Page 45 of Claimed By my Ex’s Uncle

She trails off. I can see how terrified she looks, the fear that’s written in every inch of her face, and my heart hurts for her, seeing how petrified she is and knowing that she wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this if she wasn’t my friend. She never expected me to get involved with something like this. How could she? I certainly didn’t think I would fall pregnant by some Bratva boss.

"Let her go," I insist, looking past her and directly at Sergei. I’m not just going to stand by while he threatens my best friend. I can’t let that happen—I have to get her out of here, to make sure that she isn’t dragged any further into this than she already has been.

“Not until you come inside,” he growls.

I tense. I don’t want to be alone with him, especially if he’s armed. What will he do to me, given the chance? I have no idea, and I am terrified to find out. How long will it take for Ilya to notice that I’m gone? That Sergei is not there, too? I don’t know what this man is planning, but I can tell he’s not going to let me walk out of here without making whatever sick, twisted point he feels he has to make.

Seeing no way out of this, I take a step into my old apartment. It's strange, being in this place that served as my home for so long. It’s nearly empty now, apparently prepared for new tenants, all the little details that made it mine long since stripped away. I lock eyes with Sergei, mustering every bit of courage to force the next words out of my mouth.

"I’m in. Now let her go."

Becky whimpers as he shoves the gun against her once more, no doubt to emphasize his control over the situation. But then, he holsters it and shoves her towards the open door. She stumbles over the threshold and looks back at me, her face twisted with apology and regret, but I just nod to her, telling her to put as much distance between herself and this place as she can.

And she wastes no time doing that, heading for the stairs and rushing down them before he can change his mind and aim the gun at her again. Her footsteps echo down the stairwell, the only sound cutting through the silence before Sergei closes and locks the door, turning his attention to me.

"I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to actually come," he remarks. His voice is stripped of all its usual careful consideration, like when he talked to me in front of Ilya. No, this version of him is the one who cornered me in the nursery and dropped a warning about what would happen if I didn’t play my cards right. Clearly, whatever message he was trying to get across, he’s not willing to let it slide, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that I understand where he’s coming from.

"I actually trust my best friend," I snap back at him, covering up the fear with as much outrage as I can gather. "Some of us don’t betray the people close to us. Guess the same can’t be said for you."

He eyes me for a moment, and I fear that I have gone too far. His hand is still resting casually on his gun, as if he doesn’t want me to forget how close it is. I cross my arms over my torso instinctively, trying to protect my child, as futile as I know that is. If he pulls the trigger on me, there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

"You know Ilya will be here in no time," I warn him, trying to sound as sure of myself as I can. "And if he⁠—"

"You told him you were coming here, then?" he asks, his eyebrow cocking slightly, already sure of the answer.

I press my lips together. God, I should have told him about the message. Should have told him that I heard from Becky and something was up. I might not be in this mess if I had just played my cards right. But instead, I’m standing here, alone, in an apartment no one knows I’m in, with a man with a loaded gun at his side.

"That’s what I thought," he replies. "Good. Because we need to talk."

"And this is how you decided to do it?" I ask, gesturing around incredulously. I know that I should be more careful with my words, but I can’t help it. He’s already got me here, I’m already in danger, but that doesn’t mean I have to just sit back and go along with everything he’s trying to pull.

"I tried to talk to you before," he reminds me. "In the nursery. And if you’d listened to me then, you would have gotten out by now. But you didn’t."

He shakes his head slightly, as though it genuinely saddens him that I failed to take his advice.

"Like I had any idea what the fuck you were talking about," I retort. "You told me, what, that women in my position could have trouble if things don’t go well with the pregnancy? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His face darkens. I take a step back, eyes darting to his gun. Jesus, I wish I had thought to bring some kind of weapon with me, something to defend myself with, but it’s too late now. I doubt there is so much as a butter knife in my old kitchen. All I have to rely on are my own instincts, and whatever mercy I can shake loose from the man standing before me.

"Get rid of that child," he tells me. "Do it now. Walk out of this place, book an appointment at the clinic. Give a fake name. And get a fucking abortion."

My knees tremble beneath me, but I try not to let him see the terror in my eyes at hearing those words.

"I’m not getting rid of this child," I whisper, tightening my grip on my belly. It’s not even an idea I will entertain, not for a second. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to have this kid, no matter what kind of stress came with it, no matter if the man I thought had knocked me up was a cheating, lying asshole. None of that has anything to do with how much I already love this child, and I’ll be damned if I let some two-bit asshole like Sergei talk me out of that.

"Yes," he replies calmly. "You are."

I stare at him for a moment, my brows knitting together. I just can’t make sense of it—that’s the part that bothers me. Why would he care so much about Ilya having a kid? It’s not like the child would usurp his position...

"Are you jealous at all the attention Ilya has been giving me?" I demand, turning the issue back around on him. "Because I hate to break it to you, Sergei, but⁠—"

He lets out a bark of laughter. "You think I give a damn what Ilya has to do with you?" he retorts, brushing the idea off as though it’s little more than a joke. "He’s always had his whores. And if you think you’re anything more than that to him, you’re more delusional than I thought."

His words twist like a knife into my guts, but I try not to let it show on my face. I know he’s attempting to get under my skin, to force my hand and convince me that this is the best choice for both of us. But I am unmoved.

"Okay, so what the fuck is this about, then?" I demand. "Why do you care if he has a child?"

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to tell me, but I’m not going to give up until I get an answer. His gaze flicks back and forth as he thinks.