Page 10 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

I quickly agree, and he asks for my phone so he can put in his number. Thus far, we’ve only communicated through the dog-walking app or in person. Our fingers brush when I hand himmy phone. The simple touch sends a spiral of desire through me, and my stomach tightens.

“I’ll text you the details,” he says. “Until then.” He looks at Masha. “You don’t mind seeing her home while I finish my jog?”

“Of course not.” Cutting short the walk would mean losing fifty dollars, but that’s not the reason I agree. I love spending time with her… and him.

He gives Masha one last pat before jogging off, leaving me standing there with my heart thumping like a drum and wearing a goofy grin on my face.

I watch him disappear down the path, and reality starts to set in. I have a date with Mikhail Sokolov. Handsome, mysterious, wealthy Mikhail Sokolov. What am I going to wear? What will we talk about? What if I make a fool of myself?

Masha nudges my hand with her nose, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I look down at her big amber eyes, full of trust and affection. “You’re right, girl,” I say, giving her an affectionate scratch. “No use worrying about it now. We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

With a lighter heart, we continue our walk through the park. The sunshine seems brighter and the birds’ songs sweeter. When we round a bend in the path, I spot the community board again. The cooking class flyer catches my eye once more, and I smile.

Maybe it’s time to start actively pursuing my dreams.

All of them.

5

Mikhail

Istand on the deck of “The Scarlet Siren,” surveying the preparations with a critical eye. The soft glow of fairy lights casts a warm ambiance across the polished teak, transforming the yacht into an intimate oasis. A gentle sea breeze carries the tantalizing aroma of our gourmet spread, a carefully curated selection of Russian and Scottish-inspired dishes.

“Dmitri,” I call to my head of staff on the yacht. “Is everything in order?”

He approaches, clipboard in hand. “Yes, sir. The chef has prepared blini with caviar, smoked salmon canapés, and haggis bon bons. The Stolichnaya is chilling, and we have a selection of single malt whiskies as well.”

I nod, pleased. “Excellent, and the music?”

“A playlist of soft jazz and classical pieces, as requested.”

“Perfect.” I adjust my cufflinks, a nervous habit I thought I’d long outgrown. “You may dismiss the staff for the evening. I’ll handle things from here.”

As he leaves, I take a final look around. The setting is impeccable, but a tendril of doubt curls in my stomach. This world of wealth and power is all I’ve ever known. Will Phoebe be impressed or overwhelmed?

I shake off the thought. I’m Mikhail Sokolov, leader of the Russianbratvain Miami. I don’t second-guess myself.

The sound of a car approaching pulls me from my thoughts. I make my way to the gangplank, heart rate quickening in anticipation.

Phoebe steps out of the car, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. She’s a vision in a flowing sundress, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. The setting sun sets her auburn hair ablaze, creating a halo effect that takes my breath away.

I descend the gangplank, extending my hand to her. “Phoebe,” I say, my voice huskier than intended. “You look stunning.”

She places her hand in mine, a shy smile on her lips. “Thank you, Mikhail. This is... wow.” She seems stunned as she takes in the yacht.

I lead her aboard, enjoying the way her fingers tighten on mine as we ascend the gangplank. “Welcome to ‘The Scarlet Siren,’” I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

Phoebe’s mouth falls open as she takes in the opulent surroundings. “This is incredible. I’ve never been on a yacht before.”

I guide her to the deck, where our intimate dinner setting awaits. “I hope you’ll enjoy the experience.”

As we reach the table, I pull out her chair. Phoebe sits, her movements graceful despite her obvious awe. I take my seat across from her, trying not to stare at her like an oaf.

“This is all so beautiful,” she says while looking at the elaborate spread before us. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

I pour us each a glass of champagne. “It’s my pleasure. I wanted tonight to be special.”

She takes a sip of champagne, raising her eyebrows in appreciation. “Oh, that’s delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever had champagne this good before.”

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