Page 70 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

I manage to respond despite each breath sending fire through my ribs. “I’ll live.”

He gets me into the passenger seat, and we accelerate away from the property with bullets sparking off the armor plating. I watch the farmhouse disappear in the rearview mirror behind clouds of smoke and the dark shapes of pursuing vehicles.

Maksim glances at the blood spreading across my shirt. “Hospital?”

I struggle to apply pressure to the wound while fumbling for my phone. “No. The clinic on Maple Street. Dr. Lewis keeps irregular hours, but he’ll patch me up without questions.”

The world tilts and blurs around the edges as blood loss begins to affect my concentration. I need to call Sabrina, let her know I’m all right, and explain why I’ll be late getting home. My fingers feel thick and clumsy as I try to compose a text message.

Running late. Don’t worry. Everything fine. Love you.

I stare at the words on the screen, trying to decide if they convey the right message. Too casual? Not reassuring enough? Should I mention I’ll explain everything when I get home?

The phone slips from my numb fingers as darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I hear is Maksim calling my name, his voice sharp with concern that feels like it’s coming from very far away before everything goes black, and I’m falling into a place where there’s no pain, no blood, and no awareness of the promises I’ve broken or the woman who’s about to wake up to find me gone.

25

Sabrina

Iwake to sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows and an empty space beside me where Nikandr should be. The sheets are cold to the touch, which means he has been gone for hours. I roll over and check my phone. The screen displays 8:43 a.m. I listen for sounds of movement elsewhere in the house, but I hear nothing.

A knot of unease forms in my stomach as I pull on a robe and pad barefoot through the hallway. His office is empty, with the desk cleared except for the ultrasound photo that sits in its usual place of honor. The kitchen shows no signs of recent use. There is no coffee cup in the sink and no plate in the dishwasher.

It appears as though he vanished into thin air.

I find one of the guards stationed near the front entrance, a man whose name I have never learned despite weeks of seeing him around the estate. He straightens when he sees me approach.

“Where’s Nikandr?”

The guard maintains a neutral expression. “He left early this morning, ma’am. Business meeting.”

The vague answer does nothing to ease the growing anxiety clawing at my chest. “What kind of business meeting?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have those details.”

I study his face, looking for tells that might give me more information. He maintains eye contact, but there’s something carefully neutral about his expression that makes me think he knows more than he admits. “When did he leave?”

“Around five a.m.”

I nod and retreat to the kitchen, though my unease deepens with each passing minute. Five in the morning isn’t unusual for Nikandr because he’s an early riser, but something about this feels different. Wrong, somehow.

I make coffee and settle at the kitchen island with my phone, checking for missed calls or text messages. There are none. I try calling him directly, but the call goes straight to voicemail after a single ring. The sound of his recorded voice makes my chest tighten. “You’ve reached Nikandr Belov. Leave a message.”

“Hey, it’s me. Just wondering where you are and when you’ll be home. Call me back when you get this.” I hang up and stare at the phone, willing it to ring with his return call. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then an hour passes without any response.

By noon, the bad feeling has evolved into something closer to panic. I’ve called three more times, with each call going directly to voicemail. I have texted twice with no response. I have even asked for Maksim’s contact information from the guard, only to be told he’s “unavailable” as well.

I pace the length of the sunroom with one hand pressed to my belly where our daughter moves restlessly, as if sensing my agitation. Every scenario my mind conjures is worse than the last. Car accidents, rival syndicates, police raids, and ambushes… Each possibility makes my heart race faster.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” I whisper, though I am not sure I believe it myself. “Daddy’s just busy with work.”

Work. A week ago, Nikandr told me he was stepping away from the organization permanently. This morning, he disappeared without a word. When my phone finally rings at 2:15 p.m., I lunge for it so quickly I nearly knock over my water glass. “Nikandr?”

Maksim’s voice is carefully controlled, which immediately sets off alarm bells in my head. “It’s Maksim.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?”

“He’s alive. He was injured during an operation this morning, but he’s going to be fine.”

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