Accidental Bratva Daddy (Bratva Blessings)

Chapter 18Luka

18

Luka

T he clink of fine china and silverware echoes through the dining room as my staff serves the first course. I sit at the head of the massive oak table, acutely aware of Elena Orlova's frosty gaze tracking my every movement. She hasn't spoken more than a handful of words since arriving with Alina, but her disapproval radiates like winter wind off the Volga.

Natalia sits to my right, her eyes bright but tainted with something neither of us can get rid of. Her hand occasionally finds mine under the table, squeezing gently when her mother's stares become particularly pointed. The gesture grounds me, reminding me why I'm subjecting myself to this excruciating exercise in familial diplomacy.

"The borscht is excellent," I offer, breaking another stretch of uncomfortable silence. "Natalia has been teaching our chef some traditional recipes."

"Has she?" Elena's voice could freeze hell itself. Her spoon clinks against her bowl with precise, measured movements. "How... domestic. I remember when my daughter had bigger ambitions than playing house."

Natalia tenses beside me. "Mama, please?—"

"No," Elena cuts her off, setting down her spoon with a sharp click that makes both Alina and Natalia flinch. "I've held my tongue long enough. I don't trust a man who marries my daughter in secret. Who sweeps in out of nowhere and turns her whole life upside down, making her give up so much for so little.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. Getting defensive will only make things worse. "I understand why you feel that way," I say, keeping my voice sincere and steady. "We kept things quiet because, at the time, there were... threats. I needed to keep Natalia safe, and the fewer people who knew, the better." I glance at my wife, finding strength in her grateful smile, then back to her mother. "But I'm sorry that we hurt you in the process. That was never my intention."

Elena shakes her head, her carefully styled silver-blonde hair catching the light from the crystal chandelier above. "You talk about protection, about safety. But where was that protection when my husband was killed? When my family was torn apart?" She laughs bitterly, the sound like breaking glass. "It's bad enough I stumbled upon Igor's safe, found those documents about Kirill Baranov. I couldn't even bring myself to look at them properly—I knew they'd be incriminating."

My blood runs cold at her words. Igor's safe? Documents about Kirill? Something isn't adding up. I know for a fact that Igor wasn't the one with ties to Kirill—that was all Viktor. Could Elena have discovered something without realizing its significance? If I could only find out what they say…

Before I can pursue this thread, Natalia's hand finds mine again. Her palm is warm against my skin, trembling slightly. "Mama," she says softly. "We have something to tell you." She looks at me, and I nod encouragingly. "I'm pregnant. With twins."

The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear the tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner, counting off endless seconds. Alina is the first to react, her eyes lighting up with pure joy.

"Twins?" she exclaims, practically bouncing in her seat. The fine crystal glasses rattle as she claps her hands together in excitement. "Oh my God, I'm going to be an aunt! This is amazing! When are you due? Do you know what you're having? Have you picked names? I have a few suggestions!”

Her rapid-fire questions break some of the tension, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the close-knit family Natalia has told me about. But Elena remains still, tears welling in her eyes as she stares at her daughter.

"Excuse me," she says abruptly, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor as she rises. "I need some air."

Natalia follows her mother onto the terrace, the French doors closing softly behind them. Through the glass panes, I watch as they talk, their silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Natalia gestures animatedly while Elena stands rigid, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

"She'll come around," Alina says quietly, drawing my attention back to the table. "She's just... it's been hard, you know? After Papa..." She trails off, twisting her napkin in her lap. “Everything is just changing so fast.”

I open my mouth to respond, but movement in the doorway catches my eye. Dimitri, one of my most trusted men, hovers there with an urgent expression. I excuse myself from the table and join him in the hallway.

"Viktor's back in Moscow," he reports in a low voice. "His flight just landed at Sheremetyevo twenty minutes ago. Do we move forward with the hit?"

My eyes flick to Natalia on the terrace. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders as she pleads with her mother. The timing couldn't be worse. "Not now," I reply, keeping my voice down. "Wait. He'll fall into our trap soon enough."

When Natalia and Elena return, it's clear they've both been crying. Elena's makeup is slightly smudged, and Natalia's eyes are rimmed with red. Neither looks happy with how the conversation went, and the tension only ratchets up further as the night wears on. The rest of dinner passes in a blur of forced pleasantries and careful conversation. Finally, mercifully, Elena and Alina take their leave.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Natalia collapses into my arms. I hold her close, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair—jasmine and something uniquely her—as she buries her face in my chest.

"I knew she'd react like that," she murmurs, her words muffled against my shirt. "I just wished... she'd prove me wrong. Just this once, I wanted things to be uncomplicated, mother and daughter like before.”

I stroke her back soothingly, feeling the fine tremors running through her body. "I know it hurts," I tell her. "But in a way, you're lucky. You have a family who cares enough to worry, to want what's best for you."

Natalia pulls back slightly, studying my face. Her hand comes up to trace the line of my jaw, feather-light. "What happened to your parents, Luka? You never talk about them."

The question sends a familiar ache through my chest. I consider deflecting, but Natalia deserves the truth—or at least, part of it. "They were murdered," I say quietly, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "By a rival organization. I was sixteen years old when it happened. Overnight, I went from a boy to a man.”

Natalia's eyes fill with fresh tears. Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, her touch infinitely gentle. "I'm so sorry," she whispers. Then, after a moment, "I'm scared, Luka. About bringing the twins into this world. Your world."

I tilt her chin up, making her meet my gaze. "They'll be fine," I assure her with a conviction I wish I felt. "Because we're going to be great parents. I promise you they won't have any involvement in the mafia world. They'll be safe, protected. Happy."

"How can you be sure?" she asks, vulnerability clear in her voice.

"Because I will burn the world to the ground before I let anyone hurt them," I vow. "Or you."

Before she can voice more doubts, I press my lips into hers, kissing her deeply. She melts into me immediately, her mouth soft and yielding under mine. What starts as comfort quickly blazes into something more heated, more desperate. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I deepen the kiss, tasting the salt of her tears mixed with the sweetness that is uniquely Natalia.

She presses closer, her body molding to mine as if we were made to fit together. My hands span her waist, feeling the slight swell of her stomach where our children grow. The thought sends a surge of possessive pride through me.

Then, to my surprise, Natalia begins to sink to her knees. The candlelight flickers across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw. Her hands slide down my chest, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through me.

“Natalia,” I breathe, my voice rough with desire. “You don’t have to?—”

She looks up at me through her lashes, her green eyes dark with want. A coy smile plays at the corners of her lips. “I want to,” she says simply. “Let me take care of you for once.”

Her words, so unexpected yet so welcome, send a wave of heat through me. I shift slightly, adjusting my position on the chair, anticipation thrumming through my veins and hardening my cock.

Her hands continue their slow descent, pausing at the buckle of my belt. She looks up at me again, seeking approval. I nod, my throat suddenly tight.

With deft fingers, she unbuckles my belt, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the dining room. The air crackles with tension.

She lowers my pants, her touch feather-light against my skin. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, my arousal threatening to overwhelm me as my cock springs free.

Her warm hand wraps around my shaft, and I gasp, my head falling back against the chair. Her touch is both gentle and firm, expertly stroking, teasing, driving me to the edge of madness.

Then she parts her pretty pink lips and lowers her mouth to the head of my cock. I inhale sharply as she tongues it experimentally, holding myself back so I don’t push her too far.

But I underestimate her. After a few experimental licks and strokes, she takes me into her mouth and sends me to the edge of bliss. Natalia’s clever mouth and talented hands reducing me to a state I’ve never experienced before. The feel of her lips against my skin, the warmth of her breath, the rhythmic pulsing of her hand—it’s a symphony of sensation that leaves me breathless, helpless. Especially because I know it’s her , this fiery and stubborn woman who defies me at every turn and yet is the only one who knows me this way.

I groan, pulling my fingers through her silky hair, urging her closer, thrusting lightly inside her. The world narrows to the feel of her mouth, the taste of her, the scent of her perfume mingling with my own arousal.

She hums softly against me, the vibration resonating through my entire body until my toes curl. Her rhythm increases, her touch growing more insistent, and I know I’m close.

“Natalia… I’m about to…”

Instead of backing off, she takes me deeper, strokes harder, and that’s all it takes. I groan her name in my throat, pumping everything I have into her mouth. The release is intense, earth-shattering, leaving me weak and trembling.

When I come down from the blissful high, it's with the earth-shattering realization that this woman owns me completely. Body and soul, I am hers.

As she rises, wiping her mouth delicately with the back of her hand, I pull her into another kiss. My lips find hers, hungry, demanding. This woman, my precious wife, holds my heart in her hands.

I taste myself on her mouth, the pleasure I’ve experienced mixed with the sweetness of her saliva, and it turns me on all over again. I don’t think I could handle another orgasm like that again without succumbing to it, though, so I simply enjoy the beautiful moment she’s given me.

The woman in my arms is either my salvation or my destruction—and God help me, but I’m starting not to care which. Because either way, I’m hers. Until the bitter end.

I stroke her hair as we catch our breath, my other hand coming to rest protectively over her stomach. The slight swell beneath my palm is a constant reminder of the miracle she carries within her, the future we’re building together.

In this moment, everything else falls away—the complications with her family, the threat of Viktor, the constant danger that shadows our lives. All that matters is this: Natalia in my arms, our children growing within her, and the fierce, undeniable love I feel for all of them.

But as I hold her close, a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminds me that such peace can never last. Not in my world. Sooner or later, the violence that defines my life will touch this precious bubble we've created. And when it does, I pray I'm strong enough to protect what matters most.

For now, though, I simply hold my wife closer and try to believe my own promises about keeping our family safe. Even if those promises feel more like prayers with each passing day.