Page 7 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #14)
“This room is temporary. It was made for containment, not comfort.”
She gives a short, bitter laugh. “That much was obvious.”
“There’s a real bedroom prepared. A bed. A window. You’ll sleep there tonight.”
Her mouth opens, a retort on her tongue, but I cut her off.
“There won’t be any bindings,” I say. “No rope. No locks on the door. Although if you try to escape again, that changes.”
She stares at me, weighing the offer, the risk. I see the flicker of calculation in her eyes. She wants out of this room. She wants out of the basement. That much is clear.
Still, she doesn’t say yes right away. “You expect me to trust you?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I expect you to make a choice.”
The silence stretches, brittle. Then finally, she gives a slow nod. “Fine. I’ll behave.”
“You had better.”
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me. “Wait.”
It’s soft. Barely more than a breath, not demanding or defiant. When I glance back, her expression is different.
The fear that’s been simmering beneath the surface is no longer buried. It’s in her eyes now—clear and open, no longer masked by fury or sarcasm. She looks like someone whose strength is starting to run out.
I step back toward her slowly.
She swallows. “How long are you planning to keep me?”
The question hangs between us. I watch her hands flex against her legs, fingers curling in toward her knees, as if bracing for the answer.
I could lie. I could say not long. I could say until I’m sure she won’t talk.
“I don’t know,” I say instead, and watch her squirm.
Her lips press together. “You can’t keep me here forever.”
“Oh, sweetheart, try me.”
“I didn’t ask to be involved.”
“So?”
She exhales, shaky. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear. I don’t care what you were doing or who that man was. I just want to go home.”
“There’s no guarantee you’ll stay quiet.”
“I will.”
“You say that now.”
Her eyes flash. “People are looking for me. I’m not nobody. Someone will come.”
“Who?” I ask, not cruelly, but pointedly. “Your phone was dead. You didn’t check in with anyone. You don’t live with anyone. Who’s coming?”
She opens her mouth to answer—then closes it. Her shoulders sink, the weight settling deeper now.
I lean forward slightly. “I’m not underestimating you, Esme. You’re clever. You’re stronger than you look, but threats won’t help you here. You already tried to run. That was your one attempt. The next time ends differently.”
She looks up at me again. Her chin lifts, but there’s no fire behind it now. Just exhaustion. “So what happens next?”
“You sleep in a real bed. You eat something again tomorrow. You learn to stop flinching every time I enter the room.”
She watches me closely. “And after that?”
I give her the truth, leaning against the doorway and grinning down at her. “We’ll see.”
I leave the room without another word.
She agreed not to run. For now, that will have to be enough. If she chooses to test me again, the rules will change. That is her choice to make.
The corridor outside is cooler than the basement room.
The air is still, quiet except for the low mechanical hum that runs through the building like a distant heartbeat.
My boots echo faintly as I walk, the sound of them steady, grounding.
The sharp rhythm helps clear the lingering tension from my chest. I reach the stairwell and pause, one hand on the metal railing, intending to keep moving.
Then I hear it. Faint. Muffled. Just a breath at first. Then a small, sharp sound that betrays the truth she didn’t want me to see.
She’s crying.
The noise is too quiet to carry far, but I’ve trained myself to listen for things most men ignore.
I hear the way her breath catches in her throat, the way she tries to stifle the sound, how she bites it back like someone used to hiding pain.
It is a sound that doesn’t belong in these halls, and yet it echoes through them all the same.
I stand there for a moment, listening to it.
I should feel something. Regret. Guilt. Pity.
I don’t.
She’s alive. That’s more than most get. She’s being fed, clothed, protected. She has a bed instead of concrete, and she’ll keep it if she doesn’t push me. I didn’t choose this to be cruel. I did it to keep her breathing. That’s what matters.
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I take it out, glancing at the screen. Yuri.
I answer with a bored, “What?”
He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “You really think keeping her around is the best idea?”
“I’ve made my decision.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he replies. “Word’s already getting around. Some of the old guard are losing their minds.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’ll try to go around you.”
I lean against the stairwell wall. The concrete is cold against my back, grounding. “They won’t. Not if they want to keep breathing.”
There’s a pause, then a sigh. “Look, Kion… I know you think you’re in control, but this thing—it’s messy. You don’t know who she is. You’re risking a hell of a lot on someone you’ve barely spoke to.”
“That’s why I’m calling in a favor.”
Yuri snorts softly. “Of course you are. Let me guess. Full profile?”
“I want you to look into her. Everything. Where she came from. Where she lives. What kind of contacts she has. Family. Friends. Employers. Anyone who might be looking. I want to know if someone is already asking questions, or if I still have time to contain this.”
“You’re assuming there’s something to find.”
“I’m assuming it’s better to know than to guess. She said someone’s looking for her. I want to know if that’s true.”
Yuri goes quiet for a moment, likely already pulling up search parameters in the background. “You want a full workup?”
“Yes. As detailed as you can make it. Digital footprint, credit activity, school records if she has them. I want to know what kind of world she walked out of before she stepped into ours.”
“Timeline?”
“Yesterday.”
“Got it,” he mutters. “You’ll have the first pull within twelve hours. I’ll run her name, cross-check the face against local alerts. See what surfaces.”
“Excellent.”
“Kion?”
“What.”
“You sure about this?”
I laugh, and end the call without answering.
I’m not sure about anything, but I’ve made my move, and I’ll stand by it.