Page 7 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

She grins. “I thought so. How about our ‘Thunderbolt Espresso?’ It’s a dark roast with notes of chocolate and a hint of cherry. Guaranteed to wake you up and keep you going all day.”

“Sounds perfect.” I’m oddly pleased by her assessment of me.

As she prepares my drink, she chatters away, explaining the different roasts and brewing methods. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I’m genuinely interested.

“Here you go,” she says, sliding a steaming cup across the counter. “One ‘Thunderbolt Espresso.’ Fair warning, it packs quite a punch.”

I take a sip, and the rich flavor explodes on my tongue. “It’s excellent,” I say, surprised by how much I enjoy it.

Phoebe beams. “I’m so glad you like it. You know, we have a loyalty program if you’re interested. Buy ten coffees and get one free.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to tell her I could buy the entire shop if I wanted, but looking at her earnest expression, I realize I don’t want to be Mikhail Sokolov, feared leader of the Russianbratva. Here, in this cozy coffee shop, I can just be Misha, a man enjoying a good cup of coffee.

“That sounds great,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “Sign me up.”

As Phoebe fills out a loyalty card for me, I’m surprised by how normal this feels. How nice it is to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around territory disputes or profit margins. I haven’t gotten my own coffee in years, and I certainly haven’t chatted up a pretty barista in… forever?

“There you go,” she says, handing me the card with a flourish. “One stamp down, nine to go.”

“Thank you, Miss MacKenzie,” I say, tucking the card into my wallet.

“I thought we agreed on Phoebe. Anyone who Masha likes is a friend in my book.”

I smile, surprising myself. “All right, Phoebe, and you can call me Misha.”

“Misha,” she repeats, testing the name. “I like it. It suits you better than Mr. Sokolov, somehow.”

If she only knew how true that once was. How much I sometimes yearn for the simplicity of being just Misha, especially in moments like this. “I should be going,” I say reluctantly, glancing at my watch. “Thank you for the coffee, and for taking such good care of Masha.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says warmly. “She’s a special dog. You’re lucky to have her.”

I nod, thinking of how Masha came into my life. The dog fighting ring I’d shut down, and the way she’d cowered in the corner, scarred and terrified. She didn’t have the temperament to fight, so they’d used her as a bait dog. Thinking of what humans did to her, I’m still amazed at how she’d slowly learned to trust me. “I am. More than you know.” My mouth stretches into a feral grin that makes Phoebe frown as I briefly recall the pleasure of forcing the two “men” running the operation to fight to the death, then killing the one who’d survived.

Upon leaving the coffee shop, I’m already planning my next visit despite the danger. The more time I spend around Phoebe, the greater the risk of her discovering who I really am and what I really do, but sipping my Thunderbolt Espresso, savoring the rich flavor and the memory of Phoebe’s smile, I can’t bring myself to care. For a few minutes each day, I can be just Misha with Phoebe, and that’s worth any risk.

4

Phoebe

The early morning sunlight is bright around Cafecito Dreams when I push open the door. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans envelops me, and I inhale deeply, savoring the scent that’s become a welcome part of my daily routine. I wonder if Mikhail will come today, but I already know he will. He’s on his third coffee card, and he’s visited every day for the last three weeks.

“Morning, Phoebe,” says Marco, my coworker, as he wrestles with a finicky espresso machine. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

I nod, dropping my bag behind the counter and joining him. We work to unclog the steamer while he chats about his latest blind date with a guy who couldn’t stop talking about himself. I want to focus, but my mind drifts to Mikhail and Masha. The memory of Masha’s playful antics brings a smile to my face, and I wonder what adventures they might be having this morning.

“Earth to Phoebe,” he says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go just now?”

I blink, refocusing on the task at hand. “Sorry. Just thinking about a dog I walk sometimes.”

Marco chuckles. “Must be some dog to put that dreamy look on your face.”

I’m about to respond when the door chimes again. My heart skips to see Mikhail striding in, his presence commanding attention even in the early morning lull. He’s impeccably dressed as always, his tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders and athletic build.

We look at each other, and he flashes that devastatingly charming smile that never fails to make my knees weak. I smooth down my apron, suddenly very aware of the coffee stains dotting the fabric.

“Good morning, Phoebe,” he says. “I hope I’m not too early for my caffeine fix.”

I shake my head, my cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “Not at all. What can I get for you today?”

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