Page 30 of Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss

A dull light throbs against my eyes. I feel heavy, exhausted. Like I drank an entire bottle of tequila last night and am waking now on an hour of sleep. My stomach lurches, and my eyelids feel so heavy that it takes me minutes to pry them open. When I do, I find myself somewhere weirdly familiar—but where is it? Where have I seen this place before?

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Dread courses through my veins, a tide of ice. Slowly, I straighten my spine, and find the strength to turn.

Oh. No. No no no, this can’t be happening.But it is—I know that it is. Last night is coming back to me in snatches: the sleepy, middle of the night conversation in the hall with Aleks; the fighting that followed. The fucking that followed that. And his coarseness with me, his coldness, his back turned to me, and then the door closed in my face. Me, sneaking out through the window, sitting alone, and crying in the treehouse.

The sounds in the woods. The shadows splitting from the trees. The figure coming up behind me, closing a hand over my mouth—no, the rag, chloroform.And the dark, heavy, dreamless sleep that followed.

And now…

Konstantin stands at a table. He’s posted amid a sea of them, all with chairs stacked on top, like…

The restaurant!That’s where we are. I almost didn’t recognize it, with no people, no waiters, with all the chairs propped up on the tables. In fact, there’s no one in here atall except for the two of us. Outside, the sky is still dark. It’s morning, I think, very early. And somehow, we’re in here.

“How…why are we…?”

Konstantin cocks his head, wearing a suave, handsome, far too sweet smile. It makes my skin crawl. He’s standing, half-leaned against a table, with ringed hands folded before him. Really, he’s almost too pretty to be taken seriously; he has silver hoops in his ears, and the black suit he wears is slick, more like something you’d see a celebrity in than a businessman. And more than any of that, he looks socalm—like he can’t possibly be in the business of killing people.

But everything I know about Konstantin goes against that, and his subtle, almost non-threatening appearance. He’s watching me very closely, despite his smile. He’s watching me…for what?

“You must be wondering how I got in here,” he says, leaning his head back to look up and around the empty restaurant. Leisurely, clearly unhurried, Konstantin meanders over to the booth where I sit—the booth, I realize, where he sat across from me that first night.

And threatened my son for the first time.

I look at him harder, feeling some of my building fear calcify into rage. “I’m wondering what the fuck you plan to do with me,” I shoot back, coldly. “That’swhat I’m wondering. You have me now. Why not just kill me?”

“Kill you? Oh, Katerina, please. Please. Just because your little boyfriend killed my brother quickly does not mean I will be extending you that same mercy. No, no.” He clucks his tongue and wags a finger at me, still smiling that coy, bland smile. “No. While you are the closest thing I can find to someone that Aleksander Lukin might love, you are still no brother. You are not blood. My brother, to me, was worth ten of what you are worth to Lukin.”

That’s true, I’m sure. It still hurts, though, and probably shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care if Aleks thought of me as worth the same as his favorite dog or car. We’re nothing to each other.

Well…no. Not nothing. And especially not after last night.

“For Aleks to feel the pain that I have, or even come close, I’ll have to draw this out. Grief is torture. So, you must be tortured.” Konstantin shifts to face me, steepling his hands on the table. It occurs to me that I’m not bound up in any way—a tactic, no doubt, purposeful. Not to make me feel like I stand a chance, but to show me just how little of a threat they take me to be. “And I have plenty of things in mind. But this is only the first part.”

I begin to tremble. I hate myself for it, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stop.I’m scared, I realize. In a real, animal way. I’ve been so terrified of my life falling apart, of Aleks learning about Adam, or about Adam being taken or threatened or hurt in any way. I haven’t had much time to think about my own fate. Now, it’s unspooling right in front of me.

“If you know how little I’m worth to Aleks,” I say, hoping to at least stall the inevitable. “Then why bother with all of this, anyway? He came for me out of responsibility. But soon enough, maybe already, he’s going to run out of patience. He’s just going to let you kill me.”

“Hm. You’re not a bad liar,” Konstantin says thoughtfully. I notice that he is no longer smiling. What does that mean? It makes my heart race. “Unfortunately, though, for both of us, we know that is not true. And more importantly, we have an ace in the hole—don’t we, Kat?”

I bite my cheek, trying to slow my shivering. It’s no use.

“Aleksander Lukin likes you, certainly. You may be the only lover he’s ever had that he actually gives a damn about.” Konstantin chuckles, the sound low and raspy, like paper on paper. Eerily snake like. “I confess—I don’t think he’d have goneto nearly half these lengths for any other girl, much less a one-night stand.”

I flush.

“Yes, he likes you,” continues Konstantin. “But what do you think he’ll feel when he learns that Adam is his son?”

Fear grips me, a hand tight around my neck. “Don’t,” I bite out, the word practically a growl. “Don’t you dare talk about my son. Don’t you dare even speak his name in front of me.”

“Oh-ho.” Konstantin chuckles again, slapping the table lightly in amusement. “Now look at you, there’s that fight I so like. I can see why Aleks likes you. If I weren’t so dead set on stringing your entrails in front of him, I might marry you myself. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? If I stole away his precious little bride? Do you think I could convince Adam to call me ‘father’?”

I lunge, not even thinking. I see white, striking out, feeling a surge of delicious vindication as my palm connects hard with Konstantin’s face. I curve my fingertips, getting the sweet give of his flesh right up under my fingernails. The slap he endures without reaction, but the scratching elicits a sound of fury. He stands too, lashing out like a mirror image of me. The back of his hand connects with my cheekbone with such force that I shift on my feet, the momentum throwing me over. I stagger and fall, landing with a hardsmackon the fake hardwood floor.

“Cunt,” says Konstantin, no trace remaining of the placid, game-playing mafia man that sat before me only a moment ago. “How fuckingdareyou?”

I scrabble, trying to get my footing again and get away, but my body is heavy and tired, my muscles weak as jelly.Fuck. The chloroform.Even if I could move, I would be too slow. Almost as soon as he’s stood, Konstantin is towering over me. He drops his hand, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

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