Page 26 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

"What?" I challenge, breaking the silence, my patience thinning.

"The father?" Luca finally repeats, the words seeming to stick in his throat. "You're the father?"

"Yeah, you didn't know?" I respond, a touch of incredulity in my voice. How could he not have pieced it together by now?

"No, it's just..." Luca trails off, his usual composure fraying at the edges.

"It's just what?" I push, watching as a rare look of confusion crosses his face. I can hardly believe it; I've never seen him like this before, so visibly thrown off balance.

Luca hesitates, then delivers a line that feels like a punch to the gut. "You really thought you were the only candidate?"

As I stand there, reeling from Luca's bombshell, a torrent of emotions crashes over me. Anger, disbelief, a sense of betrayal so acute it's like a physical blow. "What? Who else?"

The very idea that there are other contenders, that I'm not the only one in this complicated equation with Lana, sets my blood boiling.

Luca, ever the calm in the eye of the storm, meets my fury with an unsettling calmness. "Me. And Grigori," he states simply, as if he's discussing the weather, not dropping a revelation that threatens to upend everything I thought I knew.

The room spins, or maybe it's just my head, my thoughts, my entire world tilting off its axis. "What?"

Luca doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. "You heard me, Roman. It's not just you. Lana...she's had relationships with all of us. Any one of us could be the father."

I see red. Not just the metaphorical seeing red of anger, but a visceral, blinding rage that obliterates everything else. How? How did I not know? How could she—how could we have let things get so tangled?

"You?" I step towards him, my fists clenching at my sides, every muscle tensed for a confrontation. "And you're telling me this now?"

Luca holds his ground, his usual calm demeanor cracking under the strain. "Stop it, Roman. It wasn't just my choice. It was hers too."

"Her choice?" I echo, my voice rising. "And what about us? Did she think of that, huh? Did you?"

"Stop it!" Luca's shout is a command, slicing through the tension. "Fighting me won't solve anything. Go fucking talk to her. She needs to hear all of this, not me."

The fight drains out of me, not because the anger's gone, but because I recognize the futility of it. Beating Luca into the ground won't change the facts.

There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I storm out of the room and head straight for Lana's quarters. My feet pound against the cold, hard floor, each step echoing with the rhythm of the fury pulsating through my veins.

As much as I want to rip Luca's throat out, my anger is more selfishly directed at Lana. There's a burning desire to confront her, not just for what she's done, but because every damn nerve in my body screams at me that she's mine.

Chapter 13

Lana

The dust has settled for now, and even Perez seems to be laying low. Alone in my office, I let my hand drift down to my belly, a protective gesture that's become second nature. Boy or girl? The doctor said it was too early to tell, but a part of me hopes for a little girl. God knows, being surrounded by these testosterone-fueled knuckleheads day in and day out, a bit of female energy might balance out the scales.

Just as I'm pondering the future, my phone lights up with a call that promises nothing but a headache. Senator Jackson, the kind of man who thinks a power tie can compensate for a lack of, well, actual power. He's as subtle as a sledgehammer, with a waistline that suggests he's never met a lobbyist lunch he didn't like.

Putting on my best business voice, which is as fake as his assurances of 'discretion,' I answer, "Senator, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

His reply is predictably smarmy, his words oozing through the phone like oil. "Ah, my dear, just checking in on my favorite... business associate. How's everything on your end?"

I mentally roll my eyes. If I had a dollar for every time this man insinuated we could be 'more' than business associates, I'd be able to buy out his campaign. "Everything's running smoothly, Senator. Thanks to your... support."

He chuckles, a sound that's supposed to be charming but lands somewhere between unsettling and downright creepy. "Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. You know, I was thinking—"

And there it is. The lead-in. Senator Jackson's "thinking" usually costs me more in patience than in payouts. "Thinking?" I prompt, keeping my tone light, airy, and completely devoid of interest.

"Perhaps we could discuss our... partnership over dinner? My treat. Somewhere nice, somewhere private..."

Ah, the private dinner invitation. The hallmark of a man who believes in the power of expensive steaks and overpriced wine to sway a woman's decision-making. "Senator, you're too kind. But you know how it is—business never sleeps. I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check."

---