Page 31 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

I grip the phone so hard I worry it will break. “What did they want, Sergei?”

He hesitates. “They left a message, of sorts.”

In Russian, reverting in my panicked state, I snap at Vlad to start driving toward Phoebe’s. “I’m on my way. Keep watch on the apartment, especially if she gets home before I get there.”

I hang up as Vlad peels out of the parking lot, weaving through traffic with reckless speed. My heart pounds as I imagine what kind of “message” Valdés might have left. Whatever it is, I know it’s not good.

Halfway through the drive, she calls me to tell me someone has broken in. I’m expecting the call because Sergei texted me that she’d gotten home moments before. He’d already cleared the apartment, so it was safe for her to go up, but there was no time to keep her from discovering whatever Valdés’ men did.

I arrive at Phoebe’s apartment building in record time and rush inside. Approaching her door, I see it’s slightly ajar. My hand instinctively goes to the gun hidden beneath my jacket. “Phoebe?” I call out, slowly pushing open the door though Sergei has advised me it’s safe. He wouldn’t dare let her come up if it weren’t, but these are ingrained instincts built from years in my line of work.

I hear a soft sob from inside. “Mikhail?”

I enter cautiously, scanning the room for any immediate threats. The apartment is a mess—drawers pulled out with contents strewn across the floor. It seems to be just random destructionfor destruction’s sake, and the message is clear. Valdés will destroy something innocent to lash out at me.

In the middle of it all sits Phoebe, her arms wrapped around her knees, tears streaking her face. I rush to her side, kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

She shakes her head, hiccupping slightly. “No, I... I just got home and found it like this. I was about to call the police.”

I pull her into my arms, relief washing over me. She’s safe, at least physically, but Valdés is escalating things.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out.”

Phoebe pulls back, wiping her eyes. “Who would do this? Why?”

I hesitate, torn between telling her the truth and protecting her from the harsh reality of my world. In the end, I choose a half-truth.

“Sometimes, in my line of work, people try to intimidate business rivals,” I say carefully. “This might be related to that.”

She scowls. “You think this is because of you?”

I nod grimly. “It’s possible. I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to be caught up in this.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking around at the chaos of her apartment. “What do we do now?”

“First, we call the police,” I say, standing up and offering her my hand. “We need to file a report. Then we’ll get this place cleaned up.”

As she makes the call, I survey the damage more closely, confirming nothing seems to be missing. This was purely about sending a message. My jaw clenches as I think of the audacity of this move.

Phoebe speaks to the police, her voice trembling slightly. Right then, I realize I can’t leave Miami without dealing with Valdés personally. The trip to Scotland will have to wait, at least for me.

The police arrive, asking questions and taking photos. I stay by her side throughout, my hand on the small of her back, offering silent support. When they finally leave, promising to follow up, she sags against me.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight,” she whispers.

I kiss the top of her head. “You don’t have to. Pack a bag. You can stay with me.”

As she gathers her things, I call Sergei, instructing him to arrange for a cleaning crew to come in and restore the apartment. Then, I reach out to my travel agent, making the necessary changes to our plans.

Later that night, as Phoebe sleeps in my bed, I sit in my office, brooding about what has to be done. Phoebe will go to Scotland as planned, but I’ll have to stay behind to ensure it’s safe when she returns.

11

Mikhail

The next evening, I stand in my living room, watching Phoebe as she goes over her packing list one last time. She had her luggage packed and in her closet before the break-in. It was one area Valdés’ men didn’t manage to rip apart, so she’s all set other than ensuring she has everything. Her excitement is evident despite the lingering fear from the vandalism. I hate that I’m about to dampen her spirits.

“Phoebe,” I say softly. “We need to talk.”

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