Page 69 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

“I heard.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “Vance Donovan. Former FBI. Now a ghost with a vendetta.”

I nodded. “Kirill’s digging into him.”

“Good.” Rafael paused, then added, “But that’s not why I called you here.”

I frowned. “Then why?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze boring into mine. “I know about Cassandra.”

My blood ran cold.

“I know she’s pregnant,” Rafael continued, his voice calm, almost gentle. “I know the baby is yours. I know you’re living together. I know you have…an uneven relationship.”

I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand.

“I’m not angry, Drew. I’m not here to lecture you.” He picked up his glass again, swirled the amber liquid. “But I need you to understand something.”

“What?”

“Cassandra is broken.” His words hit me like a sucker punch to the chest. “She hides it. Masks it with her sharp mouth and cold eyes. But I know what broken looks like. And she’s barely holding it together.”

I clenched my jaw, my hands fisting on my thighs.

“You’re the only one who gets through to her,” Rafael said. “The only one she lets in. So I’m telling you—comfort her. Protect her. Because if she falls apart, we all lose something valuable.”

“I’m trying,” I said, my voice rough.

“Try harder.” He set his glass down again, his expression hardening. “And marry her.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Rafael’s tone was calm, absolute. “The child is Bratva. And we don’t raise bastards in chaos. You will make this right.”

“We haven’t even talked about—”

“I don’t care.” He cut me off, his voice dropping into something lethal. “This isn’t about feelings, Drew. This isn’t about whether you’re ready or whether she wants it. This is about control. About protection. About making sure our blood is legitimate and secure.”

I stared at him, my mind reeling.

“She’s carrying your child,” Rafael continued. “A Kamarov. That makes her family, whether you like it or not. And family doesn’t live in limbo. Family has structure. Stability. A name.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can. And I am.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’ll marry her, Drew. Sooner rather than later. And you’ll do it with a smile, because that’s what’s expected.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he couldn’t dictate my life like this, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

This wasn’t a suggestion.

It was an order.

“Dismissed,” Rafael said, waving a hand like he’d just assigned me a routine task.

I stood up, my legs unsteady, and walked to the door.

“Drew.”

I stopped, my hand on the doorknob.