Page 4 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
Or maybe it was just the paranoia kicking in.
Whatever the case, I needed to be more careful.
Then I heard it: the quiet footsteps behind me, slow and deliberate. My eyes flickered to the pencil on the table. In one swift motion, I snatched it up, spinning around with the point aimed like a makeshift weapon.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Black Widow!” Lani raised her hands in surrender. “It’s just me.”
My eyes glanced around for a second, my chest heaving with slow, labored breaths. Then, I lowered my hand, blinking a few times to get a grip on myself. “Sorry. I don’t like being sneaked upon.”
“I can see that,” she said, watching me closely.
I turned around, packed up my stuff, and was ready to call it a day.
“You know, you’re too pretty to be violent like that,” Lani said from behind me.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and faced her. “Pretty doesn’t keep you safe in this city.”
She raised her brows but said nothing.
“Have a good night, Lani.” I tapped her shoulder and headed out into the night.
Everyone thought that I was strange, mysterious. But they had no idea who I was, and I planned to keep it that way.
Chapter 2 – Yulian
New York. The Big Apple. The City that Never Sleeps—a land of opportunity, or so they say. A place where anyone can become anything.
I’d never loved it here. Not even once. It was too loud, too fast, and too full of people who talked big and walked like gods until they were cornered in an alley with a gun to their ribs.
The constant wail of sirens, the rumble of the subway, and the cacophony of car horns all created a symphony of chaos. Not the kind that suited my personality.
We’d just landed at the airport, and I already couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. My lieutenant, Maxim, could tell that I was itching to leave. And although he didn’t say a word, that crooked smirk on his lips betrayed his amusement. The son of a gun was clearly enjoying my discomfort.
Good news was, I wouldn’t be here for long. Once my business here was concluded, I’d be flying back to Chicago, back to the city I was all too familiar with. Here, I was an alien with no intentions of mingling with the locals—none whatsoever.
Word on the street was that the fucking Italians were at it again, meddling with Bratva affairs, interfering with our shipments, bleeding profits from our territory like leeches. They were trespassing. Again. Operating on our turf like they owned the damn streets.
It was my job to set things straight—to take care of those greedy bastards and remind them of who the fuck ran this city. The Italians just wouldn’t stay in their lane. Those arrogant sons of bitches were natural-born troublemakers. But this time, they’d met their match.
Their actions had forced my hand, compelling me to go to the one city I hated the most. Now, they had my attention; they had the full dose of it.
I stepped off my private jet and into the cold wind that carried the scent of the Hudson and rot. Above, the sky was the same steel gray as my mood, my expression blank, unreadable. Clad in a dark trench coat, I headed toward the black SUV waiting across the jet. A few of my men flanked me, forming a semicircle around me to keep me safe.
One of them grabbed the back door handle and yanked it open. I stepped inside, and he closed it firmly behind me. Maxim Reznik sat on the other side, flipping through the pages of a file with narrowing eyes.
The driver started the engine and set the vehicle in motion.
Maxim sighed softly and raised his head, handing me the file. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked, accepting it.
He adjusted his black blazer. “Update on the minor sabotage.”
My brows arched. “Minor?”
“It’s low level,” he answered. “Nothing flashy.”
My gaze shifted to the file in my hand, studying every detail.
