Page 49 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“Fine, I lied!” Arya bursts out. “She tracked my phone. She was worried about me because I hadn’t answered her calls or texts, so she traced my phone. She was already close by when I called her.”

“Ti dura,” I curse under my breath in Russian.

I charge into the room, sending the two women scattering to get out of my way, and dig through the plastic shopping bags until I find Arya’s phone. I power it down and then smash it into a dozen pieces against the corner of the entertainment center for good measure.

“Hey!” Arya protests.

I hurl the pieces to the floor. “I should have done that yesterday. I was stupid to think your phone couldn’t be traced.”

“Just by Brigitte. She’s not here to hurt me.”

“Perhaps not. But someone elseis.”

Arya starts to ask, “What are you—”

But my attention shifts elsewhere before she can finish the question. Because I just noticed something.

Her bags are packed. The piles of new clothes I’d bought for her and Lukas, the diapers, the wipes—everything that had been scattered around the room before I’d left is now stacked neatly in a pair of unzipped duffels.

And Arya is holding a note in her hand.

I slide my gaze up to her face. She can’t quite meet my eyes. Her chin wobbles imperceptibly.

I reach out and snatch the hotel memo pad from her hand. Written in a neat, looping script is a goodbye note.

Dima—

As you can tell, I left.

I won’t say where I’m going, but I’ll be safe. Safer than on the road with you. When things settle down, find me and we can work something out with Lukas. As much as I want to give him a normal life away from all the shit that seems to follow you around, he should know his dad.

Sorry,

Arya

Anger bubbles up in my chest. Hot. Molten. Relentless.

“We can ‘work something out’ with Lukas?” I growl. I take a slow, menacing step to halve the distance between us. “You think you’ll be safer somewhere else?”

“She needs to rest and recover,” Brigitte snaps. “She shouldn’t be taking a road trip.”

Without even looking at the blond bitch, I snarl, “Fuck you.”

“Hey!” Arya steps between us and lays her hand over mine.

I jerk my hand away and talk over her head at the bitch who thinks she knows better than me. “You think I want my newborn son to sleep in a shithole like this? Do you think I meant for any of this to happen? We don’t need you. I’m handling the fucking situation.”

“It isn’t good enough,” Brigitte retorts.

Arya turns on her friend. “Enough, Bridge. Okay?”

“You’re defending him? He’s the reason any of this is happening! You need to come with me and let me protect you.”

I snort. “No fucking way.”

“You’re not her keeper.”

“Not forever,” I agree, “but so long as you want to put her in harm’s way, I will be. I’m not going to let anything happen to her or my son.”

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