Page 1 of The Bratva's Secret Baby

Prologue

Rosanne

Present

Blissful silence greeted me as I strolled into my favorite coffee shop, a welcome respite from all the chaos outside.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and croissants, savoring their rich flavors.

It was the middle of summer, and after a long day defending clients in the courtroom, Café Top Pot was my ideal escape from the bustling and sun-drenched city of New York.

It was only a small café, hidden between two larger buildings, and seemed out of place, but it held a salient memory that I’d clung to for years.

Memories that had now transitioned into a nightmare.

Small tables surrounded by chairs with patterned cushions were scattered throughout the café. An old couple sat at a table at the far end of the café, humming to the soft jazz sounds in the background, their gray eyes shining with happiness and a life well lived.

So much love.

My gaze drifted to two sofas facing each other. I took a sharp breath, my eyes prickling at the thought of my brother sitting there and drawing a portrait of me.

That was the last time I saw him alive, and it was the beginning of my nightmares.

“Good afternoon, Ms. West,” one of the friendly baristas, Harry, said, pulling me back to the present. Harry was a seventy-year-old man with very dark eyes and the brightest smile I’d ever seen. He was the oldest barista in Café Top Pot, and the best one too.

It was no wonder my brother Eric was addicted to this place. But unlike me, he loved his latte with extra foam on top.

I smiled back at him, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat as I thought of Eric. “Good afternoon, Harry. May I have a cup of macchiato, please?”

“Of course. Would you like waffles?”

I shook my head. “No, no waffles.”

“Coming right up!” he shouted, disappearing behind a brand-new espresso machine. I wandered over to Eric’s favorite spot. Nesting on one of the chairs, I shifted my gaze to the windows. From here, I could watch the sunset as it painted brilliant golden hues in the blue sky.

A few minutes later, Harry arrived with a cup of freshly brewed macchiato, its steaming liquid emblazoned with a white on-brown flower, and a plate of hot waffles drenched in maple syrup.

My mouth flew open to protest for the extra treat, but I smiled instead when he winked at me.

“This one’s on the house, kid. Enjoy.”

He was already gone again and couldn’t hear me, yet I murmured a “thank you” to him before taking a sip of my cup of macchiato.

Warmth spread through my chest as memories of my first visit to this café began flooding into my mind.

Eric had brought me here to apologize after our big fight before tragedy struck a second time. Our parents died in a fatal car accident when I was six years old, and Eric, who was ten years older, took care of me from then on.

Four years later, he passed the New York Civil Service exam and joined the New York Police Department. He’d thought he could send me to college after getting a job, and he’d worked extremely hard.

But my brother only grew frustrated each day that passed, and one day, he stopped coming home, using his job as an excuse. Eventually, he confided in me that an organization called The Circle was after him. I did some research and found out that it was a criminal organization, a money laundering operation, belonging to the Russian mafia.

The night I confronted Eric about joining this organization of thieves and murderers was the last time he brought me here. He’d told me that he wanted out and we would leave the country and go into hiding.

I hated him. I hated that he had become a criminal. I loathed the idea that I would have to live in hiding for sins that weren’t mine. My anger toward him might not have been so strong had I known our time together would be limited.

He wanted to make it up to me and spend the rest of his life being a good cop, but he never got the chance.

My brother was murdered that night.

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