Page 61 of The Bratva's Captive

Nothing was cheap or generic here in his apartment level, and I could extrapolate that fact and assume this entire Ivanov building would show more of the same.

Meeting his brothers reinforced the assumption that Maxim’s Mafia family were very wealthy. Damon, Nik, and Saul were all just as suited up and distinguished, representing the family with a proper appearance and looking tailored with no expense spared.

The day I had lunch with them, I was flabbergasted by the opulence and extravagance of their dining room. The hallway from the open foyer where the elevator stopped to the dining room was fancy. The table and fine China we ate from were delicate and rare examples of fine craftsmanship. And the artwork on pedestals and hung on the wall were of museum quality.

I hadn’t merely been kidnapped.

I was thrust into the filthy rich world of the Mafia.

It was a hell of an adjustment to get used to, and I wasn’t sure that I’d linger long enough to feel spoiled any more than I already was. This wasn’t… I wasn’t part of this world. I was a scrappy stripper who survived on meager basics.

Yet, the longer I stayed and explored throughout the mansion, I had to imagine what it would be like to raise a child here. The whole place was enormous, run by polite house staff who blended in as the background. At least thirty people could live on the floors I’d been given access to. Between Maxim’s apartment and the three floors that most resembled a “family home”, I got lost several times and had to ask a guard or maid how to get back to the elevator.

None of them spoke to me, and I knew better than to ask them for help. They wouldn’t help me to escape. They’d only report back to Maxim that I was trying to leave.

But each day that I wandered, bored and awaiting Maxim’s return, I wondered why I would.

I had all my needs met.

I was spoiled and pampered and treated so well.

Was it really worth being a “free” woman when a man like Maxim could provide for me like this?

Yeah, it is, moron. Because as soon as you start showing and prove that you’re pregnant, he’ll take this baby and no longer need you.

I didn’t matter past the purpose of being bred.

And I wouldn’t matter as a mother to his child if he planned to take him or her and keep the baby in his family—not mine.

Slowing my pace as I strolled down a corridor, I watched my reflection in the massive mirror placed behind a side table. It reached from floor to ceiling, and the frame of the smooth glass had to be gilded gold, ornate in an artisan style that wasn’t at all contemporary or cheap. Like everything else, it wasn’t gaudy but was another piece of evidence of how rich the Ivanovs were.

I stopped, staring at myself in the sheet of glass. It was uncanny how I almost didn’t recognize myself anymore.

My hair was smooth and glossy, not abused with too much product from being on the stage.

My skin was flush and rosy, not pale from a poor diet and dehydration.

Dark bags were gone from beneath my eyes as I could now rest and sleep like my body needed to.

Instead of walking around in crappy secondhand clothes from the thrift store, I was wearing a brand-new and stylish T-shirt blouse and a soft skirt without rips or stains.

As I watched my reflection, I lowered my hand to my stomach and tried to picture it swelling with this baby.

Withhisbaby. Maxim’s Mafia baby. His heir that he wanted to use me for.

Every time that I tried to convince myself to tell him that I was already pregnant from the first time that we met, I got scared and didn’t know what to do. I’d only been here for three weeks, and I bet he was well aware that it would be way too soon for him to expect me to be pregnant since kidnapping me. But we’d met weeks before that. With my best guesswork, I figured I was seven weeks along in this pregnancy.

And still, I was so very tempted to run and have this baby on my own.

Now that my eyes were opened wider, I saw how wealthy these Ivanovs were. They had a mansion of a building. They had staff. Security guards and an army. All of them could be trained to come after me and hunt me down if I took off. Defeated and dismayed, I took stock of all the resources Maxim would have to come after me if I were to run away like I needed to.

But what if I didn’t?

I walked away from the mirror, fretting over my situation, and ignored the large grandfather clock ticking off the hour. It was eleven now, and Maxim still hadn’t returned from wherever he’dleft for an hour earlier, called to help with a situation not even two seconds after he’d come inside me.

What if he were to give our child all these resources too?

I would never worry about buying a diaper or running out of food. I wouldn’t be homeless and scraping by for a place to raise a child.

---