Page 12 of Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss

But that was before…

A knock raps hard against the window of the truck, and I nearly drop my cigarette. It’s only Yuri, outside in the dark, his face lit pale as a ghoul’s against the wet night. I release a sigh of relief and get out.

“Well?” He presses, eyeing the truck, as if I might have Konstantin hogtied in the bed. “Any luck?”

“None. How were things here? Anything amiss?”

He gives a shake of his head as we begin walking up the drive. “Reports are clear across town. We’ve watched each of the marked residences and sites of employment, but Konstantin’s men have been laying low.”

“Suspiciously low.”

“Yes.” His eyes darken. He holds his rifle unflinchingly, like the soldier he is. “The girl is fine. Her son is fine. Her family and friends are fine.”

I slow down as we reach the porch. Inside, all the blinds are shut, nothing but a thin corner of light visible from inside the kitchen. I don’t know why, but this alone gives my heart a sharp little flutter, an unfamiliar, and honestly unwelcome, feeling.Kat, I think, and then just as quickly:What the hell is wrong with me?

“This raises questions,” says Yuri. I feel him watching me, though I don’t look at him. “Why is he waiting? What is he waiting for? Did he lure you here, is this a trap?”

“It’s not a trap,” I tell my old friend, slanting my gaze toward him. “It’s a game. One I intend to win. I know Konstantin. Better than anyone, I’d argue. He’s trying to lure me into leaving, or doing something stupid. At present I’m not planning to do either.”

“Hm.”

I touch Yuri’s shoulder. “Are the men rested? We can rotate into the hotel so they can clean up, eat. Get some sleep.”

“I’ve already taken the liberty.”

“Good. I’ve set out some feelers. Some bait. Hopefully by tomorrow, I’ll have caught something, and we can smoke him out and end this once and for all.” I tip back my head, appraising the sprawling, wild sky. It reminds me of where I grew up, thisplace; quiet and vast, kept out of the way like a secret. It makes me wish, wistfully, and in an alien way, that I would never have to return to the bustle and noise of Moscow. Or my mother. Or my uncle. “This will all be over soon,” I say, almost to myself.

Almost regretting the ring of its truth, even as the words leave my mouth.

***

I watch her; I shouldn’t, but I do, anyways.

She is truly beautiful. Not in a way that would photograph well for social media, or strike a man dumb. She’s beautiful in a way that asks me to look again, to check twice, like in her face, in the lines of her lips and nose, in her eyes, there might be secrets waiting to be discovered. Gems, for the clever, curious, prizing fingers…

“I still don’t like it,” she says, looking up from her computer. We’re in her living room, on her sofas. There are three of them, arranged like a box with one side missing. She’s as far as she can be from me without physically leaving the room.Good. It’s safest that way. For both of us.“I know I’m the target. I’m the time bomb. But I don’t like it, being away from my son.”

“I know.”

“What can I do?” Her brows knit together, and she closes her laptop, sliding it onto the big coffee table, bringing my awareness back to the decreasing space between us. “Can I…I don’t know, call the police or something? The FBI? Surely, if you left before I did—”

“No.” I look at her hard. “No police. No FBI.”

“But—”

“No police. No FBI. We deal with things how we deal with things.”

She rolls her eyes, and to my surprise, cracks the faintest of smiles. It’s full of amusement, cool and suppressed; like really, she’d prefer to laugh but knows better. It’s very, very cute. Cuteenough to take my breath away, and make it very difficult not to stare at her.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, forcing myself to remove my gaze from her face, instead leaning forward to pour myself a glass of whiskey from the bottle that sits on the table in front of me. When I sit back, settling into my seat, she’s reclining, stretched a little bit over the back of the sofa with her arms flopped to either side. And she’s still smiling that perfect smile.Is she trying to tempt me? Does she know the effect of that smile on a man? Does she have any idea?“Mortal danger is amusing to you?”

“It’s not the mortal danger. It’s all thetalkof mortal danger. And all of this…display, you know? All the pomp and circumstance. ‘No cops, no FBI.’ The mafia, the bratva, the business of rivals and gangs and syndicates and organized crime…” Somehow, despite everything, Kat can laugh in this moment. “It’s unbelievable.”

“It’s believable to me. It’s my life, and it always has been. I’ve lived it every day for as long as I can remember.”

“Not every day,” she says, and her gaze flashes to meet mine, coy and deep and dark. Her smile has a hook of mischief in it. I remember that exact look. It was one of the first that caused me to really look at her, to see if I could discover what that unseen magic was that hid behind her eyes. “Some days you were preoccupied…with other things,” she continues, her voice unwavering as she plays with her hands in her lap, sin playing on her words. I need to look away, but I’m being drawn in by her low voice. “Other people. Other…activities.”

She’s…flirting with me.This feverish realization hits me like a freight truck, tightening my grip that’s placed around the glass of whiskey in my hand. It also tightens the place below my navel, my pants suddenly becoming uncomfortably tight. A rush of flashes speed through my mind, elusive and dark as smoke:her body arched beneath mine, writhing around as my hands wandered across her hot skin; my palm pressed rough against the inside of her thigh, gripping her tightly; a sweet, startled gasp, a moan, her hands quickly and sloppily making their way into my hair, gripping roughly.

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