Page 61 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

He studies me for a long moment, clearly debating how much to reveal. “The kind that suggest he’s already thinking about the conversation you want to have with him.”

“Are you saying?—?”

“I’m saying don’t give up on him before you give him a chance to surprise you.” He picks up his tablet, signaling the end of our conversation. “Maybe trust he loves you and your daughter more than you realize.”

Before I can respond, he’s on his feet and heading for the door. I call after him, desperate for more information. “Maksim, wait. What aren’t you telling me?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back with something that might be sympathy. “That’s a conversation you need to have with him, not me, but…” He waits until I meet his gaze. “Some questions answer themselves if you’re patient enough to let them.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and a heart full of hope I’m afraid to fully embrace. Maybe Maksim is right and some questions answer themselves. Maybe I just need to be brave enough to ask the right ones.

22

Nikandr

The knock on my office door interrupts my review of the latest liquidation reports. I look up to find Maksim standing in the doorway, but instead of his usual all-business demeanor, he’s wearing an expression I recognize, the one he gets when he’s about to tell me something I need to hear but probably don’t want to.

“Come in,” I say, setting aside the financial projections that have been consuming my afternoon.

He closes the door behind him and takes the chair across from my desk but doesn’t immediately speak. The silence stretches long enough that I lean back in my chair and wait him out.

“You need to talk to Sabrina,” he finally says.

“About what specifically? We talk every day.”

He rolls his eyes. “About what you’re planning. The exit strategy, the succession…everything.” He gestures toward the papers scattered across my desk. “She’s getting ready to have a seriousconversation with you about your future, and she deserves to know you’re already three steps ahead of her.”

Something cold settles in my stomach. “What do you mean she’s getting ready?”

“I overheard part of a phone conversation she was having with her friend. She’s planning to ask you to leave the organization completely.” He pauses. “And if you’re not willing, she’s prepared to walk away and raise your daughter alone.”

The words stun me. The idea of Sabrina leaving, of raising our child without me, makes my chest constrict with something close to panic. “She said that?”

“She’s scared of bringing a child into a world where violence is always lurking around the corner. She wants commitment—not co-parenting arrangements, but an actual future together. ‘Marriage, family, and growing old together,’ to quote her.”

I stare at the ultrasound photo on my desk, thinking about the conversation we’ve been avoiding for weeks. “You think I should tell her about the plans we’ve been making?”

“I think she deserves to know the man she’s falling in love with is already choosing her and Elizabeth over everything else.” He leans forward. “Don’t make her issue ultimatums when you could just give her the answers she needs.”

His words settles over me as I consider what he’s suggesting. Sabrina has been growing more comfortable here, more open, but I still see the tension she carries when she thinks I’m not looking, and the way she sometimes pauses before speaking, like she’s choosing her words carefully to avoid conflict. “Where is she now?”

“Sunroom. She’s been organizing baby clothes all afternoon.”

I stand and straighten my shirt, suddenly nervous in a way I haven’t felt since I was a teenager working up the courage to ask a girl to dance. “How much detail should I give her?”

“Enough to convince her that you’re serious about walking away from this life completely. She doesn’t need to know about every financial transfer or legal document, but she needs to understand you’re already committed to the choice she’s hoping you’ll make.”

I nod, gathering my thoughts as I head for the door. “Maksim? Thank you.”

“Just don’t fuck it up,” he says with a smile.

I findSabrina exactly where Maksim said she’d be, surrounded by neat piles of baby clothes in every conceivable size and color. She’s holding a tiny white dress with delicate lace trim, and the sight of her imagining our daughter wearing it makes my chest ache with tenderness.

“Planning our child’s entire wardrobe?” I ask from the doorway.

She looks up with a smile that transforms her entire face. “Just organizing what we already have. We might have gone a little overboard at the boutique.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to go overboard when it comes to our daughter.” The easy way the possessive pronoun slips out surprises me. Sabrina must notice it too because her smile relaxes into something warmer.

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