Mafia King’s Bride: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance
Mafia King’s Bride: Chapter 33

I clear my throat, trying to get Viktor and Yelena’s attention over the clinking of cutlery in the museum’s restaurant. I’ve dragged them here under false pretenses because, let’s face it, if I’d told them the truth, at least one of them would’ve run for the hills faster than you can say “family drama.”

This is it. My last hurrah with the two people who matter most to me, besides Dmitri. God, just thinking about him makes my heart do a little tap dance of misery.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” I say, taking a sip of liquid courage. “Viktor, you like Yelena, don’t you?”

My brother’s poker face is about as convincing as a kid with chocolate all over their fingers swearing they didn’t touch the cake.

“You’re a meddler if there ever was one,” he grumbles.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “What can I say? I’m just trying to spread a little happiness before—” I catch myself. “I mean, you two deserve it.”

I hold up my hands, trying to look innocent. “Look, I’m not trying to play Cupid here. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

Yelena shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Ana, I don’t think⁠—”

“No, no,” I cut her off, standing up abruptly. “You two clearly have some things to discuss. I’ll leave you to it.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “And where are you off to in such a hurry?”

I force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as hollow as it feels. “Oh, you know me. Can’t resist the allure of some dusty old bones. There’s a fascinating exhibit on extinct mammals I’ve been dying to see.”

Yelena looks skeptical. “Since when are you interested in paleontology?”

“Hey, people change,” I say, backing away from the table. “Maybe I’ll discover a hidden passion for fossils. Who knows? Life’s full of surprises.”

As I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of their confused expressions. I throw them a wink over my shoulder, trying to keep up the charade.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I call back, my voice only wavering slightly.

As soon as I’m out of their sight, I lean against a wall, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Pull it together, Ana,” I mutter to myself. “You’ve got this.”

But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it.

As I wander through the museum, I think about the last few days. The picnic with Dmitri, shopping with Yelena, wine tasting with Viktor. My little bucket list of memories to hold onto when…

No. Don’t think about it.

I blink back tears, nearly colliding with a display case. A nearby tourist gives me a concerned look, and I force a smile. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, dammit. This is my duty.

When I return to the restaurant, Viktor and Yelena are sitting closer, a tentative hand on an arm. Progress. My heart clenches, knowing that soon Yelena won’t want to confide in me about this.

I end up in a butterfly garden, staring at a case full of delicate creatures. A man nearby starts spieling facts about how butterflies need to warm up in the sun before they can fly.

“Sometimes,” he says, “you meet the most cold-blooded soul, but when you get to know them better, you see that all they needed was a little sun to bring out their beauty.”

My mind immediately goes to Dmitri. My terrifying, ruthless, surprisingly soft-hearted husband. The man I thought I’d hate forever, until I fell head over heels for him.

I focus on a butterfly with dark wings, wishing I could take it with me. A little reminder of the man who’d burn the world down to keep me safe. The man I’m about to leave behind.

As I stand there, surrounded by fragile beauty, the weight of what I’m about to do hits me all over again. I’m not just leaving; I’m shattering the life we’ve built. But if it keeps the people I love safe . . . well, that’s just the price of being an Orlov, isn’t it?

God, I could really use a drink right now. Or ten.

I stumble into our bedroom, feeling like I’m walking to the gallows instead of coming home. Dmitri’s there, his face lighting up. Before I can even manage a “hello,” he’s swept me into his arms.

“Have I ever told you I never get tired of kissing you?” he murmurs, his fingers replaceing the zipper of my dress. “That I won’t ever stop?”

His lips brush against my back as the dress falls away, and I shiver. It’s not just the chill of the air, it’s the bittersweet realization that this might be one of our last moments together.

No, Ana. Don’t go there. Today is just another day, remember?

“Want me to run you a bath?” Dmitri asks, all thoughtful and perfect, making my heart ache in ways I didn’t know it could.

I shake my head, mustering up a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind me, my facade crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide. I lean against the cool tile, trying to steady my breathing. This is it. The moment of truth.

I open the medicine cabinet, my hand hovering over the usual suspects—aspirin, face cream, that weird herbal thing Yelena swears by. But that’s not what I’m after. My fingers tremble as they push past the everyday items, searching for the one thing that could change everything.

There, hidden behind a bottle of multivitamins like some dirty little secret, is the pregnancy test. I bought it on a whim—or maybe out of fear—the day I visited Dmitri’s office. It’s been lurking there ever since, a ticking time bomb of potential.

I pull it out, the box feeling impossibly heavy in my hand. For a moment, I just stare at it, this innocent-looking stick that holds the power to rewrite my future.

“No chickening out now,” I mutter, trying to summon some of my usual bravado. “You’re running out of time, Ana.”

I tear open the box, fumbling with the wrapper. It’s just a piece of plastic, for crying out loud. So why does it feel like I’m disarming a bomb?

As I sit on the toilet, test in hand, I can’t help but think about how absurd this all is. Here I am, wife of the most feared man in the Bratva, about to pee on a stick like some teenager in a high school bathroom. Life has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

I set the test on the counter, refusing to look at it. Now comes the hard part, waiting. Two minutes have never felt so long. I pace the small space, my bare feet slapping against the tile. I bite my nails, a habit I thought I’d kicked years ago.

Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, I force myself to look. My hand shakes as I pick up the test, squeezing my eyes shut before I can see the result.

Come on, Ana. You’ve faced down mafia bosses. You can handle a little plastic stick.

I open my eyes, and just like that, my world tilts on its axis.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Fuck, fuck, fucking hell!”

Two lines. Clear as day.

I’m pregnant. With Dmitri’s child.

And I’m supposed to leave tomorrow.

Dmitri’s voice through the door nearly gives me a heart attack. “Ana? You okay in there, my love?”

“Peachy keen!” I call back, my voice only an octave higher than normal. Totally not suspicious at all.

I splash some cold water on my face, trying to erase the evidence of my mini-meltdown. Taking a deep breath, I open the door, ready to win an Oscar for “Most Convincing Everything’s-Fine Performance.”

But the moment I see Dmitri’s face, full of love and concern, my carefully constructed mask shatters. He doesn’t say anything, just cups my face in his hands and kisses me so tenderly, it breaks my heart all over again.

How am I supposed to leave now? How can I tell him he’s going to be a father, only to disappear? It’s like the universe is playing a cosmic joke, and I’m the punchline.

I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. How am I going to say goodbye?