Page 65 of Sold to the Bratva
Mikhail stands in the doorway, looking mildly traumatized.
“Is this a bad time?” he asks. “I can come back in… two minutes?”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “It’s fine,” I say, exasperated.
“I’m actually just leaving,” Katya says sweetly.
I help her up and watch as she heads for the door. “For the record, we’d need at least half an hour.”
Even without seeing her face, I know she just winked at Mikhail. His jaw drops, then he shakes his head and laughs.
Once she is gone, he shuts the door and drops into the chair across from me, spreading out the files we were working on earlier. We do not speak for a while as the silence is easy and familiar. Mikhail and I have logged thousands of hours like this, poring over Bratva paperwork. I used to be a lot more focused, though.
My attention keeps drifting toward the hallway, ears tuned for any sign of Katya. I don’t know when I became so attuned to her presence, but it’s constant now, as if my whole body recalibrated the moment I learned she was pregnant.
“You’re distracted,” Mikhail mutters without looking up.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I smirk and slide one of the reports back toward him. “Then read faster.”
We settle into a steady rhythm, flipping pages, trading notes, recalculating next week’s shipment schedule to account for the new security upgrades. Business has been steady and the past few months have been oddly smooth considering the chaos that came before. Peace in our world never lasts.
The sun is just beginning to sink behind the skyline, bathing the office in molten amber, when a gunshot cracks through the house. I’ve heard that sound hundreds of times. Instinct kicks in. I reach under the desk for my own firearm even as confusion twists in my chest.
I’m out of my chair before I even realize I’ve moved. The reports scatter like dead leaves as I throw open the office door and scan the hall. Mikhail is already on his feet, gun drawn, face stone-cold and alert.
We see nothing, and then another burst of gunfire erupts near the entryway, and we both duck instinctively. I am ready to charge forward and defend my home, then I remember what I am really defending. Katya.
The last time I saw her, she was heading to our bedroom for a nap, on the opposite side of the house and beyond the gunfire. My blood runs cold.
“I need you to get to Katya,” I bark at Mikhail. “Get her out of the house. Now.”
He’s about to argue, but one look at my face shuts him up. He slips into the hallway, every step deliberate and silent. I watchhim disappear around the corner and send up a silent prayer that he reaches her in time.
When he’s gone, I close the door and back toward my desk, bracing my spine against the bookshelf. My men should be able to neutralize the threat before it goes too far. We’ve trained for this.
Yet whoever is shooting has already breached my outer gates and the inner perimeter. What good are my men if an enemy can get this far into the house?
The thought barely forms before the door explodes inward. I’m ready to tear into Mikhail for failing to get Katya clear, prepared to rip him apart.
But it isn’t Mikhail standing there. Oleg Grinkov and Viktor Belov stride in with their guns leveled at my chest.
I bare my teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?”
26
KATYA
I’m dreaming of fireworks, maybe the Fourth of July, maybe New Year’s Eve. The sky should pulse with celebration, yet a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. I turn to Isaac, and his face is ashen. He isn’t smiling. He’s terrified. I’ve never seen him scared, and that alone jerks me awake.
At first I chalk the panic up to lingering dream-fog, but then the crack splits the air again, louder and sharper. Gunfire. My heart slams against my ribs as I bolt upright, palms flying to shield my belly.
I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, one arm cradling the swell of my belly while I try to make sense of the chaos. A hundred thoughts batter me at once.Is Isaac okay? Where is he? What in God’s name is happening?
I’m still three strides from the door when it blasts inward and Mikhail barrels through, gun raised, eyes blazing.
