Page 17 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“That’s something, at least,” she says. “More than you gave me about your son’s father! I thought after the reaming I gave you for that, you’d pay better attention.”

Brigitte is the only one who knows the story of how I got pregnant. Anyone else would judge me as a shameless slut. But Brigitte knows me well enough to know how out of character it was for me to have sex with a gun-wielding stranger. At my place of work, no less.

Shedidhate me for not getting a better look at him. “Your kid could come out with three eyes and scales for all you know,” she’dsaid when I told her the man never took off his hoodie that night.

“I saw enough of his skin to know he was human,” I’d replied with a wicked smile.

For a few weeks, the tryst was a wild story I replayed more than once under my sheets, drawing on the fantasy to get me through the world’s longest dry spell.

But it was just a story. Just a memory.

Then I missed my period.

When the positive sign appeared on the pregnancy test, I wanted to go back in time and undo everything. No quickie was worth that.

Now, however, looking down at the snoozing baby laying on my chest, I can’t imagine taking it back.

I was wrong. This little one is worth everything.

“I’ll let you go,” Brigitte says quickly. “I’m sure you’re busy being a mom.”

We say a quick goodbye and promise to talk later. When we hang up, I place my phone on the table again.

The enormity of what I’m embarking on starts to wash over me.

Preparation has been the name of my baby game. Every time I went to the store since the moment I found out I was pregnant, I bought a pack of diapers to help spread out the cost over a longer period of time. I read parenting books, watched videos online, and took all of the free classes offered, from childbirth to CPR.

Like everything else in my life, I assumed this would be a challenge I could conquer if I worked hard enough.

Except no one really “conquers” parenting, do they? Looking down at my baby boy, I realize he will be mine forever. I’ll always be a mom first. Even when he’s grown and out of the house, I’ll worry about him.

If I’m a good mom, that is. I’ve had more than enough experience with bad moms to know they don’t do a lot of worrying.

My mom wasn’t ever worried about me. It’s why I ended up where I did. With who I did. It’s how I got these scars on my chin.

I touch them absent-mindedly, the way I’ve done since the explosion tore my world apart all those years ago.

And as I do, I make myself a promise: I’m going to be one of the good ones.

Even after the past I’ve had, I have to believe that there’s hope for redemption in my future.

“Lukas.” I whisper the name that has been at the top of my list of baby names for months. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud and I like it.

Lukas seems to like it, too. He turns his little head up at the sound of my voice and opens one of his eyes. It takes him a second, but he eventually focuses on me. I think it’s his way of approving my choice.

“I love you, Lukas,” I whisper, brushing my finger across his cheek. “I’ll always love you.”

He falls asleep nursing. I eventually unlatch him and hold him against my chest.

I don’t know how long I’ve been awake, but I’m surprised a nurse hasn’t come in to check on us. I was so out of it when they wheeled me into the hospital that I’m not sure what has been done and what hasn’t.

Has Lukas been tested? Weighed? Measured?

Did I tell them it took him a few seconds to cry after he was born? I don’t think I did, so I mentally tick that off as something to ask the doctor about whenever they come in.

Speaking of which, did somebody call my doctor?

Dr. Johnson told me to call her if I was worried about when to get to the hospital, but I thought I had it all under control. She’ll probably be mad at me for waiting so long. I did save myself a pretty penny by doing itau naturelon the side of the road rather than at the hospital.

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