Page 45 of Bratva Baby

“I found something that connects Evan Thorne to Pavel’s murder.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a trail—sloppy in places, like someone wanted it found. I’ve got the details, but I can’t share over the phone.”

Of course not. Fyodor isn’t an idiot, despite his many other faults. “Where?”

“An abandoned café near Yurov Street. Tomorrow night, midnight. If I’m right about this, there are more eyes on us than we thought. We need to be discreet.”

His words carry a warning not to underestimate what’s happening in the shadows. “Midnight, Yurov Street,” I repeat. “If you’re wasting my time—”

“I’m not,” he interrupts. “You’ll see for yourself. Just… come prepared.”

The call cuts off before I can respond. I lower the phone slowly, with my mind racing through the implications of what Fyodor just said. This could ignite a war.

I turn back to Seraphina, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“Business?”

“Yes,” I reply, sliding the phone into my pocket. “Something that requires my immediate attention.”

She nods, but the distance between us feels heavier than before. I step closer, lowering my voice. “You’re not to leave this house without my permission. Understood?”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue. “Understood.”

Good. I hold her gaze for a moment longer before turning and leaving the room. If Fyodor’s information holds up, it might finally bring me closer to the truth about Pavel’s killer.

But something tells me it isn’t going to be that simple.

Chapter 19 - Seraphina

When a door slams downstairs, my heart kicks in my chest. Something about that slam rattles me, but not as much as the thought of what Grigor might be walking into. I’m still furious that he installed a tracker on my phone, that he didn’t trust me enough to ask me outright about my movements. Okay, I guess he did and I lied, but still. That anger doesn’t override the worry no matter how much I know it should. He might have violated my privacy, but I still don’t want him to get hurt.

Grigor’s footsteps shuffle through the entry hall. He’s always on the move, but tonight feels different. A tightness lodges in my gut. I recall the phone call he received yesterday in the middle of our fight, how he grew distant afterward and responded to my questions with brusque half-answers. That’s always how he answers, but the abruptness felt more pronounced this time.

My grip tightens on the banister. Something’s wrong. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s running headlong into danger. If it’s connected to the phone call, it might involve the trap I suspect is being set for him. The thought makes my stomach churn with guilt. I’ve known for days that my father and his allies have been working angles, and I’ve kept quiet, hoping it wouldn’t escalate. I’ve been trying my best to piece things together the last few hours, to try to wrap my mind around what could be happening that’s so urgent.

I replay my last conversation with my father, just hours before Grigor returned home. It was mostly thinly veiled threats and cryptic remarks, but one thing stands out. He mentioned that someone had been tracking Grigor’s movements, saying. At the time, I didn’t think it was that unusual. In this world, youalways keep tabs on anyone you deem a threat, and Grigor is a powerful man. But now…

I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to pass it along to my father. I found some silly information about security details and meeting places. It wasn’t critical, I thought, just a small concession to keep Cecily safe. But what if that was exactly the information the Irish needed to set a trap?

A cold sweat breaks out as realization dawns. I helped them lay the groundwork. And now, Grigor is about to walk right into it. He’s about to charge into a setup. And it’s my fault.

I race down the stairs, nearly colliding with a table in the foyer. My breath comes short as I spot Grigor by the front door, yanking on his coat. He glances up and sees me, but his expression stays rigid.

“I’m leaving,” he says tersely, checking his watch.

“Wait,” I blurt, stepping forward. “You can’t go. Not yet.”

He arches a brow, clearly in no mood for discussion. “This is business.”

“I know, but Grigor… I think it might be a trap. That phone call from Fyodor… You can’t just walk into it.”

His jaw flexes, a sign of annoyance. “So you’ve decided to share your suspicions now?”

I swallow and resist the urge to look at the ground. He’s right. I should’ve told him earlier. But I was paralyzed by fear, worried that he’d blame me for my father’s plotting. “I was afraid you’d accuse me of being in on it.” Okay, that part is true at least, even if I technicallyamin on it.

“So instead you stayed silent, letting me risk my neck? That’s how little you trust me?”

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