Page 30 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

“Just because,” I murmur.

The timer dings, and she reluctantly pulls away to check on the scones. As she bends to open the oven, I allow myself a moment of weakness, closing my eyelids and savoring the domesticity of this scene.

For just a little while longer, I can pretend this is our life. That I’m just a man in love, surprising his girlfriend with a romantic trip. That there’s no danger lurking and no lies between us.

As Phoebe turns back to me, her face glowing with happiness, reality crashes back in. This trip isn’t just a romantic gesture. It’s a desperate attempt to keep her safe, to buy myself time to eliminate the threat to her life. I push aside the thoughts, forcing a smile as she offers me a warm scone moments later.

“Try it. Tell me what you think.” She brings it close to my lips.

I open my mouth to take the bite, and apple and cinnamon explodes on my tongue. “It’s delicious,” I say honestly.

She beams, clearly pleased. “I’m so excited about this trip, Mikhail. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I pull her close again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re welcome,lyubimaya,” I murmur, using the Russian term of endearment without thinking.

“What does that mean?” she asks, looking up at me curiously.

I hesitate for a moment before answering truthfully. “It means ‘my love.’”

Phoebe’s lips part, and for a moment, I fear I’ve said too much, but then she smiles, soft and sweet. “I like the sound of that,” she says quietly.

We stand there in her small kitchen, holding each other close, while the scent of freshly baked scones fills the air. For now, everything is perfect. I try to memorize every detail, knowing that soon, everything will change.

A couple of days later,I stride into Cafecito Dreams, inhaling the rich scent of coffee beans. The small café bustles with the morning rush as patrons chatter over steaming cups and pastries. I scan the room, searching for Juanita Fuega, the owner.

I spot her behind the counter, barking orders at a harried-looking barista. Her silver hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her dark eyes narrow as she catches sight of me. I approach, maintaining a neutral expression.

“Mr. Sokolov,” she says, her tone clipped. “What brings you here?”

I brace my hip against the counter and keep my voice low. “I need to discuss Phoebe’s employment situation.”

Juanita’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Is she quitting?”

“No,” I say, pulling an envelope from my jacket. “She’s taking a vacation. I want to ensure her job will be waiting when she returns.” I slide the envelope across the counter.

Juanita looks at it suspiciously before picking it up. She opens it, eyes widening as she counts the cash inside. “This is... generous,” she says, looking up at me.

I nod. “It’s enough to hire three temps while Phoebe’s away. I trust that won’t be a problem?”

Juanita purses her lips, considering. After a moment, she nods. “Fine. Her job will be here when she gets back.”

“Excellent.” I straighten up. “I appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Fuega.”

As I turn to leave, Juanita calls out, “Mr. Sokolov?”

I pause, glancing back.

“Take care of her,” she says, her expression softening slightly. “Phoebe’s a good kid.”

I nod once, then exit the café, the bell above the door chiming when I step out into the Miami sunshine.

My phone buzzes in my pocket while approaching my car, where Vlad waits. I pull it out, frowning at the caller ID. It’s Sergei. “What is it?” I ask, sliding into the back seat and nodding to Vlad to drive.

Sergei’s voice is tense. “Boss, we’ve got a problem. Valdés sent men to Phoebe’s apartment. She wasn’t home,” he adds hastily.

My blood runs cold. “What? When?”

“Just now. Our guys spotted them snooping around. They broke in but got away when our men tried to stop them.”

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