Page 1 of Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss

Chapter One

Kat

“You’re kidding me.” I stare at the text on my phone, half in disbelief, half completely unsurprised. My ride just canceled on me.That’s what I get for asking someone I barely know. That’s the last time I ask you for a favor, ex-coworker.But since my car is in the shop, and I already asked the world of everyone around me, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. “Well, shit.”

I look up at the office building that I share with a few other tenants, where I have what passes as my own office and little photo studio. I can barely afford it these days, but commuting from my upstate farmhouse was starting to become a serious hassle.

It doesn’t help that in a town this small there are only a few Uber drivers, and none of them are out now. I refresh the app once, twice, three times. Nothing.Great.What the hell am I supposed to do now, wait for a bus? Are any even out this late?Stranded, as always. I guess that’s just my thing now.

I sigh, pacing down the sidewalk. Autumn is here in earnest, the trees all turning and the dark falling swift and sneaky as a thief. There’s a new chill in the air, too, and a spooky little breeze that twists through the boughs of the colorful oaks that line the streets of downtown.

I sit on a bench under a streetlight just as it flicks on, and dial my best friend, Lilia. But she doesn’t answer. I’m not surprised. With her new remote job, she’s been working and sleeping weird hours. I don’t call Mom, either, because she’s babysitting Adam tonight and all of my aunts are over. I love them, but I know what they think of me. And if I have to hear one more sweet-toned comment about Adam being born out of wedlock…I know they mean well, but every comment stings, just a little.

I’m out of options. My brother is at work. My car won’t be out of the shop until the end of the week. Walking the twenty miles just doesn’t seem like the best idea. So, I shoot my brother, James, a text anyway.

Soft wind blowing, I pull my camera out of its bag and begin clicking through the photos from today’s shoot. It was for an engagement, out in the fall-yellow fields beneath the turning trees of a walnut orchard…romantic. Perfectly idyllic.

The couple in the photos looks beautiful, and the sunlight paints them both in a soft, sweet natural gold. Gazing down at the little screen, I can’t help but feel a prick of envy. But marriage was never in the cards for me.

And it never will be.If my aunts knew who Adam’s father was, they’d be glad he was born out of wedlock. They’d be glad I’m unmarried and raising my son alone in the little Podunk town where I grew up.

As always, when I think of him, heat crawls up the back of my neck. That’s why I try not to do it too often. Sheepish, I slide the camera back into its bag, gazing down the empty street as dark continues to fall, the sky’s rich blue deepening. My son, Adam, is three years old now. That means it’s been three years and nine months—or thereabouts—since I last saw him.

And I never will again.

My phone buzzes as a text comes in, from James:Out of work in an hour. Get you then kid.

I sigh. Great. Now I have an hour to kill.

I’m at the very edge of downtown and I’m kind of starving after a long day of work, so I get up and start walking toward the bars and restaurants I can hear around the corner. It’s a Thursday, which for most around here means it’s basically the weekend. It’s a pretty small town, where everyone seems to know each other and their business. Usually that doesn’tbother me. Even though right now, I kind of just want to be anonymous.

There’s a newer place on the corner, a bar that’s styled like a saloon. I decide to go there. There’s a lot less of a chance I’ll run into anyone I know if I don’t go to their old haunts.Oh, the joys of living in the town where you grew up.Inside, I order a beer and scoot myself into a back booth, where I can start swiping through photos I want to edit from the shoot earlier.

But just a few sips into my beer, I start to get the weirdest vibe… or a sensation, I guess…that someone is watching me.

When I raise my eyes from my phone, scanning the bar slowly, I don’t find anyone looking at me, even though the place is crowded.

I’m losing it, I think. Ihavebeen working pretty crazy hours lately. Daycare is expensive, and the studio in town is too, though I can’t seem to make myself give it up. I give myself a little shake. Maybe I’m just going crazy.

Still, my spine itches as I drink down my beer and signal the circling waiter for another. When I look around again, I find no one looking at me.OK. Now IknowI’m losing my mind.I drink the second beer a bit more quickly—maybe a littletoo—filing away the folder of photos for later. Every time the door opens, a cool rush of air spills in. It smells more like rain each time.

“You’re not drinking alone, are you?”

I look up. A startlingly good-looking man is standing before me.

I know I don’t know him—I’d remember a face like his, and a body—but I get the creepy sense I’ve seen him before. In a dream, or in a movie or something. He has wavy blonde hair, the kind of silvery pale that makes you think of Alpine skiing vacations and Swiss getaways. He’s wearing a black sweater and slacks, and shiny stylish shoes. The silver watch on his wristlooks like it’s worth more than my car.That’s probably totally true, actually…

Cool blue eyes study me, carefully aloof but too penetrative for me to sit easy. His smile is suave. Confident. No—cocky.

I don’t like that. “Um,” I say, hesitating. “I am, yeah. And that’s not an invitation.”

He chuckles, bemused. He stands idly, leaning there against the booth with both hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t have taken it as one…Katerina.”

What the fuck?I stiffen, staring at him harder. Anxiety is building like a ball of knots in my stomach. I don’t like this. I don’t likehim. At all. “Do I know you?”

“No. No, you don’t know me.” To my horror, the man slowly slides into the booth across from me, folding his hands on the table.

He wears heavy silver rings. All of him is too classy, too suave and expensive for this place, for this whole town—like James Bond walking into a gas station. And yet…he seems unperturbed by how little he fits in with this place. In fact, all his attention is focused on me, like he hasn’t even realized he sticks out like a sore thumb.

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