Page 30 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

Viktor looks skeptical but doesn’t argue. He knows better than most that when I make up my mind about something, discussion is pointless. I see him getting out the parabolic mic as I start to jog toward the door. I allow it since he’ll be on edge enough without being able to see me. At least hearing me will reassure him I’m safe, and I don’t particularly care who hears the conversation that’s about to take place right now, still stewing in anger that she didn’t tell me despite my concerns for her.

11

Sabrina

Fifteen weeks. The number haunts me as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting the wrap dress I bought specifically to hide the small but unmistakable curve of my belly. The deep burgundy fabric drapes perfectly, concealing what I’m not ready for the world to see, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Every day brings me closer to the point where loose clothing won’t be enough.

I smooth the fabric one more time and grab my purse from the dresser. The envelope inside contains my latest ultrasound photos. They’re images I’ve stared at for hours, trying to reconcile the tiny human shape on the screen with the magnitude of what it represents. My child. Growing stronger every day while I scramble to figure out how I’m going to provide for them.

The financial reality has been keeping me awake at night. Even with Maya’s promise to move me to kitchen work once I can’t hide the pregnancy anymore, the pay cut will be devastating. Nomore tips means surviving on minimum wage, and minimum wage doesn’t cover rent, utilities, groceries, and prenatal care, let alone the thousands of dollars I’ll need for the actual birth since I have crappy insurance. Medicaid for pregnancy is an option, and the application sits on my desk, not yet filled out, because I still make too much until I switch to the kitchen.

I’ve run the numbers a dozen different ways, and they never add up to anything resembling security.

The worst part is the growing acknowledgment I might have to swallow my pride and determination to keep my child out of his world to find Nikandr. Not because I want him in my life or because I think he’d be a good father, but because I’m running out of options. A child shouldn’t suffer because their mother was too stubborn to ask for help, even if the someone is abratvapakhan.

Even If were ready to do that, how do I find a man who exists in the shadows? How do I contact someone whose last name I don’t even know?

My phone buzzes with a text from Maya.”Hey, girl, you forgot to grab your check yesterday. It’s in the office when you get a chance.”

I close my eyes and curse under my breath. My paycheck. The one thing I can’t afford to forget, and somehow, it slipped my mind completely. The pregnancy brain fog is real, and it’s making everything harder than it needs to be.

I grab my keys and head for the door. The club is only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment, and the exercise might help clear my head. Plus, I can’t afford to waste gas on unnecessary trips when every dollar needs to be stretched as far as possible.

The afternoon air is crisp, with the kind of autumn bite that means winter isn’t far behind. That means another worry to add to my ever-growing list. Heating bills will get higher as the weather gets colder, though California winters are usually mild. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself and walk faster, as if speed can outrun the anxiety that follows me everywhere these days.

The club looks different in. The neon signs are dark, and the parking lot is mostly empty except for a few cars that belong to staff members preparing for the night shift. I try the main entrance first, but it’s locked. Maya must not be in yet, which means I’ll have to use the employee entrance around back. I walk around the building, noting the way shadows seem to gather in corners despite the bright afternoon sun.

The back door is propped open with a cinder block, and I hear music playing inside. Someone’s definitely here, even if it’s not Maya. I poke my head through the doorway and call out. “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Sabrina?” Eli’s voice comes from somewhere near the bar. “That you?”

“Yeah. I just need to grab my check.”

“Come on in. Maya’s not here yet, but I can let you in from behind the bar.”

I find Eli restocking bottles, his sleeves rolled up and a towel thrown over his shoulder. He’s one of the few male employees at the club, a bartender who’s been here longer than anyone else and treats the place like his personal kingdom.

“Thanks,” I say as he lifts the hinged section of the bar to let me through. “I can’t believe I forgot it yesterday.”

“Happens to the best of us. Envelope’s on Maya’s desk, I think.”

The office is barely bigger than a closet and crammed with filing cabinets and boxes of inventory. Maya’s desk is a disaster zone of receipts, schedules, and employee paperwork, but I spot my envelope immediately. My name is written across the front in Maya’s careful handwriting, and seeing it brings a small surge of relief.

I stuff the envelope into my purse and turn to leave, already planning how to stretch the money. The electric bill is due in three days, and I still need groceries and gas. Maybe if I’m careful, I can make it last until my next paycheck.

“Sabrina?”

I freeze at the sound of my name. The voice doesn’t belong to Eli. It’s deeper and rougher, with an edge that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turn around slowly and see a man standing in the office doorway. He’s one of the regulars, someone I’ve served drinks to maybe a dozen times over the past few months. Carl, I think his name is. Mid-forties and average height, with the kind of forgettable face that doesn’t stick in your memory until you have a reason to be afraid of it.

“Hi,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice light. “Carl, right? I didn’t know you were here. The club doesn’t open for a little while yet.”

“I was talking to Eli about something.” He doesn’t move away from the doorway, effectively blocking my exit. “I wanted to ask you about something too.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach clench with unease. I’ve served enough drunk men to recognize when a situation is about to go sideways, and every instinct I have is screaming atme to get away from him. “I actually need to get going,” I say, taking a step toward the door. “Maybe we can talk when I’m working later?”

He doesn’t move. If anything, he leans more heavily against the doorframe, making it clear I’m not leaving until he says I can. “It’ll just take a minute.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”

I force myself to stay calm, to think rationally instead of giving in to the panic that’s starting to build in my chest. Eli is just outside in the main area. If something happens and I scream, he’ll hear me. This man might be a regular customer, but he’s not stupid enough to try anything with witnesses around. “What did you want to talk about?”

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