I sexted the king of Chicago’s mafia— and now he calls me his kitten while his baby grows in my belly. Ruslan Ivanov. Bratva king. Billionaire. Twice my age. His first reply made me blush. His second made me ache. He doesn’t ask. He takes. And when I try to pull away? He pins me to the wall and growls— “Messy little kitten. You don’t get to leave me wet and waiting.” It was just supposed to be a dirty mistake. Then came the test. Two pink lines. One growing secret. And with a man like Ruslan? Bad girls don’t get forgiven.