Page 50 of Forced & Knocked-Up Bratva Bride
Alessia Tarasov.
That was my name now.
Even though it hurt me like hell that my father had disowned me for choosing my happiness over everything else, I still understood his pain. He couldn’t fathom how his only daughter could betray him by falling in love with his worst enemy. I got that. He was too angry to even consider my feelings, but then again, that was classic Dante Romano; it was always about him, his name, and reputation. It was never about us, his children.
What dad didn’t know was that he was the only one in the family who had refused to speak to me. My brothers and Uncle Roberto had been in touch with me ever since—they even sent birthday gifts for my son. Of course, all of this was done under the radar because we couldn’t have Dad flaring up and making mountains out of mole hills. Again.
They understood my plight, what I had to endure as a Romano who had no say over her own life. My brother, Bruno, believed that I was the lucky one since I managed to cut myself off from the rest of the family. At least, I got to live my life the way I wanted, unlike he and Marco, who still had to live under our father’s shadow.
They’d kept me informed on how bitter he had become and how even the smallest things could upset him to the point where he now threw tantrums like a child. Dad was a proud man—a really proud man—and that pride was the obstacle between him and me.
To my father, this was some sort of game, and I was the trophy he’d lost to the man who almost ruined him. He couldn’t find it in his stone-cold heart to let go and let the past remain in the past. No. He’d rather hold on to his pain, to his pride. The Romanos had finally moved back to Italy for good this time, away from the chaos and drama they left behind.
As much as this separation from my family hurt me, I knew it was for the best. Bruno was right; Iwasthe lucky one. I dodged a bullet and took hold of my own life, doing what I wanted. I was content this way, free from the childhood trauma I suffered trying to live up to my father’s expectations. The pressure was so overwhelming that I didn’t know what true liberty and freedom were until I had the opportunity to make a choice.
Choice, a concept that was once alien to me, once a luxury that even my father’s money could not afford, was now my reality. How ironic.
I’d always loved nursing, intrigued by the idea of saving lives, not taking them. It was my deepest ambition, one that I thought would never see the light of day. I buried this and the dream of owning my own business—a boutique—all because a predefined path had already been set out for me.
Dad’s influence over his children’s career options was so strong and frightening that all we knew was law. Nothing more. His decision was final, leaving no room for arguments or suggestions. Dad’s dream of being legally untouchable—of building an army of soldiers in law to protect his empire—blinded him from seeing the damage his selfishness was causing his children. He wouldn’t even entertain any discussion aimed at attempting to help him view things from a different perspective.
More than once, he’d had serious quarrels with his brother. Why? Simply because Uncle Roberto was of the opinion that children should be allowed to choose their own path and destiny. Dad was rigid, with a stony heart, and he ruled his household with an iron fist.
About a year ago, when my husband asked what I wanted out of life, I froze for a second. No one, aside from Uncle Roberto, had asked me that before, and so my brain was blank for a minute.
Nik and I had a long conversation about how I’d always loved nursing and my dream to own a boutique. I told him my fears and how my trauma could stand in the way of my success. All my life, the law was all that I knew; changing to something else now felt like a huge challenge.
I still remembered his words as if it were just yesterday. He said then,“It’s okay to be afraid; we all feel fear at somepoint in our lives. And trust me, change can be difficult, but I’m here with you…every step of the way.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as his voice echoed in my head, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this journey of finding my purpose. We agreed that I’d nurse our child for at least a year after he was born and then enroll in a physical or online nursing class.
In all honesty, I was afraid to start life all over again, to venture into something new, a line different from the original one carved out for me. But I was lucky to have a husband who had my best interests at heart, a man who loved and adored me with every fiber of his being. Treading this path would not be easy, but at least, I was certain that he’d be by my side every step of the way.
For me, no assurance was better than that.
As expected, Helen Orlov was furious that Nik had chosen me over her. Her family even threatened to cut all ties with the Tarasovs and withdraw from any businesses they did together. Hector Orlov, Helen’s Father, had accused my husband of humiliating his daughter and bringing shame upon their family name. Therefore, he threatened to make the Tarasovs pay for the emotional damage Nik’s choice had caused his daughter.
My dear husband, on the other hand, wasn’t one to take threats so lightly. But instead of resorting to violence and chaos, Nik chose to try a different approach. He called for a meeting with the Orlovs and their representatives, where he made a business offer so lucrative that they couldn’t ignore it.
I didn’t bother with the details because my husband, in his wisdom, had found a subtle way to salvage the alliance between both families. And he did that without violence, without bloodshed. I was super proud of him, of the man he’d become.
To the outside world, Nik was still the same brute, the strategic thinker who everyone feared. His name still struckpanic in the hearts of those who considered themselves his enemies. His associates and business partners knew better than to attempt to cross him in any way possible.
Nikita Tarasov wouldn’t retaliate immediately. No. My husband would wait; he’d spend weeks planning an attack. And when he’d finally execute his plans, those unfortunate enough to be his victims would live to regret it if they got to live at all.
With me, he was different—nicer, calmer, and even more affectionate. He’d learned to strike a balance between his work and private life, and he got so good at it. The man at the office was not the man at home; nevertheless, it was the same person. He always attributed this change to me, saying that I brought out the best in him, the version of himself that he hadn’t known existed.
However, he wasn’t the only one who had changed. I had, too, and for the best. He also brought out a different version of me—the version that had long been buried. He showed me that there was more to life than what I knew, what was embedded in my head since I learned to read. Because of him, I was ready to face reality, to chase my dreams, and try out my plans. It didn’t matter how many times I failed; I’d always get back up, especially with my husband by my side.
Later in the evening, after the celebration was over and all the guests had left, little Leo needed to sleep, and that was where I came in. In his dimly lit nursery, I held my boy in my arms, rocking him gently, eyes fixed on his cute face. His lashes fluttered once, twice, then stilled against his cheeks. The soft lullaby playing from the small speaker on the shelf was one I’d learned from my mother—Italian, old as time.
With a small smile on my lips, I ran my hands through his honey-blonde hair, brushing it back as he nestled into my shoulders with a tiny sigh.
Little Leo was warm. Solid. And most importantly, mine.
I drew a deep, long breath and carefully lowered him into the crib, my heart squeezing a little when he stirred. However, I watched his hand find the edge of his blanket, and he settled again. He was innocent and peaceful.
The warm lights cast a soft glow over his round face, and looking right at him, I caught hints of his father in his features—the set of his jaw and the sharp line of his nose. But that smile, when it came, even in his sleep…that was mine. I withdrew from the sleeping child, unable to suppress the smile on my lips. “Goodnight, my little one. Sweet dreams.” I blew him a kiss before leaving the room.
