Page 29 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

"About what?" I ask, even though a part of me already knows.

"He's learned about the baby's potential fathers and that he might not be one of them."

"Mhm about that. Yes, he wasn't acting like himself."

"This is not him..." Lana trails off, lost in thought, or maybe in worry.

"He just wants you all to himself, Lana. He never was good with sharing. Like me."

I don't know why I just said that. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Silence follows, a reflective pause that allows the weight of our conversation to truly settle. In that quiet, I grapple with my own feelings, the urge to have Lana all by myself. It's a longing I've kept at bay, understanding that our arrangement, as unconventional as it is, benefits us all. Lana is happy, content even, and the complexity of our lives doesn't spiral into chaos.

But acknowledging Roman's struggle aloud brings my own to the forefront. It's a mirror held up to my desires, reflecting back the shared turmoil of wanting something—or someone—exclusively.

"I'm sorry for putting you all through this... It's selfish of me to have feelings for more than one man," Lana says, her voice a mix of apology and defiance.

I can't help but chuckle, the sound surprising even me. It's not a reaction she expects, clearly, given the way she arches an eyebrow at me. "What?" she demands.

"It's not selfish, Lana. It's... normal, under the circumstances," I find myself saying, though part of me bristles at the admission. "Complicated, but normal."

"Normal?" she echoes, skepticism written all over her face. "Since when is anything about our lives normal?"

"Fair point," I concede with a grin. "But really, who's to say what's normal for us? We're not exactly your average next-door neighbors."

"Imagine if we were. The neighborhood barbecues would be... interesting."

"Understatement of the year," I retort. "You flipping burgers with a gun on your hip, me making sure the salad doesn't get poisoned."

"And Roman?" she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I snort. "Roman would be charming everyone's grandmothers, probably walking away with a few too many phone numbers."

Lana's chuckle is a clear sign I've hit the mark. "And Grigori? What's his role in our suburban fantasy?"

"He'd be the mysterious neighbor everyone's curious about but too afraid to actually talk to. Shows up to events, stands in the corner with a drink, and disappears without saying goodbye," I muse.

She nods, smiling. "Would things have been... easier for us if we were 'normal,' you know?"

"What do you mean about 'normal'?" I find myself asking, even though I understand the essence of her question. "Everyone's normal is different."

She exhales. "Like a normal fucking family that you see on TV. No sleepless nights thinking about if anyone's watching your bedroom with a sniper rifle kinda normal, you know? Or... a happy family."

I pause, considering her words and the world they conjure—a world so far removed from our own it might as well be fiction. "I don't know about the sniper thing, but... a happy family is still possible in our circumstance."

"And how do we achieve that?"

"With impeccable planning, obviously," I quip, "And perhaps by cutting down on our weekly explosions quota."

Lana smirks, rolling her eyes. "Oh, right, because blowing things up is such a chore. How could I forget?"

"And let's not forget, regular family dinners," I continue, deadpan. "Nothing says 'normal' like arguing over who gets the last piece of garlic bread."

"Ah, so the way to a happy family is through garlic bread. Got it." Her tone is light, but I catch a glimpse of something softer, more reflective in her gaze.

We may not be 'normal' by society's standards, but that doesn't mean we can't find happiness, contentment... a family, in our own way.

Then, breaking the silence, Lana speaks, "You know, I felt her kick yesterday."

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