Page 58 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“Take a shower, get settled, and come down for dinner.” Brigitte scoops Lukas out of his car seat and cradles him delicately against her shoulder. “I’ll watch the little guy for you.”

I haven’t been away from Lukas since he was born, so I’m hesitant to let even my best friend walk away with him. But I also feel straight-up disgusting.

I haven’t taken a real shower since he was born. Washcloth wipe-downs in a motel sink most definitely do not count. The thought of an actual shower, clean and with hot running water, is enough to bring tears to my eyes.

“Okay. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Brigitte says. “We’ll be fine.”

I rush through my shower anyway. When I’m clean, I throw on a pair of clean sweats and a large t-shirt Brigitte stole from her brother’s closet.

I feel weird wearing his clothes, but I can’t put back on my “Big Apple” sweatpants. Hideousness aside, there are too many weirdly thorny memories attached to those. Memories of Dima.

I wonder where he is now. I hope he’s found someplace safe to hide. Even if I’ll never see him again, I don’t want him dead.

He did right by me and Lukas.

I won’t forget that.

Lukas cries. I can hear Brigitte trying to soothe him. I quickly tug a brush through my hair and head downstairs.

This is a good reminder that my first priority will forever and always be Lukas. He needs me and I’m all he has. I can’t let him down.

Brigitte and Erik are both leaning over Lukas, who is lying on the floor, making faces and cooing at him. Lukas doesn’t seem to appreciate their efforts even the littlest bit. He’s wailing, red-faced, and angry.

“I think he’s hungry,” I explain, bending down gingerly to pick him up.

Brigitte sits down on the sofa. She already looks exhausted after fifteen minutes of babysitting. “Are you nursing? Formula is so much easier. And just as good for the baby.”

“Nursing is free,” I reply, making a show of unhooking my nursing bra to give Erik plenty of time to avert his eyes.

But he doesn’t.

It’s weird, but Brigitte said to make myself at home, so I will. That means nursing my baby in peace and comfort, not with a blanket thrown over both of our heads.

I’d probably be more bothered by Erik’s leering if I hadn’t just spent two days running from mobsters and being shot at. Compared to that, dealing with standard male perversion is a walk in the park.

Plus, I’m thrilled to be sitting on a comfortable sofa with my feet up and a trashy television show on. It’s not the same as beinghomehome, but it’s as good as it’s going to get.

I’ll take it.

Erik hangs around. He’s a tall, stocky guy with a three-day beard and pale blue eyes that sort of wander around all the time. Theoretically, he’s swiping through Tinder on his phone while Brigitte and I watch TV.

But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s got his full attention locked on me.

I try to dismiss the thought. Maybe Dima’s constant paranoia was contagious.

Lukas eats and burps, but he doesn’t go back to sleep right away. So I prop him up on my knees and play with his fingers and toes. Still, he seems discontented.

“Is he okay?” Brigitte asks. “Is he still hungry?”

“No. He stopped eating on his own. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

He has been such a dream the last few days that I thought it would always be that easy. Exhausting, but simple. Now, however, I have no idea what he wants.

I walk around the room while swaying side to side, I sing to him, I check his diaper multiple times to make sure it isn’t dirty. Nothing helps.

“I’m going to order food,” Erik says, bailing for the kitchen. Brigitte follows a second later, murmuring something about helping him choose a restaurant to call in.

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