Page 20 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

Reality crashes back down on me. I need to get back to the business at hand, but part of me wants to stay here, in this bubble of normality with Phoebe. “I have to go,” I say reluctantly. “Thank you for the coffee, and the company.”

Her smile is tinged with disappointment. “Any time, Misha. You know where to find me.”

Turning to leave, I pause. Against my better judgment, I look back at her. “Phoebe?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful walking home tonight. The streets can be dangerous after dark.”

She looks at me quizzically but nods. “I always am but thank you for your concern.”

I exit the café, the cheerful chime of the bell a jarring contrast to the grim business waiting for me. I slide back into the SUV, and Vlad gives me a questioning look.

“Back to the hotel,” I say, my voice hard.

While we pull away from the curb, I allow myself one last glance at Cafecito Dreams. Phoebe is still visible through the window, her smile bright as she serves another customer. Briefly, I let myself imagine a different life, one where I could be the man she thinks I am, but that life isn’t mine. I have a war to prevent andan empire to protect. With a deep breath, I push aside thoughts of Phoebe and focus on the task at hand. The time for coffee and dreams is over. Now, it’s time for action.

8

Mikhail

Later in the week, I’m back to being just Misha again for a while during a stroll down the bustling street in Brickell with Masha’s leash in one hand and Phoebe by my side. The sun warms my face, a pleasant contrast to the cool breeze off the nearby bay. For a moment, I allow myself to bask in the mundanity of it all. I’m just a man walking his dog with a beautiful woman.

Phoebe’s laughter draws my attention. “Look at that poodle’s haircut,” she says, pointing to a dog across the street. “It’s like a topiary gone wrong.”

I chuckle, but my amusement is short-lived. My trained eye catches a black sedan creeping along behind us, its tinted windows concealing the occupants. It’s been following us for the last two blocks.

“Why don’t we take a different route?” I say casually, guiding Phoebe down a side street. “I know a lovely little park nearby.”

She smiles, oblivious to the danger. “Sounds perfect. Masha could use a good run.”

We turn the corner, and I scan our surroundings, noting potential escape routes and vantage points. The sedan is still behind us, maintaining a discreet distance.

“Tell me about your upcoming cooking class,” I say, keeping my voice light and interested. “What Scottish delicacy are you planning to inflict on your unsuspecting students this time?”

She grins. “Oh, I’ve got something special planned. We’re making Cullen skink.”

“Cullen what?” I ask, genuinely puzzled despite my divided attention.

“Skink,” she repeats, grinning. “It’s a thick soup made with smoked haddock, potatoes, and leeks. It’s absolutely delicious. I’ve mentioned it before, including my?—”

“Plans to deconstruct it,” I finish for her with a nod. “I remember. On the yacht.” I’m only half-listening as I guide us down another side street, but she doesn’t need to know that. The sedan is still there, but I spot a busy intersection up ahead. Perfect. “Sounds interesting,” I say. “Where did you learn to make it?”

As she launches into a story about her grandmother’s recipes, I lead us through the intersection, timing our crossing to put us behind a large delivery truck. When we emerge on the other side, I quickly steer us down a narrow alley.

“Shortcut,” I explain when Phoebe gives me a quizzical look.

We emerge onto another street, and I let out a ragged exhalation of relief. The sedan is nowhere in sight. We’ve lost our tail, for now.

“Will you be at the next class again?” she asks, looking hopeful.

I’m about to respond when I spot a cyclist barreling toward us, head down and pedaling furiously. Without hesitation, I pull Phoebe close, spinning us so my body shields her from the oncoming bike as Masha presses against her thigh.

The cyclist swerves at the last second, missing us by inches. “Sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, not slowing down.

I keep Phoebe pressed against me for a moment longer, my heart thumping erratically from more than just the near-miss. Her body is warm against mine, and her flowery scent fills my nostrils. I want her again already. “Are you okay?” I ask, reluctantly letting her go.

She nods, a bit breathless. “Thanks to you. Those delivery cyclists are menaces sometimes.”

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