Page 36 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

The outrage and skepticism almost visibly pours off her. “And now?”

I consider how to answer that. She’ll have more freedom at the estate, with acres of grounds to explore, staff to interact with, and resources I never provided at the safehouse. She’ll also be under constant surveillance, protected by men who take orders from me and no one else. “Now, you’re family,” I say finally. “And family doesn’t get locked in rooms.”

Her small huff speaks volumes. “I bet family doesn’t get to leave either.”

I risk a quick look at her, so she can see how serious I am. “Not when leaving means dying.”

She’s quiet for the rest of the drive, staring out the window at the landscape rolling past. I want to comfort her, to promise this situation is temporary, but I’ve never been in the habit of making promises I can’t keep. The truth is, I don’t know how long it will take to neutralize the threat against her. I don’t know if the people watching her apartment are connected to Vadim, or if there’s another enemy I haven’t identified yet.

What I do know is that she’s carrying my child, and I’ll burn down half of California before I let anyone hurt her. If that means keeping her close for the rest of our lives, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, even if she never forgives me for it.

13

Sabrina

The Belov estate is colder than I imagined. It’s vast, silent, and guarded like a war bunker draped in marble. Everything here is beautiful and expensive and completely lifeless, from the crystal chandeliers that catch light from windows I can’t see through to the exquisite Persian rugs that are so costly, I’m afraid to walk on them.

My guest suite is bigger than my entire apartment, filled with luxuries I didn’t ask for and don’t know how to use. There’s a sitting area with a fireplace, a bathroom with a tub that could fit three people, and a walk-in closet that’s currently holding the two suitcases I packed in a hurry. The bed is large enough to sleep a family and covered in silk sheets that feel foreign against my skin.

I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at grounds that stretch beyond what I can see, and try to convince myself that this is temporary. Once Nikandr finds whoever waswatching me, I’ll be able to go home and pretend none of this happened.

Even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. There’s no going back from this. Not from the pregnancy, not from knowing what I know about his world, and certainly not from the way he looks at me, like I’m both a threat and something precious that needs to be protected.

I don’t feel safe here. I feel contained.

The distinction matters more than I thought it would. At the safehouse, I was a prisoner, but at least I understood the rules. Here, I’m supposedly a guest, but I feel trapped, just in a prettier cage.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my brooding. I open it to find a woman in her fifties with graying hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind eyes that remind me of my mother. “Miss Clyde? I’m Eugenie, the house manager. Mr. Belov asked me to check if you need anything.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She studies my face with the practiced eye of someone who’s good at reading people. “Have you eaten? It’s past dinner time, and you look pale.”

My stomach churns. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Morning sickness?” she asks gently, so she knows about the pregnancy. Of course, she does. Nikandr probably briefed his entire staff.

“Something like that.”

She tuts with sympathy. “It usually gets better after the first trimester.”

“I’m in the second,” I say almost woodenly.

Her frown deepens. “Stress then. I have ginger tea that might help settle your stomach.”

Her kindness is unexpected and somehow makes everything worse. I don’t want to like anything about this place or the people in it. I don’t want to get comfortable. “That’s very thoughtful, but I’m really okay for now.”

She nods but doesn’t look convinced. “If you change your mind, just press the call button by the bed. Someone will always be available.”

After she leaves, I lock the door and lean against it, wondering how many people in this house are watching my every move. How many cameras are hidden behind expensive artwork and elegant mirrors? How many ways are there for Nikandr to monitor me without me knowing?

I pull out my phone and call Jessie, desperate to hear a familiar voice.

“Brina? Thank God. I’ve been worried sick since that guy Maksim showed up at the club with two men the size of refrigerators.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. They moved me to some swanky apartment in the financial district. Honestly, it’s nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived.” Her voice takes on a more serious tone. “But what the hell is going on? This Maksim guy won’t tell me anything except I’m not safe at home, and you’ve been ‘relocated’ somewhere safer.”

---