Page 7 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

He stammers, "Yes, exactly. But we must be cautious. I have suggestions for—"

"Suggestions that you've no doubt pulled from your vast experience in the field?" Lana interrupts, her patience wearing thin. "Listen, I know my business. Your 'concerns' have been noted. Anything else?"

As the politician, clearly mistaking Lana's professional courtesy for personal interest, leans in a tad too close, his voice drops to what he probably thinks is a seductive whisper. "And, Ms. Lana, there's an 'informal' gathering this weekend. A chance for you to meet some potential clients. It would be... beneficial for you to attend."

Lana, unfazed by the not-so-subtle pass, simply tilts her head, considering. "An 'informal' party, you say?"

Her lips curl into a knowing smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes but ensnares the politician's hopes in its web. "You've piqued my interest. Send the details to Julia."

The sweat on the politician's brow seems to glisten with relief and a touch of something else—anticipation, perhaps. He nods eagerly, oblivious to the trap he's just walked into. "Of course, Ms. Lana. I'll ensure you have everything by this afternoon."

As he gets up to leave, his movements hurried and jittery, it's clear he believes he's made a crucial alliance. But I know better. Lana knows better. We all do.

We've been over this a dozen times before. She knows what she's doing; she doesn't need me to tell her.

It's the fucking stillness that gets to me. The calm, too fucking quiet for my liking. I've always been a man of action; this waiting game is not my forte. I drum my fingers on the table, the only sound in the otherwise silent room echoing like a warning.

Lana. Her name's like a chant in my mind, circling and repeating until it's all I can fucking think about. There's something about her, something dangerous and fucking alluring at once. Like a flame I can't help but gravitate towards.

Lana turns to me, a smirk playing on her lips. "Can you believe that guy? Thinks he's subtle."

I grunt in response, the closest I come to a laugh. "Subtle as a brick."

She shakes her head, the smirk turning into a full smile, a rare sight. "Well, let's see what this 'informal' party has to offer, shall we?"

"Let's." My job is to protect her from threats, not to engage in the petty politics of our world. But if this party presents a threat, any threat, they'll quickly find out just how seriously I take my role.

As we leave the building, my mind shifts into autopilot, cataloging exits, memorizing faces, and noting potential threats. This place, likely the venue for the upcoming "informal" gathering, now exists as a mapped terrain in my mental arsenal. Lana walks beside me, her presence commanding yet subtly on edge—a side of her few get to see.

Once settled in the car, the privacy window pulled up to separate us from the driver, Lana turns to me, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. "Grigori, can we... maybe skip our sparring sessions for a week or two?"

Her request throws me. Sparring is not just routine; it's our ritual. It's where we shed the roles of leader and protector and just become Lana and Grigori, equals on the mat. For her to suggest pausing it, something's off. "Are you alright?" Concern laces my words, more pronounced than I intend. She never misses sparring. Never.

She looks away for a moment, and I can see the gears turning, the internal debate raging behind her stoic facade. It's a side of her she rarely shows, this vulnerability, this indecision.

"You know you can share anything with me," I say, my voice steady, hoping to bridge the distance her silence has created. "Whatever it is, Lana."

There's a hesitation, a visible gathering of thoughts before she meets my gaze, a storm brewing in her eyes. "Grigori... I'm pregnant."

For a moment, I'm lost, adrift in a sea of emotions I hadn't expected to feel. My face must betray nothing of the turmoil inside because I manage to look at her blankly for a full minute before the only question that matters finds its way past my lips. "Am — I — ?"

"I don't know."

I nod, once, sharply. That's that. Our conversations have always been simple, straightforward. No need for flowery words or grand gestures. We've shared beds, shared secrets, shared dangers, but never illusions about what we were to each other.

The revelation doesn't change the fundamental nature of our relationship. I've no interest in romance, in weaving love into the already complex tapestry of our lives. I'm content with the status quo, with the understanding that what happens between us is borne of need, of momentary desire, not of lasting bonds.

Suddenly, the car feels too small, as if the very walls are closing in on us. I look at her, really look at her. Small, petite even, yet she's always been strong enough to handle everything life throws at her. But now, she looks fragile - a porcelain doll I could break with a rough touch.

"Are you going to keep the baby?"

I cut straight to the chase, no fluff, no dancing around the elephant in the room. It's not like us to skirt around the hard topics.

She sighs, heavy, like she's carrying the weight of the whole damned operation on her shoulders. "I don't know. Part of me wants to, but shit, you know what it's like growing up around here. It's a minefield, not a playground."

I reach out, grab her hand. Not gently, but firm, making sure she feels it, making sure she knows I'm right here. I continue, lifting her chin with my free hand so she can't dodge my piercing gaze. "

Lana, if you want to keep this kid, we'll make it work. Yeah, Bratva life ain't no candyland, but we've seen worse. We've done worse. And we survived."

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