Page 30 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

"Her? It will be a girl?"

Lana nods, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I feel like it will be. I don't know... just a feeling."

I reach out and gently place my hand on Lana's stomach, feeling for any movement. A moment passes, then another, until finally I feel the slightest flutter against my palm.

"There she is," I murmur, unable to peel my eyes away from the sight of my hand resting on Lana's belly.

Lana covers my hand with hers, lacing our fingers together. "She's going to have one hell of a story about how she came into this world," she says with a wry chuckle.

I can't help but laugh as well, imagining the wide-eyed looks on people's faces if we ever dared tell the full, unvarnished truth. "That's putting it mildly. Can you picture us at a PTA meeting?"

"Oh god, no," Lana groans, shaking her head vehemently. "That poor teacher would need intensive therapy after hearing about our 'career paths' and 'family dynamics'."

"Thanks for... you know, calming me down without that drink I thought I needed," Lana says, her voice holding a new lightness.

"Oh, it was nothing. I just employed my usual charm and wit. Works every time."

She nudges me slightly on the arm, a gesture light as a feather yet laden with unspoken gratitude. I don't budge, just look down at her with a smile, feeling a rare contentment in this quiet moment between us.

"Roman will eventually come around. His anger is like a summer storm—intense but quick to pass," I mention, trying to reassure her.

"Yeah, he will." Lana sighs, her mind already shifting to the next challenge on her endless list. "I need to go and get ready for the expensive meal with the other mob leaders." She grimaces slightly, the ordeal of dressing up, especially now that she's visibly pregnant, weighing on her.

"Jules was nagging the whole time to wear this ridiculous dress," she continues, her disdain for the situation clear.

I can't help but smile, imagining Lana battling against Julia's well-meaning but often overzealous fashion advice. "You know, you look beautiful in everything you wear," I say, the words slipping out more sincere than I intend. It's the truth, though. Lana has a way of wearing her strength, her determination, and yes, even vulnerability, with more grace than any designer dress could ever lend.

She looks up at me. It's a look that reminds me, yet again, of the complex woman she is—fierce leader, caring friend, and expectant mother all wrapped into one indomitable package.

"Thanks, Luca. That's... really nice to hear, especially now," she says, a genuine smile touching her lips.

The moment lingers, a rare respite from the demands of our lives, before Lana's resolve sets back in. "But I'd better go tackle that dress before Jules sends out a search party."

I nod, understanding the unspoken leave-taking for what it is—a return to our roles, to the responsibilities that never quite let us rest. "Go on, then. Show that dress who's boss."

As she leaves, a part of me wishes we could hold onto this peace a little longer. But our world waits for no one, and Lana, as always, faces it head-on. And me? I'll keep standing by her, through storms and calm alike, because that's what you do for the ones you... well, for the ones you care about, no matter what label you put on it.

I finally turn my attention to my phone, sifting through the notifications I'd been ignoring. One alert catches my eye, standing out amongst the mundane updates and reminders.

It's an alert about a transaction in Roman's bank account. The kind of transaction that doesn't belong.

What the fuck is Roman up to?

Chapter 15

Lana

Under the chandeliers that drip opulence like the senator does insincerity, I’m here, playing queen of the damned dinner. Grigori, my shadow tonight, towers beside me, more fortress than man. Roman's dodging me and I haven't seen him since the other day, which suits me fine. His charm's wasted on perimeter duty, but so be it.

Perez sits across, eyeing me like I’m the last piece of meat in the market. Hasn’t blinked once, the creep. Probably thinks it’s a power move. I'm not buying what he's selling, not tonight, not ever.

Beside him, the senator from our delightful phone tete-a-tete, swirling wine like he's auditioning for a sommelier’s gig. I can almost hear the rehearsed flattery itching to escape his lips. Save it, senator. Your charm’s as thin as your hairline.

Grigori leans in, whispers without moving his lips, "Perez is too quiet."

I nod, barely perceptible. Perez quiet is Perez plotting. "He'll open his mouth eventually." I whisper back, the smile I flash Perez all teeth.

Under the glow of too-fancy lights, Perez raises his glass like he's about to offer the world on a silver platter. "To the future," he declares, eyes locked on mine, making every word feel like a thinly veiled threat. I toast back, because what’s life without a little poison in your chalice?

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