

“I understand that.”

She exhales, fingers brushing the back of my hand where it rests on her side. “You’re not angry at the fire in me,” she whispers.

“I’d be afraid if it ever went out.”

She smiles against my shoulder. “Good answer.”

“I’m full of them.”

We stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other.

For once, I’m calm.

Soft light glows from the antique floor lamp beside us, throwing a warm haze across her face. Her body’s warm beneath the robe, and I can feel the subtle weight of her stomach against my side. Five months in now. Her shape is changing every day, and I notice all of it. Every curve. Every shift. Every ache she tries to hide from me.

She still tastes like tea and quiet defiance. She still smells like skin and soft perfume. And right now, she’s so close it’s unbearable.