Page 83 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

“You’ll what? Storm my position with your remaining men? Hunt me down and make me pay?” He laughs, and the sound grates against my nerves like fingernails on concrete. “You’re welcome to try, but you should know any aggressive action on your part will result in immediate consequences for your lovely girlfriend and your unborn child.”

The threat hangs in the air between us like a blade. “What do you want?”

“What I’ve always wanted. Justice for what you and your family have done to mine.”

I shake my head. “You’re out of your mind. You’re the one who went after Yaraslov for our territory. This is between us, Vadim. Let her go, and we’ll settle it however you want.”

“Oh, but she’s already settled it by being here. You see, Nikandr, the woman you love is going to watch you die, just like I had to watch your brother kill my nephew twelve years ago.”

The connection ends, leaving me staring at my phone with hands that shake slightly from suppressed fury because Vadim isn’t just planning to kill me. He’s planning to make Sabrina watch, to traumatize her so completely that she’ll never recover from witnessing my death unless I kill him first.

His words filter through my rage, and I want to deny what he’s claiming, but maybe there’s some truth to it. Yaraslov was always…coy about the dispute with Vadim, claiming it was over territory, but maybe there was a more personal component he never shared. If my brother killed Vadim’s nephew, it would explain why he went to the such lengths to draw Yaraslov out using Irina so he could kill him.

I think about Sabrina tied to a chair somewhere in that building, probably terrified but trying to stay strong for our daughter’s sake, the nursery we’ll never finish if I fail here tonight, and Sergei’s wife, who doesn’t yet know she’s a widow because her husband followed me into a trap.

It’s suddenly clear. Vadim’s reasons don’t matter. Even if my brother killed his nephew, he already had his revenge ten years ago. Sabrina has nothing to do with any of this, and I’m determined to kill Vadim and Irina before the night is through.

All of it comes down to the next ten minutes.

I check my weapon one final time as we pull up to the warehouse entrance. “Maksim, if something happens to me in there?—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

I give him a quelling look, not wanting empty reassurance right now. “If it does, make sure she knows I died trying to get her home.”

He nods grimly as we prepare to breach the building where this all began, where my brother died, and where it’s finally going to end forever.

30

Sabrina

The moment Vadim and Irina leave the room, I shift my focus entirely to the rope binding my wrists. The guard they’ve left behind to watch me is young, maybe early twenties, with nervous energy that keeps him pacing near the door rather than paying close attention to my movements. He checks his phone every few minutes and keeps glancing toward the hallway like he’s expecting someone to return at any moment.

Perfect.

I work the rope against the sharp edge of the chair’s metal frame with slow, deliberate movements that won’t draw his attention. The metal cuts into the fibers gradually, strand by strand, while also slicing deeper into my already raw wrists. Blood makes the rope slippery, which actually helps the process, though the pain is becoming harder to ignore with each twist of my hands.

The baby moves restlessly in my belly, responding to my elevated heart rate and the stress hormones flooding my system.I try to project calm thoughts toward her while continuing to saw through my restraints, silently promising we’re both going to survive this night.

Twenty minutes pass before the rope gives way enough that I might be able to slip my hands free. The guard is still pacing, checking his phone, and completely unaware his prisoner is systematically destroying her bonds. I test the looseness carefully, making sure I can actually get free when the moment comes.

Then I hear footsteps in the hallway outside, and my window of opportunity suddenly becomes much smaller.

I take a deep breath and make my decision. If I’m going to escape, it has to be now, while there’s only one guard between me and freedom. Once Vadim and Irina return, my chances will drop to zero.

I slip my hands free from the loosened rope and immediately begin working on the restraints around my ankles. These are tighter, newer, and harder to manipulate, but I have both hands available now and can work more efficiently. The guard is still facing away from me, absorbed in whatever he’s reading on his phone.

The ankle restraints give way just as I hear voices approaching from down the hallway. Vadim’s voice, low and commanding, giving orders to someone I can’t see. They’ll be back in the room within minutes, maybe seconds.

I need a distraction.

I take another deep breath and let my body go completely limp, allowing myself to fall sideways off the chair and hit the concrete floor with a convincing thud. The impact jars my shoulderand sends pain shooting through my ribs, but I force myself to remain motionless while making my breathing shallow and irregular.

“Help,” I whisper, just loud enough for the guard to hear. “Something’s wrong with the baby.”

The guard spins around and sees me collapsed on the floor, apparently unconscious or in medical distress. The panic in his expression tells me he wasn’t prepared for this possibility and wasn’t given instructions on what to do if the pregnant hostage had a medical emergency.

He rushes over, kneeling beside me and reaching for my wrist to check my pulse. The moment he’s close enough, I strike fast and hard, slamming the heel of my palm into his temple with all the force I can generate from my position on the floor.

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