Page 92 of Forced By the Bratva

She laughed against my neck. “Liar.”

“Try me tonight.”

“Maybe I will.” She shifted, deliberately, and I felt the smile in her voice when she added, “Or maybe I’ll just sit on your face until you stop complaining.”

I groaned. “Jesus, Iris.”

“What? You’re the one who started the domestic maintenance talk.”

“I was being romantic.”

“You were being handsy. There’s a difference.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

She kissed the corner of my jaw and then reached behind her to the desk. When she turned back, she had a small folder in her hands. Plain. Unmarked. She set it on the desk in front of me without saying anything.

I looked at it, then at her.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I expected more of the same—updated routes, residual accounts, the endless small fires that never fully went out. I opened the folder.

It wasn’t work-related.

I stared at the first page longer than I needed to. Then I turned to the next. The information was simple. Clear. Dated. My name next to hers in a context that had nothing to do with the Bratva or Nexum or any of the blood that had gotten us here.

Everything in me stopped for a second.

Iris watched me quietly. Not scared. Just waiting.

I set the folder down carefully, like it might disappear if I moved too fast. Then I pulled her into me, both arms locked around her, face pressed to her hair.

My grip was tight, but not hard—more like I needed the proof that she was solid and real and still here after everything.

She held on just as tightly.

I didn’t have the right words for what sat in my chest. Gratitude felt too small. Relief felt incomplete. It was something closer to disbelief that the life I had built out of force and fear had somehow left room for this.

After a long minute, I eased back enough to see her face. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling.

“I’m gonna be a father?” I asked, my voice low but filled with a kind of joy I couldn’t explain.

She nodded, her eyes shining with excitement.

“I love you, Iris Tarasov.” I meant every single word.

“And I love you.” She cupped my face in her palms.

I kissed her. Properly this time. When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers and breathed her in.

Outside, the estate kept its usual watch. Guards changed shifts. Systems ran their quiet checks.

The world beyond the walls still needed the version of me that made hard calls and didn’t flinch. But inside this room, with her in my lap and this child in her womb, I was someone else. Someone affectionate.

I kept my arms around her and let the quiet hold.