Page 21 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

But it's not the safety of the baby that's knotting up my thoughts—it's our dynamics. The unspoken tension that's always hovered just beneath the surface of our interactions. It's no secret to anyone in our circle that all three of us—Luca, Roman, and I—have been with Lana. And now, all three of us are potential fathers.

I've never been in what you might call a poly-romantic relationship, but then again, our current arrangement isn't far off. The only difference is, now it's out in the open. We know where we stand, or at least, we're starting to. I can handle it, this strange, tangled web we've woven. But Luca... if I know Luca, and I do, he's not going to take this well.

Luca has always been the possessive type. It's one of his defining traits, right up there with his strategic mind and his unwavering loyalty. If he's developed deeper feelings for Lana—and who could blame him?—this situation is going to tear him apart. Sharing isn't in his nature, not when it comes to matters of the heart.

I lean against the doorframe, watching Luca wrestle with the enormity of our situation. Despite the gravity of it all, I can't help but try to lighten the mood. It's how we've always dealt with the impossible, with a bit of sass and a refusal to bow under pressure.

"Hey, think of it this way," I start, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "You always wanted to be part of a groundbreaking team, right? Well, here's your chance. We might just redefine modern family dynamics for the underworld."

Luca shoots me a look, the kind that says he's not entirely sure whether to laugh or throw something at me. "Oh, great," he drawls, his voice dripping with that sardonic edge I've come to expect. "Just what I've always dreamed of. Making history for the most dysfunctional family setup known to the mafia."

I chuckle, undeterred. "Come on, it won't be so bad. We've handled worse. And hey, between the three of us, this kid's going to have the best protection racket running before they even hit kindergarten."

That gets a grudging smile out of him, brief but genuine. "Imagine the parent-teacher meetings," he quips back, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "I can see it now: 'Your child has been very... persuasive on the playground.'"

"Exactly," I agree, pushing off from the doorframe to clap him on the shoulder. "And who knows? Maybe this won't be so bad. We're all in uncharted territory here, but if there's one thing we're good at, it's navigating the unknown. Together."

There's a moment of silence, a shared understanding passing between us. We're in this, for better or worse, and no matter what comes, we'll face it as we always have: as a united front.

"Alright, Grigori," Luca finally says, a hint of his usual resolve returning to his voice. "We're in this shit already. Might as well make the best of it."

As I leave Luca to his thoughts, I can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie that goes beyond our usual ties. This situation might be a mess, but it's our mess. And somehow, someway, we'll turn it into an opportunity. Because that's what we do. We adapt, we protect, and we never, ever give up on our own.

Chapter 11

Lana

Clothes. Fucking loose clothes. Here I am, standing in front of the full-sized mirror in my room, trying to convince myself that this tent disguised as fashion is something I need to get used to. Julia keeps saying it's necessary, but damn if I don't feel ridiculous.

"This is ridiculous," I grumble, eyeing my reflection with a mix of disdain and disbelief. Behind me, Julia's reflection meets mine, her eyes doing that thing where she sizes me up, probably trying to find a silver lining in this fashion disaster.

"It looks great on you," she tries, her voice laced with that forced optimism she knows I can see right through.

Great. Great? I hate it, absolutely loathe it. "No, it doesn't," I shoot back, unable to keep the scowl off my face.

"You need to hide it, Lana, and this is your chance," she presses on, her tone suggesting this is some sort of golden opportunity rather than a massive inconvenience.

I turn to face her, my hands gesturing to the billowing fabric that's supposed to be my new 'look.' "Hide it? Julia, we might as well slap a sign on my back that says 'Something's Up' with how drastic this change is. Subtlety, ever heard of it?"

Her lips twitch, a sign I've hit a nerve, but she's quick to retort, "Subtlety went out the window the moment you decided to become a mafia boss, Lana."

Touché. I have to give her that one, but I'm not about to concede this battle. "There's a difference between running an empire and dressing like I've suddenly developed a passion for parachutes, Jules."

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, a sure sign she's gearing up for another round. "Look, it's just until you figure out how to... announce it. Besides, think of it as a challenge. You love challenges."

"A challenge?" I echo, my eyebrows arching in disbelief. "Sweetheart, managing not to kill half the people I meet on a daily basis is a challenge. This," I wave a hand down my attire, "is a fashion crime."

Julia laughs then, a genuine sound that fills the room and eases the tension just a bit. "Fine, it's a fashion crime. But it's one you're going to have to commit for a while. For the sake of the baby."

The baby. Right. This whole circus is for a purpose, a damn good one at that. My hand drifts to my belly, a protective gesture that's become instinctual. "Alright, fashion police," I concede with a dramatic roll of my eyes. "I'll wear the damn parachute. But the moment this kid makes their debut, I'm burning it."

Julia grins, triumphant. "Deal. And who knows? Maybe by then, it'll be back in style."

I snort, imagining the day when this monstrosity could be considered fashionable. "And maybe I'll have taught this kid how to shoot by then. Priorities, Julia. Priorities."

Julia, ever the voice of reason—or at least, she tries to be—sighs, perhaps sensing my rising stubbornness. "Maybe you need to rest," she suggests, her tone shifting towards something softer, more nurturing. But I can tell she's also preparing for my inevitable pushback.

Rest? The very idea seems alien to me. I've been on the go since... well, since forever. Slowing down, especially now, feels like giving in, showing weakness. And in our world, weakness can be a death sentence.

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