Page 5 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
Yuri blinks. “You want a team?”
“No.”
He hesitates. “You want a car?”
I look out the long window at the end of the hall. The glass is wet, streaked with the remnants of rain. Down below, the street’s gleaming—slick with water, lit by reflections of rusted red and cold fluorescent blue. It reminds me of something distant. Home, maybe. Before it all went to shit.
“I’ll walk.”
Neither of them questions it. Smart men.
I take the stairs down, footsteps echoing through the narrow shaft. No one follows.
Outside, the city breathes different. Heavy, damp air settles over my shoulders like a second coat. Steam rises from the grates along the curb. Tires hiss through puddles. The scentof rain and oil clings to everything. It’s cleaner than blood. Less honest, but cleaner.
I keep to the edges, slipping down side streets and alleys, hands in my coat pockets. My boots splash through shallow water, soaking the cuffs of my pants. I don’t care. There’s something about walking—about having the earth under your feet instead of behind glass—that makes everything sharper.
I think about the girl they tried to saddle me with. Katerina. The name itself is soft. Delicate. A man like her father wouldn’t raise a daughter with morals. I know that type. Flashy suits, big rings, louder words. He talks about tradition and loyalty, but he’s just another coward propping up his empire with perfume and overpriced vodka. The kind of man who hides behind the softness of women because he’s too scared to bleed for himself.
He wants to trade her like currency. I want nothing to do with it.
I take a corner fast, cutting through a loading zone littered with broken pallets and wet cardboard. The warehouse district isn’t far. Rows of squat buildings and long alleys. Barbed wire fences and rusted roll-up doors. Old gang tags faded into brick, like ghosts of younger wars.
My mood’s getting worse.
I think about Yuri’s face when I told him no. About the twitch in his jaw, the way he looked at me like a dog too wild to keep on the leash. Maybe I am. Maybe they should’ve figured that out before they handed me a gun.
They talk about politics, marriage, legacy. I think about blood. About loyalty. About the men I’ve buried in shallow graves for breaking it.
I don’t want a wife. Not now, not when I still have debts to collect. Not when I’ve got a list of names carved into my memory, and most of them haven’t bled yet.
The rain’s left everything washed and shining, but it’s only skin deep. The dirt’s still underneath. Always is.
I slow near the overpass. A group of kids sprint by on the opposite side of the street, laughing, their feet slapping against the wet concrete. None of them notice me. Good. I prefer it that way. I pass a shuttered coffee stand and a flickering neon sign half spelled out in Cyrillic. Familiar. Ghosts of old promises and long-dead deals echo here.
The warehouse comes into view.
Old brick, metal siding, blacked-out windows on the second floor. A loading dock stretches across the back, the doors half open. There’s a flicker of movement inside; two silhouettes shifting around a third, smaller form. On his knees. Good. They got him ready.
I head for the side door, pushing it open with my shoulder.
Inside, the air is colder. Smells like oil and blood and damp wood. My men are already in place—quiet, steady, watching me without speaking. One nods. The other doesn’t even blink. I trained them better than that.
The traitor’s not here yet, only the dealer. The possible link.
He’s cuffed, bruised. His lip’s split and one eye’s swelling. He still tries to smile when he sees me. It pisses me off.
I cross the room slowly, my footsteps echoing loud against the concrete. My hand brushes the grip of my pistol, but I don’t draw it.
Yuri speaks first. “You walk all the way here in that coat?” His voice is quiet, but the smirk’s there, tucked behind the edge of it.
I don’t look at him. “Didn’t want to smell like cheap air freshener.”
“You look like you crawled out of the river,” Arseni mutters, arms folded, leaning against the far wall. “We tailed you. Figured you’d get bored of playing ghost and want backup after all.”
“I didn’t.”
He shrugs. “We came anyway.”
