Page 77 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

The words hang in the air.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

Pregnant. I’d suspected as much, but hearing it said out loud is an entirely different thing.

“How far along?” I ask, and my voice sounds strange to my own ears.

Dr. Morozov checks his tablet. “Based on the hormone levels, approximately five weeks.”

It lines up too perfectly.

My hand moves without conscious thought, finding Vera’s stomach and resting there. Although her stomach is flat, I know it won’t be forever.

She looks at me, her eyes wide with something I can’t quite identify.

“She was told she couldn’t have children,” I say, my voice rough.

Dr. Morozov hesitates. “Based on her results, there’s no physical reason she couldn’t conceive. Going by her medical history, her reproductive system appears healthy and functional.”

Vera winces. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Dr. Morozov says carefully. “I can only tell you what the tests show, and they show that you’re pregnant with no apparent complications.”

Dmitri spent years convincing Vera she couldn’t have children, knowing damn well that wasn’t true. I know what he was crushing into her food and drinks, making sure she never got pregnant. And all that time, he let her believe there was something wrong with her.

“Roman,” she says, and her voice is small. “Say something.”

“We’re having a baby,” I mutter. “You and me. We’re having a baby.”

She clings to me, her tears soaking into my shirt. I tuck hair from her face and kiss the corner of her lips while Vera squeezes her eyes shut.

Dr. Morozov clears his throat, reminding us that we’re not alone. “I’ll want to see you again in a few weeks for a follow-up ultrasound and to discuss prenatal care. In the meantime, I’ll send over some recommendations for diet and supplements.”

Vera nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He inclines his head and slips out of the room, leaving us alone.

I help Vera down from the examination table, my hands gentle on her waist. She’s still shaky, so I keep my arm around her as we walk to the car.

When we reach the penthouse, I lead her inside and settle her on the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs. Then I sit down beside her, my hand finding her stomach again.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She looks at me, her eyes still red from crying. “I don’t know what to feel.”

“You can feel whatever you want to feel,” I say. “I want you to know something.”

She waits, her eyes on mine.

“You’re mine, and so is this baby. Nobody will touch either of you so long as I’m alive.”

23

VERA

“We need to tell him.”

I look up from my tea, my eyes finding Roman across the kitchen. He’s standing by the window with his back to me, his shoulders rigid with tension. The morning light catches the edge of his jaw, highlighting the stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave.