Page 20 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

I step out of the room. My suit, which was pristine and perfectly ironed when the day began, now sports splatters of blood—a stark, crimson testament to the morning's work. It's the worst way to start the day, and a mental note is made to wear something more practical next time. But in our line of work, practicality often takes a backseat to presenting a certain image. Oh well.

Heading upstairs to Luca's room, my mind races through the conversation that's about to unfold. Luca needs to be brought up to speed, and while he's not one for unnecessary details, the implications of today's events could ripple through our operations.

Without bothering to knock—a courtesy rarely observed among us—I barge into his room. Luca's there, as expected, silhouetted against the window with a cigarette dangling from his lips, lost in thought or simply enjoying a moment of solitude.

Clearing my throat to announce my presence, Luca turns, the smoke curling around him like a protective veil. His eyes, sharp and assessing, land on me, taking in my appearance in a single glance.

"Grigori," he greets, his voice even, betraying no surprise at my sudden entrance. "You have blood on your suit."

Yeah, no shit. The understatement of the year. But there's no time for sardonic exchanges. It's time to spill the beans.

"We had an uninvited guest today," I begin, my tone matching the gravity of the situation. "Tried to get a jump on us. Didn't end well for him."

Luca's expression doesn't change, "And?"

As I stand before Luca, the gravity of the situation weighs heavily on the air between us. "The man we dealt with, we're suspecting he was a mutual contact between our syndicate and Perez's," I explain, my voice steady despite the churn of thoughts in my head. "Caught him sneaking around. It's got me thinking this might be a sign of something worse on the horizon."

Luca's demeanor remains unfazed, but I notice the slight narrowing of his eyes—a clear sign he's piecing together the broader implications of my report. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air like a slow exhalation of thought.

"I've had word from my informants," Luca finally speaks, his voice low, "that there's a police task force being assembled. Their target? The mafia connections in the area. We've had to cut some threads loose to protect ourselves."

The information doesn't surprise me, but it does add another layer of complexity to our already precarious situation. The knowledge that law enforcement is tightening the noose around the mafia's neck means we need to be even more vigilant, more ruthless in protecting our interests and our people.

"Any indication they're getting close to us?" I ask, already running through a mental checklist of vulnerabilities we need to address.

"Not yet," Luca admits, "but we can't afford to take chances. We're going to need to reassess our operations, make sure there are no loose ends that can lead them back to us."

"I'll tighten security, start rotating our guys more frequently. And I'll reach out to our contacts, see if we can get ahead of any moves the task force might be planning," I say, the role of head of security fitting me like a second skin.

Luca nods, a silent seal of approval. "Do whatever you need to do, Grigori. Keep us safe. That's your top priority."

"And your priority," I counter, eyeing him with a scrutinizing gaze, "should be to get some rest."

He raises an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and skepticism playing across his features. "What are you talking about?"

"You look tired," I state bluntly. It's the truth. The shadows under his eyes, the slight slump in his posture that he thinks nobody notices—it's all screaming fatigue.

Luca lets out a short, sardonic laugh, the sound more weary than amused. "I'll consider getting some rest right after I find a nanny who's willing to work for a mafia family."

The joke lands with a thud between us, the humor failing to mask the underlying tension. It's a moment before either of us speaks again, the air charged with unspoken concerns and fears.

"How are you handling the news?" I finally ask, broaching the topic that's been looming over us like a storm cloud. Lana's pregnancy—unexpected, uncharted territory for all involved.

"Not great. You?"

I take a moment, considering. Truth is, I've spent so long rolling with the punches, adapting to whatever life throws my way, that this feels like just another challenge to navigate. "I've spent so long rolling with the punches, Luca. I'll do the same here. Nothing has to change."

But even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true. Everything has changed, and yet, nothing can. Our world, our lives, are a delicate balance of power, loyalty, and now, a new life that ties us all together in ways we're still trying to understand.

"Everything's going to change," Luca counters, "Then we'll learn to live with it."

How can you learn to live with an ever-shifting landscape of danger and uncertainty while still maintaining the facade of a normal life? It's a question that has plagued both of us since the news of Lana's pregnancy.

"You've been quiet the past few days," I say, breaking the silence that had engulfed us. "Is everything okay?"

Luca's eyes soften, the scrutiny shifting from the events surrounding us to a more personal matter. "I'm... dealing with it. We're all dealing with it. It's a lot to process."

The complexity of our situation isn't lost on me. The fact that this baby will have three protectors is a given. In terms of safety, this child might just be the most secure kid on the planet. We're meticulous, always a step ahead, ensuring that nothing and no one can harm what's ours. That's where my confidence lies, in the unwavering assurance of our capability to protect.

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