Page 63 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

My breath catches in my throat. I turn to Brigitte, jaw hanging open. “What?”

When Brigitte looks back at me, her scowl has shifted into a devilish smile. I almost don’t recognize her. The woman staring at me scornfully isn’t my best friend. She’s barely even human.

She’s a fucking monster.

“Erik was supposed to knock you out while you were sleeping so you’d be unconscious while we tied you up and got you ready for transport,” she explains. “Now, you’ll put up a fight, and even though you won’t win, it will still be more difficult than necessary.”

“What are you talking about?” I wheeze.

The words coming out of my throat don’t even feel like mine. I’m struggling to breathe. It feels like my lungs are being squeezed too tightly. I grab the edge of the dresser to keep myself standing.

Brigitte rolls her eyes. “Always so dramatic. That’s what got you into all this mess in the first place, remember? Your drama ended with you in deep debt, and now it’s finally time to pay up.”

This can’t be real.

None of this can be real.

“But I called you,” I stammer, trying to make sense of things. “I invited you to the hotel. This can’t be a plan because—”

Then I remember Brigitte trying to get me to leave the motel with her.

Even after Dima arrived, she tried to convince him that I should ride with her. After that, Then she found a place for us to hide out, but Dima was allowed to come.

Brigitte, my best friend—allegedbest friend, soon-to-be-former best friend—tricked me. She manipulated me into… well, into whatever the fuck is coming next.

And it was all so fucking easy.

Because I trusted her.

“You lied to me,” I whisper, almost to myself.

Brigitte laughs and walks over to Lukas’s bassinet. She lifts his tiny body and lays him across her shoulder. I try to stop her, but Erik moves to cut me off, a manic warning look in his eyes.

“Say goodbye to Mama,” Brigitte croons in a baby voice. She lifts one of Lukas’s hands in a mocking wave.

I’m in no shape to fight. I’m exhausted to the bone and choking with a panic attack and my body has been ravaged by childbirth and mysterious masked gunmen and two days of driving.

But the sight of her touching my son overrides all of that.

I let out an animal scream and throw myself at Erik.

I claw his face. Skin rips. Blood spatters.

For a wild moment, I almost think that I can take both of them down.

Then he grabs my head and promptly slams it as hard as he can against the solid wooden bedpost.

And everything goes black.

21

Dima

Somewhere In Chicago

As soon as I drop Arya off, I dial a number I haven’t called in ten years.

My brother’s.

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