Page 3 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

“Wait here,” says the security guard, disappearing through an ornate door.

I fidget with the strap of my bag, feeling incredibly out of place. The door opens again, and my breath catches.

Mikhail Sokolov is even more striking in person. He fills the doorway, his tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders. He stares at me intently, like he’s sizing me up and learning all my secrets. For a moment, I forget how to speak.

“Miss MacKenzie,” he says in a deep baritone with a hint of a Russian accent. “Thank you for coming. Please, come in.”

I follow him into the stunning penthouse apartment, glancing around to take in the luxurious furnishings and breathtaking views of Biscayne Bay. “Your home is beautiful,” I say, wincing at how small my voice sounds.

His lips quirk in a small smile. “Thank you. Let me introduce you to Masha.”

He whistles softly, and I hear the click of nails on hardwood. A brindle pitbull appears, her tail wagging hesitantly. My heart melts at the sight of her, especially when I notice the scars crisscrossing her body.

“Oh, sweet girl,” I say gently, crouching down and holding out my hand. “What happened to you?”

Mikhail’s expression darkens. “She was rescued from a dog fighting ring. It’s taken time, but she’s learning to trust again.”

Masha approaches cautiously, sniffing my outstretched hand. After a moment, she bumps her head against my palm. I gently scratch behind her ears, and her whole body wiggles with joy. “She’s the definition of a couch hippo,” I say with a laugh when she licks my cheek.

“She likes you,” he says, something like approval in his voice.

I look up at him, still petting Masha. “I’m so glad you rescued her. Dog fighting is horrific.”

A shadow passes over Mikhail’s face. “Yes, it is. The men responsible have been... dealt with.”

There’s an edge to his voice that feels a bit ominous. I focus on Masha, not wanting to dwell on what “dealt with” might mean. I can’t find sympathy for people who exploit innocent creatures for such brutal entertainment and money.

“So, what’s your usual routine with her?” I ask, standing up.

Mikhail crouches down, running his hand over Masha’s brindle coat. The tough exterior he’s maintained throughout our meeting melts away as he speaks to her in soft Russian. Masha’s tail wags furiously, her whole body wiggling with excitement.

“Be good for Miss MacKenzie,” he says, switching back to English. He looks up at me. “A walk around the block, then to the dog park on Eighth Street. No more than an hour of play because she tires easily.”

I nod, trying to focus on his instructions rather than how his accent makes my name sound exotic. “Got it. Block, then park, home in two hours max.”

Mikhail stands, smoothing down his impeccable suit. Even that simple motion exudes power and grace. “Excellent. I’ll see you both at three.”

We head for the door, Masha trotting happily at my side. I steal one last glance at Mikhail. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates his strong profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. My cheeks warm as I realize I’m staring. “Um, see you later, Mr. Sokolov,” I manage to say, cursing my suddenly dry mouth.

He gives me a small nod and a ghost of a smile. “Until then, Miss MacKenzie.”

The elevator ride down is a blur. My mind keeps replaying every moment of our interaction, analyzing Mikhail’s words and expressions. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Don’t lose your mind, Phoebe,” I mutter to myself. “He’s just another client.”

As Masha and I step out into the Miami sunshine, I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement in my stomach. I hope this will become a regular gig, and not just for the generous pay rate.

We set off down the sidewalk, Masha’s nails clicking against the pavement. The streets of Brickell buzz with energy. Sleek cars zip by, and well-dressed professionals hurry along with phones pressed to their ears. It’s a far cry from the cozy Scottish village I dream of, but there’s an undeniable allure to this world of luxury and power.

Walking, I notice people give us a wide berth. A few even cross the street to avoid us. I frown, looking down at Masha. Herscarred body and muscular build must be intimidating to those who don’t know her sweet nature. “Don’t worry, girl,” I say, reaching down to scratch behind her floppy ear that must have been broken and never healed properly, because it doesn’t perk like the other one. “I know you’re a softie underneath all that tough exterior.”

We turn the corner, and I spot our destination. It’s a small, fenced-in dog park nestled between two towering skyscrapers. A handful of other dogs are already there, most of them pristine purebreds that probably cost more than my yearly salary at the café.

I open the gate, unclipping Masha’s leash. “Go on and have some fun.”

She hesitates for a moment, looking up at me with those soulful eyes. I give her an encouraging nod, and she trots off to investigate a nearby bush.

I settle onto a bench, keeping a watchful eye on Masha. The other dog owners give me curious looks, no doubt wondering what someone like me is doing in their exclusive neighborhood.

A woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair approaches, her tiny Pomeranian yapping at her heels. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she says, her tone more accusatory than friendly.

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