Page 73 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

Something shuttered in my heart. “You’re raising a baby in our family,” I told her.

My brief moment of joy was overshadowed by her burst of anger as she let me have it. “Who says you get to decide that? I just told you what my childhood was like. How messed up it made me. Do you think I’ll introduce guns and knives and late-night brawls and people getting tossed into trunks—”

“That fucker deserved to get tossed in a trunk,” I interjected. “And it won’t be that way with us.”

She hissed at the very mention of the word us. “So you never saw anything like what happened today when you were a kid?” she asked, hands on hips.

That stopped me in my tracks. I’d seen far worse. Participated in far worse. “Laurel,” I said. “We’re married. You’re my wife.”

“On paper.” Her voice rose. “It’s not real. We’re not real. Now, excuse me while I go check into my own room.”

My arm jutted out to stop her from leaving. She glared at me like she was considering biting me, and not in a fun way. I refused to let her go. She refused to stay. My brief moment of joy at learning she was having our baby was overshadowed by the biggest fight of our time together. None of which she considered real.

It was like we were enemies all over again, with no future at all in sight.

Chapter 43 - Laurel

When we came to an impasse, Mik abruptly stopped trying to keep me from getting past him to get my own room. Instead, he picked me up and carried me to the car, driving all the way back to Los Angeles in stony silence.

He told me I was his, and I refused to believe it, and now I was back in the guest room, alone, pacing back and forth. Before I spilled my last secret, he didn’t falter in telling me exactly what his family was, and what he’d never stop being. He also told me he’d keep me safe.

The large room didn’t seem able to contain the fight I was waging with myself, and I practically bounced from one wall to the next, scowling at my reflection in the vanity mirror, or down at my socked feet, or at the door, because so many times I thought about finding Mik and having it out with him again.

Did I hope he’d convince me that he was right?

My heart wanted to believe him, my body yearned to be back in his arms. It was my brain that kept telling me that a life with him would be impossible. I wanted peace, serenity. No violence. I thought I was getting that when I let a vineyard owner sweep me off my feet, so it didn’t seem to matter what a man did for a living. He could still be a monster.

And by Mik’s own admission, he was worse than Rand.

Not to me, though. Never to me, and as far as I could see, never to anyone who didn’t deserve what they got. He didn’t hesitate to send his own men to rescue Nell, even though it very nearly got him killed when Rand showed up and outnumbered him. Mik didn’t just save her from the people who forced her to lure me to that house. He was going to set her up with a whole new life.

And for a brief, wonderful moment, there was so much joy in his eyes when I blurted out that I was pregnant. If our arrangement wasn’t real to him, he would have been horrified. What a wrench it would be to all his plans, but instead, he was excited, sweeping me into a hug before I shoved him away.

Could a child grow up in a family like Mik’s and come out unscathed? My first example was Mik himself. Stubborn and arrogant sometimes, but also with a generous heart. Hardworking and tough on himself, bringing out the best in those around him even if they balked at first. Like me.

Those cousins of his that I liked so much were other examples. Nat and Mila had both grown up with a father and brothers respectively, who were part of LA’s most notorious crime family. They were great. So were the women I had met who married into the Fokin family and proudly took on the name as well as the reputation it carried.

It was difficult to win an argument about kids growing up in that life when I had seen the youngest generation with my own eyes. Jenna and Lev’s son was healthy and happy.

And safe. No one was ever getting hurt if one of the Fokins cared about them. And one cared about me.

So where was Mik while I was up here all alone, pacing and trying to figure things out? He left shortly after we arrived back at the mansion, and I could only imagine he had met up with his brother wherever he had taken Rand. I thought I might shy away from wondering what might happen to my foul ex, but found I didn’t care at all if he got whatever Mik thought he deserved.

In fact, I was a tiny bit sorry I wasn’t invited to see it.

What the hell? Mik really must have changed me.

I didn’t have any answers, but I was worn out from the multiple bus rides, the long hours listening to Bandana boy taunt me about what was in store for me, the harrowing rescue. I couldn’t keep pacing and arguing with myself, and after a long shower, I fell into a dead sleep until the sun streaming in through the window woke me up the next morning.

With a groan, I rolled out of bed, not sure what was going to happen, or if Mik was home yet, but I wasn’t about to face it in pajamas. After I was dressed, I ventured down for breakfast, preparing myself for whatever happened next. Trying not to hope, because I still didn’t have answers. Not from Mik, and not from myself.

Sure, I was married. Fokin was the name I’d been using, but it was all for show. Was it going to remain that way because Mik would never give up his child? Or could I trust him enough to try for something real?

He was already in the kitchen, dressed in a suit and tie, like when we used to go to the restaurant together. “What did you do last night?” I asked pointedly. Just let him try to lie.

He gave me an arch look. “Do you really want to know?”

I swallowed hard. Imagining things was one thing. Knowing for sure that Rand might currently be fish food? Mik put his hand on my shoulder, his expression softening. “Just know that he’s never going to hurt you or anyone else ever again.”