Page 33 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“You know, I don’t think that woman approves of my mothering skills. I should probably rein in the cursing.”

Dima shrugs. “My father did far worse than curse in front of me. I turned out fine.”

Again, I dissolve into a fit of riotous, uncontrollable laughing. This time, Dima joins in.

Stress release—that’s what it is. After a day like we’ve both had, the emotion has to come out one way or another. I’ll take a laugh attack over violent sobs. It was back-and-forth between those two options for a while. Still is, really.

“I turned out okay, anyway,” he amends. “The guys after me are mad because I won’t join in with the Albanians and their human trafficking ring. So that makes me better than the Albanians, at least.”

My laughter dies rather quickly.

And I remember just what kind of man I’m with.

11

Arya

A MOTEL SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF NEW YORK CITY

“You don’t have as many questions as I thought you would.”

Dima rolls in the bassinet provided by the motel and leaves it next to the bed. It’s an ancient wooden thing, covered in years of unwashed grime, with a mattress that is more yellow than white.

“I am not putting my baby in that,” I say, holding Lukas closer to my chest. “It’s horrific.”

“It’s all they have. I threatened the man at the front desk to go buy a new one, but he said the only store around here won’t open until the morning.”

I sigh. “It’s fine. I’ll hold him.”

“I’ll do it. You need to rest.” He kicks the bassinet away and reaches out for Lukas.

Before he can, I turn around and begin changing Lukas’s diaper. It’s not wet yet, but I need something to do with my hands. Also, I’m not ready to hand over my baby.

Dima sits down on the end of the single queen-sized bed. The springs squeal under his weight.

“You’re handling this too well,” he remarks. “You should be freaking the fuck out.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“You should be freaking out more,” he amends. “Most women would be terrified. Of me. Of the situation. They’d be trembling in a pile in the corner, crying to make calls to family or the police. But you… You’re not.”

I tape the diaper closed again and tuck Lukas’s legs back into his onesie. “I’m good under pressure.”

That’s true. But it’s sure as hell not the whole story.

“And that night at the clinic, you weren’t scared of the gun.”

“Maybe you’re just not as scary as you think you are.”

“You also asked about the Albanians.”

I keep fussing with the buttons on Lukas’s onesie, opening and closing them. I need something to do with my trembling hands and I don’t want Dima to see the rising color in my cheeks.

“There are stories about mob business all over the news. I just assumed. You all aren’t exactly discreet, as evidenced by the shootout you had at the hospital this afternoon.”

I stand up and lay Lukas over my shoulder, patting his back gently. It’s soothing for him and for me. A way to work out my nervous energy.

“You don’t have anyone you want to call?” he rumbles. “Any family?”

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