Page 62 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

I was carrying his child, but I wasn’t family. Not really. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I nearly dropped it.

Another message from Vance.

We need to talk. Now.

I stared at the words until they blurred, my vision swimming with tears I refused to let fall.

He’d been pressuring me for weeks. Ever since the first ambush—the one I’d tipped him off about, the one that had nearly gotten Drew and three other men killed. He wanted more. Always more.

Another hit. Another ambush. Another chance to bleed the Bratva dry.

And this time, he’d made it clear: It would be more violent. More devastating. No half-measures. No survivors.

I’d tried to push back. Tried to tell him I needed time, that I couldn’t keep doing this, that I was drowning.

But Vance didn’t care.

He never had.

He just wanted his revenge. And I was the weapon he’d sharpened for two years, too broken and desperate to realize I was being used.

I set my phone down on the counter, my hands shaking, and pressed my palms against my eyes.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

Couldn’t keep betraying people who’d given me a life when I had nothing. Couldn’t keep putting Drew in danger. Couldn’t keep risking the future of the child growing inside me.

A Kamarov.

My baby would be a Kamarov. Bratva blood running through their veins. And if I kept working with Vance, if I kept trying to destroy the family my child would be born into—what kind of mother did that make me?

What kind of monster?

I’d made my decision days ago, lying in Drew’s arms, feeling his hand rest protectively over my stomach.

I wouldn’t go against the Bratva anymore.

I couldn’t.

But that left me with one problem: Vance.

He wasn’t the type to let go. Wasn’t the type to accept defeat or walk away quietly. If I stopped feeding him intel, he’d retaliate. Use those photos. Destroy me.

Unless I destroyed him first.

My phone buzzed again.

I picked it up with trembling fingers, saw the new message, and my blood ran cold.

Warehouse district. Midnight. Be ready.

Another ambush. Another bloodbath.

And this time, I knew exactly what I had to do.