Page 62 of The Bratva King

He finishes half of his sandwich.

“I’ll make a call,” Nikolai says.

I look up. “What kind of call?”

“The kind that moves things.”

“I don’t want him jumping a waitlist because of who you are. Other families are waiting, too. Families who need the services just as much as we do.”

“I’m not going to pull a child off a list,” he says. “I’ll call someone who can tell me which list he should be on. Get him seen faster by the right person.” He picks up his drink. “There’s a difference.”

I want to tell him I can handle it, but I don’t. I will beg, borrow, and steal for Luke. If that means taking advantage of his generosity, I’ll do it.

“Why?” I ask. “Why are you being so kind to us?”

“Because I can,” he says.

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.” He drinks his scotch. “You needed somewhere safe. The boy needed somewhere safe. I have somewhere safe.” He pauses. “It’s not complicated.”

“It feels complicated.”

“That’s because you’re expecting demands.”

“I hate this,” I admit. “Taking help. I hate it.”

“You don’t know me, but I think you understand who I am. Just like I know you’re not who you say you are.”

I flinch. He holds my gaze. “I don’t care,” he says. “You’re hiding, and as long as you don’t come after me and mine, you’re safe here.”

He knows. That’s bad. Worse, it’s dangerous. But he’s not lying to me. He’s not threatening me. He’s protecting me.

I slide off the stool, pick up my plate, and carry it to the sink to rinse it.

When I turn around, he’s watching me.

“I’m not a criminal,” I whisper.

His lips twitch, and I think I might get an actual smile, but then it’s gone. He picks up his glass, drains it, and leaves it on the island. “I am.”

And then he walks out of the kitchen.

I stand there, trying to decide if his honesty makes him safer or more dangerous. He’s not hiding who he is. I’m not asking questions. He’s not asking questions.

I press my hand against my stomach, waiting for my instinct to tell me if I’m making the second biggest mistake of my life.

It doesn’t feel like a Matteo situation. I knew from the second I laid eyes on Matteo that he would hurt me.

Nikolai won’t. That’s what my instinct is telling me.

16

Nikolai

I stand in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Gabby at the table with Luke. She’s got her coffee, and he’s got what I’ve come to understand is his standard morning setup. He’s looking at a book with a stegosaurus on the cover. Neither of them is talking, but she’s watching him.

The house feels different with them in it. It’s not noise. They don’t produce much of that. It’s something else. Occupied, maybe. Like a home instead of just a place I sleep in.