Page 54 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

Suddenly, there’s a commotion outside. I look up to see Nastya confronting Valdés, her stance aggressive despite her smaller frame. They exchange words, too low for me to hear, but the conflict is plain.

“Keep an eye on your eggs,” I say to the class, trying to keep their attention away from the window. “They can burn quickly if you’re not careful.”

A scuffle breaks out. Valdés pushes past Nastya, reaching for the door. Two of Mikhail’s men appear, grabbing him. Fists fly. A student gasps, finally noticing the altercation.

“Everyone, step back from the stoves,” I say, teacher’s instincts I didn’t know I had suddenly kicking in. “Safety first. Let’s move to the back of the room.”

As I usher my students away from the windows, I hear the sound of breaking glass. Valdés has broken free, diving through the window in a shower of shards. He rolls to his feet, his gaze locking with mine for a brief, terrifying moment before he takes off running.

Nastya bursts through the door with her hair disheveled and a cut on her cheek. “Is everyone all right?” she asks, scanning the room before looking at me.

I nod, my voice shaky as I respond. “We’re okay. What just happened?”

Nastya doesn’t answer immediately. She’s already on her phone, speaking rapid Russian. I catch Mikhail’s name, and my stomach clenches, reminding me of the low-grade nausea that’s plagued me all day.

The room erupts into confused chatter. Students demand explanations with some looking frightened and others excited by the unexpected drama.

“I’m so sorry, everyone,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the din. “Class is dismissed for today. Please, gather your things and exit through the back door. It’s just a precaution.”

As the students file out, casting curious glances back at me and the broken window, I sink onto a nearby stool. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and more nauseated.

Nastya approaches, her phone call finished. “We need to move. He wants you back at the penthouse now. Mikhail’s orders.”

I nod numbly, unconsciously moving my hand to rest on my still-flat stomach. Six weeks. Only six weeks along, and already this child’s life is complicated by danger and violence.

“What about the community center?” I ask, looking around at the half-finished Scotch eggs and the mess left behind. “I can’t just leave it like this.”

She shakes her head. “Of course, you can’t. We’ll take care of it. Your safety is the priority now.”

As we make our way to the exit, I wonder if this is my new normal. Will I ever be able to teach a cooking class again without looking over my shoulder? Will I ever feel safe? The night air hitsmy face as we step outside, and I take a deep breath. It helps calm me and relieves some of the nausea.

“Ready?” she asks, hand on the car door.

I nod, squaring my shoulders. “Ready.”

Several minutes later, the elevator doors slide open, revealing the sleek interior of Mikhail’s penthouse. I step out, legs still shaky, with Nastya close behind me. The familiar surroundings do little to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me.

Mikhail stands by the windows, his silhouette outlined against the twinkling Miami skyline. He turns as we enter, immediately looking at me. In three long strides, he’s crossed the room, enveloping me in his arms.

I collapse against his chest, the adrenaline from earlier finally giving way to fatigue and fear. He tightens his arms around me, with one hand cradling the back of my head, and the other splayed across my lower back. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” His voice is rough with emotion.

I shake my head against his chest, unable to form words. The scent of his cologne—citrus and something distinctly Mikhail—fills my senses and settles me.

“Nastya,” he says, not loosening his hold on me. “Report.”

She is calm and professional. “Valdés approached during Ms. MacKenzie’s cooking class. There was a brief altercation outside and some broken glass. No injuries on our side.” She touches her cut cheek reflexively. “Perhaps just one. Valdés escaped.”

Mikhail’s body tenses at her words. I pull back slightly, looking up at him. His jaw is clenched, and a muscle ticks in his cheek. “And the students?” he asks.

“All safely evacuated. No civilians were harmed.” She briefly smiles. “Yuri and Lavr are currently on clean-up duty to ensure the center is ready for the next class.”

Mikhail nods but never looks away from me. “Thank you, Nastya. That will be all for now.”

I hear Nastya’s footsteps retreat, followed by the soft ding of the elevator. We’re alone.

He cups my face in his hands, gently stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to be in danger.”

The tenderness in his touch, and the raw emotion in his voice, break something inside me. Tears spill down my cheeks. “I was so scared,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “When I saw him there, watching me... I thought?—”

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