Page 59 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“What is it, babe?” I whisper to my boy, pressing my cheeks against his warm little face. “What’s wrong?”

As if he wishes he could tell me, Lukas wails even louder.

I shush him and go upstairs to wander up and down the hallway some more. Only when I start to sing softly does he settle down somewhat and fall into an uneasy sleep. But it doesn’t feel right.

And I can’t help but think it has something to do with Dima not being here.

Dima’s face was the first face Lukas ever saw. The first hands he ever felt. His introduction to this world.

“I know, baby,” I sing-song, continuing to sway him so he doesn’t wake up. “You miss your dada?”

As awkward and clunky as that word feels on my lips… something strange happens in my chest when I say it.

I don’t know what to call that feeling or how to deal with it. So I shove it aside in that dark part of my heart reserved for things that shouldn’t see the light of day.

Even though that part of me is getting awfully crowded.

And yet, right then, it hits me suddenly how many conversations we’re going to have over the years about Lukas’s “dada.”

Dima, regardless of the fact he won’t actually be in Lukas’s life, is inevitably going to be in Lukas’s life—in some form. He will always be the person who gave him half his genes. The person who holds the key to the other side of his family tree. He’ll always be the person Lukas wants to know but can’t.

For his sake, it would be best if I never tell him the truth. The truth of what Dima does—who he is—is far too dangerous.

I picture Lukas growing older and that haunted stormy look coming into his eyes the way it lives in Dima’s. The look of a man who’s seen bad things. Who’s done bad things.

I don’t want that for my child. Whatever Dima is running from, I’m determined to spare Lukas from the same fate.

The horrifying thought sends a shiver down my spine. I hug my baby a little bit closer.

It is best that my story with Dima ends here. I make myself a promise: from this point on, it will be as if he never stopped to help me deliver Lukas.

As if Fyodor and his men never came into my recovery room.

As if we were never shot at, never ran, never even left the hospital.

The real story will stay with me. Lukas never needs to know.

We’ll all be better off.

20

Arya

Erik orders Chinese food and Brigitte holds Lukas while I gorge myself on dumplings.

“We should have gotten a double order of dumplings, apparently,” Brigitte teases.

“I’m sorry. Nursing makes me so hungry.”

“I’ve also heard it helps you lose the baby weight, too. Though eating a family size serving of dumplings by yourself might undo some of that benefit.”

I kick her under the table, she winks at me, and we both laugh.

It feels like old times. Back in the days when we’d lounge on the couch with takeout and wine, trashy rom-coms on the television, not a care in the world.

“Don’t listen to her. Eat up, Arya. You need a good meal in you.” Erik says. He uses his chopsticks to pick up a dumpling from his plate and drop it on mine.

My laugh fades away awkwardly, though I thank him with a smile. He’s weird, no doubt about that. But he’s nice. Right now, that’s enough.

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