Page 54 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

I want to ask if he thinks she’s lucky to have him too, but something about the moment feels too fragile to push. Instead, I continue browsing, letting myself imagine bedtime stories, lullabies, and all the small rituals that will make up our daughter’s childhood.

By the time we reach the register, our basket is overflowing with the stuffed bear, several outfits in newborn and three-month sizes, the mobile with dancing elephants, soft blankets, books, and a ridiculous number of tiny socks that I couldn’t resist. The saleswoman beams at us as she begins scanning each item.

“First baby?” she asks, though the answer is obvious from the way I’m watching every item get carefully wrapped.

“Yes.” I touch my belly.

“It shows. First-time parents always buy the most beautiful things.” She holds up a pair of tiny booties covered in pearl buttons. “These are handmade by a local artisan. They’re some of our most popular items.”

I start to protest when I see the total climbing higher and higher on the register display, but Nikandr hands over his credit card without even blinking. The casual way he dismisses the expense—enough to cover my rent for two months—should probably bother me, but instead it makes me feel cared for in a way I’m not used to.

“This is too much,” I whisper as the clerk runs his card.

“It’s not nearly enough,” he counters, signing the receipt with quick, decisive strokes.

As the clerk carefully wraps each item in tissue paper and places them in elegant shopping bags with ribbon handles, I catch myself smiling. The whole process feels like a ritual, with each tiny outfit and soft blanket being prepared like gifts for a princess.

The saleswoman includes several samples of baby lotion and a small teddy bear as complimentary gifts. “Congratulations again,” she says as she hands us the bags. “Your daughter is very lucky.”

Walking out of the store with arms full of packages, I feel lighter than I have in months. This feels normal in a way I haven’t experienced since before everything changed. We’re just two expectant parents buying things for their baby and planning for a future that suddenly seems possible instead of terrifying.

When Nikandr places his hand on the small of my back, I don’t flinch away like I might have a week ago. The touch is warm and protective without being possessive, and I lean into it slightly as we walk.

“Thank you,” I say as we step out onto the sidewalk, “For letting me have something normal.”

“You don’t have to thank me for normal, Sabrina. You deserve normal.”

The way he says my name, soft and deliberate, makes something flutter in my chest. I’m not sure when the heat between us turned into something warmer and steadier. This feels less like desire and more like the foundation for something tangible.

We’re walking toward the car, my arms full of shopping bags, when I catch sight of a man in a dark jacket, leaning against a lamppost, and staring directly at us. He’s not moving orpretending to be doing anything else. He just watches with an intensity that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Something about his posture, and the way he holds himself perfectly still while everything around him moves, sends a surge of fear through me. He’s too focused and deliberate. Normal people don’t stand that way or stare that openly.

I slow my steps, trying to get a better look without being obvious about it. The man appears to be middle-aged and average height, with graying hair visible beneath a baseball cap. There’s nothing particularly distinctive about him except for that unnerving stare.

When I do a double take, shifting my bags to get a clearer view, he’s gone. He vanishes into the crowd of shoppers as if he was never there at all. I scan the sidewalk frantically, looking for any trace of the dark jacket or the baseball cap, but see nothing unusual.

“Everything okay?” asks Nikandr, following my gaze across the street.

I scan the sidewalk again, looking for any sign of the man in the dark jacket, but see nothing unusual. There are only normal people going about their lives, carrying shopping bags, pushing strollers, or talking on phones.

“Yeah,” I say finally, deciding not to mention what I saw. It could all be in my head anyway. Things have been peaceful lately, and maybe I’m just not used to feeling safe. Maybe I’m seeing threats that don’t exist because part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You sure?” His voice carries the kind of alertness that tells me he’s already shifting into protective mode.

“I’m sure. I thought I saw someone I recognized, but I was wrong.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he opens the passenger door for me and waits until I’m settled before closing it and walking around to the driver’s side.

As we pull away from the curb, I cradle the bag of baby clothes against my chest and let myself imagine what our life could look like with a normal family life. There will be bedtime stories, birthday parties, and school plays. I can picture it clearly. Not just surviving this situation or getting through the pregnancy but actually building something good together. Something real.

The thought should terrify me, but as I watch him drive, noting the careful way he checks the mirrors and the unconscious protectiveness in the way he positions himself between me and potential threats, I don’t feel afraid. I feel hopeful.

Maybe that’s naïve. Maybe I’m setting myself up for heartbreak by believing we can have something normal and beautiful together. Maybe, maybe, maybe… Sitting here with bags full of tiny clothes and impossible dreams, I can’t bring myself to care about the risks.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, glancing over at me.

“Baby names,” I lie, not ready to share the deeper thoughts swirling through my mind.

---