Page 18 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
“Out,” she says, voice hard. “Out of my life.” Her eyes are too bright, lids pulled tight. Her hand slices through the air. “Just go.” Her voice cracks. “Anywhere you’ll be safe.”
“Ana.” I stand and catch her wrists, hold them against my chest. “Calm down.”
“Don’t you see?” she spits out. “You’re directly in their line of fire because of me.”
She falls silent after that. I should take the words at face value and walk out, let it end here. But I don’t move. Instinct tells me she isn’t done yet.
“You should’ve woken me,” she says after a while.
“You were resting,” I say.
“A luxury when danger sits right outside my door.” A corner of her mouth pulls down.
She looks at me hard, then says it flat and firm. “If Markov charged you with my protection, that ends now. As his wife, that’s mine to give or take.”
I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her. It should be simple. A kiss. A promise. “You’re safe.” But she fights my hold like I’m the danger, not the shield. Her nails dig into the fabric of my jacket.
“Don’t,” she spits, evading my kiss, her voice flat and tight.
I stay still, just present.
“I don’t need you,” she says, each word clipped, aimed to cut. Her eyes flash, her face hot and twisted.
“Ana, hold yourself. You’re putting me in danger.”
“You think I’m what’s putting you in danger?” she snaps.
I don’t answer. I don’t pull away, either.
She shakes her head, breath coming fast. “I survived before you showed up. I’ll survive without you.”
Her body trembles, showing how much it costs her to say it. I let her pull at my jacket a moment longer, her hands stubborn against me, trying to break me.
When her fingers finally slow, I don’t let go. She presses her face to my chest and stays there a long moment.
At last, she looks up. “You’re not gone.”
“Not yet,” I say and ease her back onto the bed.
She places her hands between her legs and shakes out her legs. “Why?” she asks.
“Because it matters to me that I stay beside you.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You’re thinking about pulling out from the Bratva?” she says, trying to steady herself. But her teeth chatter.
“If I have to.”
I meet her eyes. “The council doesn’t get to decide what I do next.”
Her shoulders square. “That’s war. No one fights the council and walks away.”
“I’m not fighting it,” I say. “But if it comes for you, it faces me first.”
“That puts you in their line,” she says.
The room goes still around us. Ana reaches out and grips my sleeve.
