Page 57 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
Moreno. Snarling orders from behind a wall of his remaining soldiers, face twisted, eyes blazing. His hand jabs the air, voice straining to reassert control as his empire crumbles around him. For a heartbeat, our eyes lock across the storm.
I don’t hesitate. My rifle rises, steady as my breath. One pull.
The bullet buries deep in his chest.
Moreno staggers, disbelief flickering across his face before it collapses into nothing. His knees buckle. He crumples into the mud, lifeless, swallowed by the rain and darkness.
Around us, the last resistance falters. His men scatter, broken, leaderless.
There’s no satisfaction in me. No triumph.
The fury hasn’t dulled. The storm inside hasn’t eased, because she isn’t here. Until I see Annie—until I put my hands on her and know she’s alive—none of this matters.
The steel door waits at the far end of the corridor, locked and reinforced, the last barrier between me and what Moreno thought he could hide. My pulse hammers in my throat, rage coiled tight. I drive my boot into the hinges once, twice—on the third strike, the metal shrieks and splinters. The door swings wide, slamming against the wall with a crash that shakes the floor.
I step inside, rifle raised, ready for resistance, ready for her defiance, for her terror.
What I don’t expect is the child. He’s small and trembling. Clinging to Annie’s side like a shadow.
The world narrows to a pinpoint.
My gaze locks on Henry. His eyes—pale, cold, sharp—stare back at me with the same shade I see in the mirror every morning. Not hers. Mine.
My blood turns molten.
Time fractures. Sound muffles. The distant crack of gunfire fades, my men’s shouts swallowed into nothing. All I see is her. All I see is Annie holding my son.My son.
The realization hits with the force of an explosion, crashing into me, ripping me open from the inside. Months—longer—she carried this. Hid this. She let me drink myself numb, rage myself hollow, while she built a life in the shadows with him.
My son.
Every instinct tears in different directions. I want to demand answers, to rip the words out of her throat until she tells me why. I want to drag her against me, to feel the proof of both of them alive. I want to tear the room apart, to destroy the silence she wrapped this secret in.
The storm inside me is cut short.
Boots thunder down the hall. Shouts bark closer. Moreno’s last defenders, desperate and reckless, pouring toward us. The sound snaps the moment clean in two.
I lower my rifle toward the door, my body between them and her without thought. Rage burns through me, but it hardens into something sharper, colder.
The reckoning between us will come, but not yet. Not until they’re safe.
I seize her wrist, iron-tight, dragging her upright with Henry pressed between us. My grip doesn’t waver, not when she stumbles, not when her eyes flash with panic, not when Henry whimpers against her shoulder.
My hold is absolute. She is here now, with me, and I will not let her slip away again.
The compound burns behind us, smoke and flame curling into the rain-soaked night. Sparks spit against the storm, hissing as they hit wet earth. My men move with ruthless efficiency, checking corners, dragging out survivors only to cut them down, making sure Moreno’s name is buried.
I pull Annie and Henry through the chaos, their small forms stark against the violence. Every step feels like a vow carved deeper into my bones.
I can feel Annie’s pulse thrumming beneath my fingers, wild and frantic, but she doesn’t fight me. She clutches the child tighter, shielding him even as she lets me lead them out.
We break into the open air, the night split by headlights and the growl of engines. Trucks wait, doors open, men shouting positions, the storm rolling heavy above. I shove her toward one, guiding her up into the seat with Henry clinging tight. My hand never loosens.
When I speak, my voice is low, cold, every word honed to a blade. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Her eyes flick to mine, wide and sharp, and for a moment I see all the fury, the fear, the defiance she’s tried to hold back. It doesn’t matter.
Later, when the guns are quiet and the fire is behind us, when Henry is safe and there are no more walls between us to hide behind.
