Page 78 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

I memorize the details while pulling on my tactical gear. Loading dock, east side, minimal coverage. The information burns itself into my consciousness like a brand.

“ETA to target?”

“Eighteen minutes,” he says.

“Make it twelve.”

I shove the phone into my pocket and slide into the passenger seat of the lead convoy vehicle without hesitation. Maksim climbs behind the wheel, his movements as controlled and purposeful as mine despite the urgency of our mission.

This isn’t a rescue operation. It’s a reckoning.

Vadim made a mistake when he took Sabrina. He miscalculated my response, underestimated the lengths I’ll go to protect what’s mine. He thought he could use her as leverage, force me into negotiations or concessions that would give him some advantage in our ongoing war.

What he doesn’t understand is negotiation requires both parties to believe they have something to lose. I don’t negotiate when it comes to Sabrina and our daughter. I don’t make deals or consider compromise. I eliminate threats.

“Rules of engagement?” Maksim asks as we speed through empty streets toward the warehouse district.

“No prisoners. Clean sweep.”

“And Vadim?”

“Is mine.”

He nods before saying, “Does this feel too easy, like the safe house? A single guard rotation…”

I mull it over. “I’ve considered that, but I have to follow every lead.”

He doesn’t argue as he continues driving. The storage facility comes into view as we round the final corner, a sprawling complex of interconnected buildings surrounded by chain-link fence and razor wire.

I check my weapon one final time as our convoy spreads out to surround the facility. The familiar weight of the gun in my hands feels like coming home, like returning to the person I was before I started playing at being civilized and domestic.

If Vadim has hurt her beyond what I saw in that video, if he’s laid another hand on her while she’s been in his custody, I won’t just kill him. I’ll make him beg for death long before I grant it.

First, I’m bringing Sabrina home. Everything else is just cleanup.

28

Sabrina

Iwake up with my head pounding and the taste of copper in my mouth. Everything feels wrong, from the position of my body to the rough texture against my back, and the way my arms ache behind me. I try to move and discover my wrists are bound to what feels like a metal chair. The rope cuts into my skin, already raw and burning from whatever struggle happened while I was unconscious.

I blink against the low, buzzing light overhead that makes everything look sickly and yellow. The warehouse around me is exactly what I expected from the video calls I’ve seen in crime dramas, with concrete walls, exposed pipes running along the ceiling, and the kind of industrial emptiness that swallows sound and hope in equal measure.

My stomach churns with nausea that might be from the head injury or from the terror creeping up my throat like acid. The baby. I focus on the familiar weight low in my belly and gentle pressure that tells me she’s still there and still moving. I’monly twenty-four weeks. That’s still too early, still so vulnerable, but she would have a good chance of surviving now. I think about that micro-preemie onesie I saw in the baby boutique and silently tell her to hang on and stay inside longer. I try to shift my weight and feel her respond with a small kick against my ribs, and the relief nearly makes me sob.

“Finally awake.”

The voice comes from my left, and I turn my head carefully to see a woman standing near a stack of wooden crates. She’s blonde and elegant in the way that comes from expensive clothes and careful maintenance. Even in this hellhole, her hair is perfectly styled, and her makeup looks like it was applied by a professional. She’s wearing a baby pink cashmere sweater and designer jeans that fit her like they were made specifically for her body.

I know who she is before she introduces herself. The bone structure, the height, and the way she carries herself with predatory confidence give it away. This is the woman Nikandr spent years hunting, who led his brother into a trap that cost Yaraslov his life.

“Irina?” I croak out, my voice rough from being unconscious.

She smiles, and it’s like looking into a funhouse mirror version of myself. “The resemblance really is striking, isn’t it? When Vadim first showed me your picture, I thought it was some kind of joke, but seeing you in person...” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m an interesting piece of art. “It’s almost uncanny.”

I study her face more carefully, seeing the similarities that made Nikandr mistake me for her that night in the club. We have the same basic bone structure hair color, general height, and build,but where my features are softer, hers are sharp. Where I have freckles across my nose, her skin is porcelain perfect. Where my eyes show whatever emotion I’m feeling, hers are calculating and cold.

She moves closer, circling my chair with fluid grace. “I would never be careless enough to get knocked up, especially by someone in thebratva. It’s a crazy risk, bringing a child into this world. It makes you vulnerable in ways you can’t even imagine.”

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