Page 59 of Sold to the Bratva
He sighs. “And you’re eight-and-a-half months pregnant. Pardon me for wanting to make sure you take care of yourself.”
Warmth tightens my chest. “I’ll allow it, but I really need to speak to your supervisor about this.”
“You’re my supervisor,” he teases.
After a few more sweet nothings, we hang up, and I slip the phone into my purse. Evie smirks at me.
“What?”
“You’re disgustingly adorable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The driver helps us load the bags into the trunk, and the two of us part ways. As he eases into traffic, I can’t help wondering how I got so lucky.
23
ISAAC
The office door clicks shut as Mikhail slips inside, a folder tucked beneath his arm and a surprisingly serene look softening his features. I glance up from the paperwork strewn across my desk and offer a terse nod. He places the file on the edge of the desk before settling into the leather chair across from me.
“Shipments from the Jersey side arrived without a hitch. We’re officially six months incident-free, and every business is running like clockwork.”
I let out a slow breath. “Good.”
He studies me for a moment before a smirk tugs at his mouth. “You know, you look weird.”
I lift a brow. “Weird?” It’s not a word I’ve ever heard him use. “Weird how?”
“Weird, like you’re happy.”
I huff a quiet laugh and lean back. “You’ve never seen me happy?” I ask, though we both know exactly what he means.
“Not this kind of happy,” he says. “Not the kind that shows up when a man’s getting laid on the regular.”
“Watch it,” I say in mock warning. “That’s my wife you’re talking about in such a lewd way.”
I glance at the ring on my finger, then at the ultrasound photo pinned beneath the corner of my monitor. It’s from our first appointment, a black-and-white printout, more blur than baby. If the doctor hadn’t traced the outline, I’d never know what I was looking at. Still, that smudge stole my heart the instant I saw it.
Mikhail steeples his fingers. “Married life suits you,” he says. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Neither did I,” I tell him honestly.
He lets the silence stretch for a beat, then cocks his head. “Are you nervous?”
“About the baby?”
He nods.
I hesitate.
“A little.”
Mikhail leans forward. “Talk to me.”
I close the file in front of me, all thoughts of operations and profit margins fading beneath the weight of the scariest thing I’ve ever faced.
Fatherhood.
