Page 42 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

“The baby will be lucky to have you fighting for them,” he says quietly. “Not every child gets a mother willing to sacrifice everything for their welfare.”

I meet his gaze, startled. “I haven’t sacrificed everything...”

“Haven’t you? You gave up your job, your apartment, and your independence. You’re sitting in a stranger’s house, completely dependent on my protection, because you put your child’s safety above your own comfort.”

When he puts it like that, it sounds almost noble instead of pathetic. “I didn’t have much choice.”

He seems unconvinced. “There’s always a choice. You could have run when you found out I knew about the pregnancy. You could have refused to come here and taken your chances on your own, but you chose to trust me with the most important thing in your world.”

I shake my head. “I chose to trust you with our baby’s safety. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

The question lingers as we finish eating, and I sneak glances at him when I think he’s not looking. This thoughtful, gentle, and genuinely interested version of Nikandr is harder to resist than the dangerous stranger who swept into my life and turned everything upside down, and I know how the effort to resist that side turned out.

After lunch, he walks me back to my suite, and for the first time since arriving at the estate, I don’t feel like I’m being escorted by a guard. The conversation continues as we walk, touching on whether I’m hoping for a boy or a girl. “I don’t know, but we might wit the next ultrasound,” I day as we pause outside my door. “I just want him or her to be healthy.”

His expression is open, and his eyes are vulnerable. “He or she will be. You’re taking good care of our child.”

“We’re taking good care of him or her,” I correct without thinking, then immediately regret the slip. The word ‘we’ implies a partnership that doesn’t exist, as a shared investment in this pregnancy that goes beyond his obligation to protect his heir.

Instead of correcting me or pulling back, he smiles. “Yes. We are.”

That night,the dream comes back with a vengeance.

I’m in the club again, but this time, the hallway stretches endlessly in both directions. Carl is there, but his face keeps changing. Sometimes it’s him, sometimes it’s a faceless stranger, and sometimes, it’s no one at all. The knife appears anddisappears, the walls close in and expand, and no matter how fast I run or how loudly I scream, I can’t find the exit.

When I finally manage to wake myself up, I’m drenched in sweat and shaking so hard the bed frame creaks. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and for a second, I can’t remember where I am or whether the threat is real.

Then my bedroom door slams open.

Nikandr bursts through with a gun drawn, scanning the room with of focused intensity that suggests he’s prepared to kill whatever threat he finds. He’s wearing pajama pants and nothing else, his hair disheveled like he was pulled from sleep, but his movements are completely alert and controlled.

“What happened?” His voice is sharp and demanding.

“Nothing. I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.”

He lowers the weapon but doesn’t relax, his gaze moving over every corner of the room like he’s checking for hidden dangers. “You screamed.”

“I did?” I touch my throat, surprised to find it sore. “I didn’t realize.”

“Loud enough to wake half the house.” He sets the gun on my dresser and moves closer to the bed, his expression shifting from tactical alertness to genuine concern. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Just scared.” The admission feels pathetic, but I’m too shaken to maintain any pretense of strength.

He sits on the edge of the bed without asking permission, reaching out to brush damp hair back from my forehead. The gesture is so gentle, so natural, that it takes my breath away.

“The same dream?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. His hand is warm against my skin, and I find myself leaning into the touch despite every rational thought telling me to maintain distance.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s just my stupid brain processing what happened at the club.”

“Trauma isn’t stupid, Sabrina. Neither are the dreams that come with it.”

The understanding in his voice breaks something loose in my chest. “I keep running, but I can never get away. Every time I think I’ve found the exit, it turns out to be another hallway and another dead end. Sometimes, the baby is in danger too, and I can’t protect them either.”

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