Secret Bratva Daddy

Chapter 22Avros

22

Avros

T he weight of recent events presses down on me as I pace the length of my study, the plush carpet muffling my agitated steps. My mind races, replaying the series of catastrophic decisions that have led me to this moment. Lance's death, Sydney's pregnancy, and now Michael Schwartz's brutal yet well-deserved beating at my hands—each action, each choice, a domino falling in a chain reaction that threatens to topple everything I've built.

I pause at the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. My empire, my legacy, all of it hangs in the balance. But it's not the potential loss of power or wealth that gnaws at me. It's the thought of losing Sydney, of missing our child's birth, of becoming the very thing I swore I'd never be. An absent father.

The memory of Sydney's body, soft and yielding beneath mine just hours ago, flashes through my mind. The way she arched into my touch, her breathy moans as I explored every inch of her silken skin. The swell of her stomach, barely noticeable yet, but carrying the promise of our future. I close my eyes, savoring the recollection, using it to center myself in the chaos.

" Blyat ," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. The gravity of the situation is finally sinking in. I nearly killed a man. And it wasn’t just any man, but the father of the victim in Miron's case. The irony isn't lost on me. In trying to protect my brother, I may have sealed both our fates.

My phone vibrates on the desk, Richard's name flashing on the screen. I answer immediately, my voice tense. "What's the situation?"

Richard sighs heavily before responding. "It's bad, Avros. Schwartz's beating is all over the news. They're calling it a mob hit, connecting it to Miron's case. The police are out for blood."

I close my eyes, letting the information wash over me. It's worse than I thought. "And Miron's case?"

"That's the one silver lining," Richard says, a hint of dark humor in his voice. "With Schwartz in critical condition and unable to bankroll the prosecution, the case against Miron is falling apart. I'd say there's a good chance it'll be thrown out entirely."

Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a wave of guilt. My brother will be free, but at what cost? I think of Sydney, of the baby growing inside her. What kind of father will I be if I'm behind bars?

"What are my options?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

Richard outlines a plan, each word making my jaw clench tighter. By the time he finishes, I'm gripping the phone so hard my knuckles are white.

"You're sure this is the only way?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"It's the best chance we have of keeping you out of prison long-term," Richard confirms. "It won't be easy, but if we play our cards right, we can spin this in your favor. Paint you as a frightened man protecting his family, acting in self-defense."

I snort. We both know it's bullshit covered with a thin veneer of truth, but if it keeps me out of a cell and with Sydney and our child, I'll play whatever role I need to.

"Alright," I say, my voice rough. "Set it up. I'll turn myself in first thing in the morning."

As I end the call, I hear soft footsteps approaching. Sydney appears in the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep, wearing nothing but one of my shirts. The sight of her in my clothes, carrying my child, stirs something primal in me. My body responds instantly, desire coiling hot and heavy in my gut despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Avros?" she says softly, concern etching her delicate features. "Is everything okay? I woke up and you were gone."

I cross the room in three long strides, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly, melting against me with a contented sigh. I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The softness of her skin, the way her body fits perfectly against mine, the subtle scent that is uniquely Sydney—I want to burn it all into my memory.

“Sydney,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. "There's something I need to tell you."

I lead her to the leather sofa, sitting down and pulling her onto my lap. Her warmth against me is a comfort I don't deserve. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.

"I have to turn myself in," I say, watching her face carefully. "For what happened with Schwartz. It's the only way to protect you, to protect our family."

Sydney's eyes widen, her hand flying to her stomach instinctively. "What? No, Avros, you can't. There has to be another way."

I shake my head, cupping her face in my hands. "There isn't, unfortunately. If I don't do this, they'll come for me. For us. I won't risk you or our child."

Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. I brush them away with my thumbs, hating myself for causing her pain. The urge to comfort her, to lose myself in her body and forget about the world outside, is almost overwhelming.

"How long?" she whispers, her voice breaking.

"I don't know," I admit. "But Richard thinks he can get me out on bail quickly. It won't be forever, Sydney. I promise you that."

She nods, trying to be brave even as her lower lip trembles. "What do you need me to do?"

My heart swells with love for this strong, incredible woman. "Stay here," I tell her, my voice firm. "Richard will be here with you, along with a full security detail. No one will touch you, I swear it."

Sydney's fingers trace the lines of my face, as if committing them to memory. "I love you," she says fiercely. "We love you. Don't forget that, not for a second."

I capture her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all my love, my fear, my determination into it. When we break apart, we're both breathless. The taste of her lingers on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating.

"I love you too," I growl, my hands roaming her body possessively. "Both of you. You're my world, Sydney. My reason for everything."

She shivers under my touch, her body responding to me as it always does. But this time, there's a spark of determination in her eyes. “I need you to come back. I won’t accept anything else.”

I tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze. "I swear it," I say solemnly. "Nothing in this world could keep me from you and our child. I'll move heaven and earth to come back to you, myshka . I promise you that together, we'll be a family."

Our bodies tangle together, trading soft kisses and gentle caresses, until the first light of dawn creeps through the windows and calls to me. Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from Sydney's warm embrace. I dress quickly, my movements precise as I prepare to face what's coming. For Sydney. For our family.

Sydney watches me from the bed, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. She wraps the sheet around herself, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that makes me want to forget all about turning myself in and crawl back into bed with her.

"I'll be waiting," she says softly. "We'll be waiting."

I lean down to kiss her one last time, trying to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her lips against mine. My hand splays across her stomach, a silent promise to our unborn child. Then, with a final glance back, I walk out of the bedroom and towards an uncertain future.

The drive to the police station is surreal. The city passes by in a blur, the early morning light casting long shadows across the streets. I think of Miron, of the freedom my actions will bring him. I think of Sydney, of our unborn child. I think of the empire I've built, and how quickly it could all crumble.

But as I pull up to the station, a strange sense of calm settles over me. I am Avros Petrov. I've faced worse odds and come out on top. This is just another battle to be won.

With one last deep breath, I step out of the car and walk towards the entrance. This is never what I imagined I would be doing—voluntarily turning myself in. But for Sydney, I'll face it head-on without complaint.

The doors of the station swing shut behind me with a final-sounding thud. The game is on.

The processing is a blur of fingerprints, mug shots, and monotonous questions. I answer mechanically, my thoughts far away in a sunlit bedroom where Sydney waits for me. When they finally lead me to a holding cell, I sit on the hard bench and close my eyes, picturing her face.

The cell is a stark contrast to the world outside. The moment the heavy iron door slams shut behind me, a hollow clang reverberates through the room, like the final note in a song of defeat. I scan my surroundings, taking in the bleakness of it all.

The walls are a dull, lifeless gray, cracked and peeling in places as if time itself has given up on trying to hold them together.

The floor beneath me is cold, even through my shoes. It’s hard, uneven, the concrete chipped away in random patches, as though a million pairs of restless feet have paced these same few square feet, wearing it down over time.

The fluorescent light overhead hums, a low, grating sound that only adds to the discomfort. Its harsh glow reflects off the floor, casting long, sterile shadows across the cell. There’s no warmth in it, no comfort. Just a cold, artificial brightness that makes it impossible to hide from the reality of where I am.

I shift, and the sound of metal clinking draws my attention to the bars on the door. They look heavy, rusted in places, but solid. No amount of force would bend them, and even if it could, there’s nowhere to go. Beyond them, the corridor stretches on, empty except for the echo of distant footsteps and the occasional muffled voice. It feels like a world away from the chaos I left outside, from the noise of the city and the rush of life. Here, time seems to slow, dragging on with a heavy, oppressive weight.

I rub my wrists, still feeling the phantom pressure of the handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin, leaving behind a faint soreness that throbs with each pulse. The cool air prickles against my skin, making me aware of how damp my shirt has become, sticking uncomfortably to my back. Every movement feels sluggish, as though the air itself is pushing back against me.

The taste of copper lingers on my tongue, a reminder of the adrenaline coursing through me, the metallic bite of fear that’s hard to shake. But I swallow it down, focusing on the memory of Sydney, her laugh, the curve of her smile, the warmth of her touch. It's the only thing keeping me grounded, the only thing keeping the rising tide of claustrophobia at bay.

I close my eyes, but even in the darkness, the cell is still there. The cold, the damp, the smell of decay and the faint, ever-present hum of the fluorescent light. There’s no escape, not yet.

But I’ll endure it. For Sydney. For the life growing inside her. For the future I promised her, a future far away from this place.

I don't know how long I'll be here, or what challenges lie ahead. But I know one thing with absolute certainty. I will find my way back to Sydney and our child. No matter what it takes, no matter how long it takes, I will return to them.

As I settle in for a long wait, I allow myself a small smile. Sydney's strength, her unwavering love, has given me a new purpose. A reason to fight not just for power or control, but for something fragile and precious.

For the first time in my life, I have something worth losing everything for. And that, I realize, makes me more dangerous than ever before.

The sound of keys rattling in the lock pulls me from my thoughts. A guard appears, his face impassive. "Petrov," he says gruffly. "Your lawyer's here."

I stand, squaring my shoulders. Whatever comes next, I'm ready. Because now, I'm not just fighting for myself or my empire. I'm fighting for Sydney, for our child, for the future we deserve.

And God help anyone who stands in my way.