“You didn’t answer my question either.” He brushed past me, hanging his coat on one of my barstools like he owned it. “Tell me, Sofia.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. Every bone in my body vibrated. Sweat trickled down my spine.
Still, he waited, arms folded, stock-still. A predator with unlimited patience, quietly circling.
“I, um…” My voice suddenly failed. Swallowing hard, I tried again. “Well, I have something to tell you.”
Immediately, his entire posture sharpened. “Is someone threatening you? Did something happen?”
My eyes bugged at first. Threatening me? That meant a threat to the tiny little bean I had growing inside me, and it changed my perspective. My spine stiffened to the point it cracked.
“No,” I snapped.
“Did someone follow you?”
“No,” I replied, a bit calmer.
His jaw ticked. “Is something wrong at the bar?”
“No. Maksim?—”
“What is it then?” His voice softened, but his eyes didn’t. “Sofia, talk to me.”
A stuttering breath shook me. Then another. The words reluctantly crawled up my throat as I choked out, “I’m pregnant.”
Silence hit harder than a bullet piercing a watermelon. Though he was always conservative with his movement, he stilled completely. Like the world froze mid-breath.
For a second, he wasn’t the Bratva’s nightmare. He was but a man, processing the earth violently shifting under him.
Then he inhaled once. Deep. Controlled.
“You’re sure.” Not really a question—more of an observation.
“Yes.”
Another long pause ensued. Then the mask cracked—not anger, nor fear. Something raw. Something protective and feral and terrifying in a completely new way.
His hand settled protectively on my lower stomach. “You carry my child.”
A sharp inhale sucked breath almost painfully into my chest. “Maksim?—”
“You are moving in with me.” It was spoken with finality, and I reared back in surprise.
“What? No. I live here. I work close to here—” I sputtered.
“This building is not secure. Your door lock is weak. Your windows are old. You have no security cameras. It is not safe. You will not stay here.” The finality in his voice brooked no argument. It rolled over me like cold steel and certainty. “Pack your things.”
Mouth flopping open and shut like a goldfish, I gaped. Finally, I blurted out, “You can’t just… decide where I live!”
“I am not negotiating.” His eyes softened in a way I’d never seen, strangely gentle against the authority in his voice. “You are carrying my child. That changes everything.”
“But—my job—my space?—”
“You will still work, if that’s what pleases you,” he said, surprising me until he followed it up with, “Until I say otherwise.” Then softer, thumb brushing my jaw, voice low and almost reverent, “But if you continue to work, you will be protected.”
Tears pricked before I could stop them, and I desperately tried to blink them away. “Maksim… I don’t want to disappear into your life and lose mine.”
He framed my face with both hands. With both thumbs, he swept away the tears I’d tried so hard to keep at bay. “You are not losing your life, k???. You are gaining a future.”
