Page 14 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

“About what?” I know, of course.

“You’ve been obsessing over surveillance footage for two days instead of focusing on the actual threat we’re facing.”

I finally turn to look at him. “What threat?”

“Vadim’s been quiet too long. Our sources say he’s planning something big, something that’s going to shake up the entire West Coast operation. We should be preparing for that, not playing games with a woman who isn’t even our target.”

I frown. “You don’t know that she isn’t our target.”

Maksim moves closer to my desk, his voice dropping to the tone he uses when he’s trying very hard not to lose his temper. “Nikandr, I’ve run every background check we have access to. Sabrina Clyde is exactly who she says she is. Born in Modesto, attended community college until her mother got sick, and worked a series of low-paying jobs to make ends meet. There’s a paper trail going back twenty-six years. School records, medical records, and employment history. It’s all legitimate.”

I shake my head. “Records can be fabricated.”

“Not this thoroughly. Not this convincingly.” He leans forward, placing his hands on my desk. “She’s not Irina Volkov, which means she’s a civilian who can identify all of us.”

The implication hangs between us. In our world, civilians who know too much don’t get to go home and pretend nothing happened. They become problems that need to be solved, permanently. “I’m aware of what she is.”

He lets out a soft snort. “Are you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to find reasons to keep her around instead of reasons to let her go.”

The accusation hits closer to home than I’d like to admit. “Once we locate and capture the real informant, I’ll figure out how to let her go without compromising our security.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that? She’s seen your face, Nikandr. She knows about this facility. She can place you at the club. How do you propose we solve that problem?”

I turn back to the monitors, watching her trace patterns on the window glass with her fingertip. “I’ll think of something.”

“You’ll think of something.” Maksim’s laugh is harsh. “This isn’t like you. You don’t take unnecessary risks, and you don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. What’s changed?”

I scowl at him. “Nothing’s changed.”

He shakes his head. “Everything’s changed. You kidnapped a woman based on a resemblance to a photograph, brought her to our most secure facility, and now, you’re talking about letting her go like she’s a lost puppy instead of a security risk.”

The truth is that everything has changed, but not in the way Maksim thinks. It’s not about the mission or the risk or even the resemblance to Irina. It’s about the way she looked at me when I asked about her mother, the pain in her voice when she talked about her father’s abandonment, and the stubborn strength that keeps her fighting even when she’s trapped and outnumbered.

It’s about the fact I want to protect her instead of eliminate her, which is the most dangerous thing I could possibly feel right now. “She’s not going anywhere until I’m satisfied she’s not a threat.”

Maksim studies my face for a long moment, then shakes his head. “Forty-eight hours, Nikandr. That was the deal. Time’s up.”

He’s right, and we both know it, but I’m not ready to make that decision yet. Not ready to choose between my mission and a woman who might be exactly as innocent as she claims. “Give me more time.”

“How much more time?”

“A few more days.”

“A few more days for what? To convince yourself she’s Irina so you can justify keeping her? Or to convince yourself she’s not so you can figure out how to let her go?”

Both. Neither. I don’t know anymore, and that uncertainty is eating at me like acid. I speak coldly. “Just give me more time. It’s my decision to make as thepakhan.”

Maksim stands and walks toward the door, then turns back to face me. “I’ve known you for eight years, and I’ve never seen you like this. Whatever you think you’re doing, whatever you think you’re accomplishing by keeping her here, is going to end badly for all of us. You’repakhan, but you have a duty to your men too.”

After he leaves, I force myself to look away from the monitors and focus on the reports scattered across my desk. They contain intelligence about Vadim’s operation, surveillance photos from his known associates, and financial records that might give us insight into his next move.

My concentration is shot. Every few minutes, I catch myself glancing at the screen where Sabrina sits by the window, and each time I do, something tightens in my chest that has nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the way she refuses to break despite everything I’ve put her through.

By evening, I decide I need to see her again. Not to interrogate her or probe for inconsistencies in her story, but to bring her food personally and maybe understand why she’s gotten under my skin in a way no one has in years.

I take the elevator to the second floor and walk down the hallway to her room, carrying a tray with soup, bread, and fruitshe probably won’t eat. She’s been refusing most of the food we brought her after her first meal.

I slide the keycard through the lock and push open the door before clipping it back to my belt. She’s sitting on the bed now, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she looks up when I enter with the kind of wariness that’s become her default expression around me.

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