Page 23 of Forced & Knocked-Up Bratva Bride
Just then, the sound of my phone ringing startled me, forcing my head to turn toward the table. I didn’t realize until now that my hand had reflexively darted to my chest, as if to prevent my heart from jumping out. The fear of Nikita Tarasov still lingered, his ghost haunting me day and night.
I drew a deep breath and slowly walked over to the table where the phone was buzzing incessantly. Setting the teacup on the surface, I squinted my eyes at the caller’s identity: Mateo, my father’s most trusted lawyer.
That was strange. Why was he calling me this early in the morning? He’d never reached out to me before because all of his dealings were either with my father or my brothers. This was out of the blue, and that alone heightened my suspicion.
I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing in my chest. For some reason, fear had overshadowed me, and I could feel the anxiety creeping in. I was tense but didn’t know why, and when I reached out to pick the phone up, I noticed my hands were shaking. It was almost like everything inside me was warning me about an imminent danger.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
The ringing stopped, and seconds later, Mateo called back. I stared at the buzzing phone, too scared to pick it up because I wasn’t sure what this strange call was all about. However, just before the call ended, I summoned the courage to snatch the device off the table and answered, “Hello?”
“Alessia, thank God!” Mateo sighed on the other end of the line, his voice laced with both relief and urgency. “I thought he got to you, too.”
My heart stopped for a moment, and my breath hitched in my throat. “You thought who got to me, too? What’s going on?” I asked, feeling the heat spreading through my body.
“The Romano empire has crumbled to the ground, Alessia,” he stated, his words striking like a thunderclap. “Powerful allies turned traitors overnight, and damning evidence against your father has surfaced. He’s gone underground for now, and your brothers have all fled the country for their safety. It’s bad, Alessia.”
As the words tumbled out of his mouth in a frantic rush, each syllable cut deeper than a knife, forcing me to drop onto the nearest chair. I swallowed hard, a hand on my forehead as I began sweating in awkward places. My heart was pounding rapidly, hammering like a drum.
Only one man was capable of destroying an empire overnight. Nikita Tarasov.
“The Romano name is now a target, Alessia,” he continued, his voice dripping with fear and urgency. “Nowhere is safe right now—not even that small place you’re hiding.” He paused as if letting his words sink in for a moment. “I don’t know who has been compromised in your father's house. We can’t risk it, so you have to run. Run, Alessia, run.”
Chapter 18 – Nik
The scent of vodka wafted through the air as I stood by the window, gazing out at the concrete landscape. My fingers absently tapped against the half-filled glass in my hand, my expression blank and untradable. I heard the door open, and familiar footsteps approached me.
The newcomer cleared their throat and halted a couple of paces behind me. “Boss,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “We’ve found her location.”
My eyes squinted, and my jaw tightened even though I didn’t turn in his direction. I felt my blood boil, and a pang of rage coiled within me. “Where is she?” I questioned, my tone low and even.
“A countryside in Montana,” he replied.
A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, and I took another sip of my vodka. “Montana, eh?” I buried a hand in my pocket, a sense of satisfaction coursing through me. She went that far—from the busy and fast-paced life of Chicago—just to get away from me.
She was about to learn the hard way that no one, absolutelyno one, could hide from me.
“Ready the men,” I instructed. “We’re going to Montana.”
“Yes, Boss,” he replied, his hasty footsteps receding.
I lifted the glass to my lips and inhaled the scent of its contents, my mind reeling with the possible outcome of this long-awaited confrontation.
Seven months. That was how long she’d stayed hidden. Seven fucking months. As pissed off I was, I couldn’t deny the fact that she’d done a great job at hiding. But all of that was over now; I’d sought her out, and I’d finally found her. There wasnowhere else to run to. Today was the day I brought her home, and I wouldn’t let her slip through my fingers again. Never.
Minutes later, I was already in the car, speeding through the busy streets, my men following up behind me. The journey to her location was long, not just in distance, but in the slow drag of time, every second stretching thin with impatience and rising tension. The city lights blurred past, but all I could feel was the weight of each mile between them.
My mind was on the target, my imagination running wild with thoughts of what I’d do to her once I saw her again. I hadn’t really given it much thought, and right now, I anticipated the look on her face—the shock, the surprise, and, most importantly, the fear.
I pulled up outside her small cottage, tires squealing, dust rising into the air. I stepped out of the vehicle, my men behind me as I headed toward the front door. With a powerful kick, I knocked the wooden door down and barged into the living room. From the entrance, my eyes scanned the cozy interior, but there was no sign of life in here.
However, I noticed the throw pillows scattered across the couch. A mug sat on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the armrest. A drawer hung open, its contents spilling across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of something warm—tea, maybe—but the silence was deafening.
“Check upstairs,” I ordered, walking over to the teacup on the table.
A couple of men rushed up the steps, their heavy footsteps pounding against the floorboard.
I halted by the window, gazing out at the golden fields swaying under the soft breeze. Although the place was empty, I could still smell her signature scent lingering in the air.
