Page 58 of Bratva Baby

I walk to the bar in the corner, pour myself vodka, change my mind, and pour water instead. That’s how bad. “Bad enough that I’d like to kill three people and one of them is on our side.”

She sets the papers aside. “You say that like it narrows things down.”

I take the glass with me and stop near the sofa instead of sitting. “It didn’t go badly enough for them to pull me off the problem.”

She nods and continues watching me like a hawk. “But?”

I look at her. “But they’re done indulging me.”

That makes her sit up straighter. “Indulging you.”

“Yes, and could you try not to look so pleased? It’s insulting.”

She relaxes and leans back in her chair. “I’m interested.”

“You’re always interested when I come home irritated.” I lower myself into the chair across from her.

She folds her legs tighter under her and gives me a look that’s half appraisal, half provocation. “That’s because you’re better looking when you’re angry.”

“I’m better looking most of the time,” I say, and her eyes drop to my mouth before she can stop them. It’s quick, but I catch it, and I enjoy it.

She looks slightly annoyed with herself for giving anything away. “So, tell me.”

I take another sip of the water. “They know you stay with me, why, and what I’m planning to do about it. Needless to say, none of it sat well with them.”

“That was predictable.”

“They started with the practical version. Hand you off somewhere quieter, claim the child later, keep the blood issue tidy while they sort Maks.”

Her face goes flat. “And you said no.”

“Yes.”

She studies me for a second. “How charitable of you.”

I lean back. “Don’t start doing gratitude. It’ll turn me off.”

She snorts softly, then her expression shifts again. “What did they say about Maks?”

“Everything I expected and nothing I enjoyed. He’s tightening around the old Baltic and Finnish channels, leaning on family subsidiaries, isolating some men, pulling others closer, and getting ready for fallout. They know the Leonidov-Reznikov problem gets worse if he keeps going.”

Her fingers still on the folder in her lap. “Do they understand why?”

I hold her gaze. “I gave them enough.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I didn’t hand them everything you’ve got.”

That changes her face in a way I feel in my chest. Relief first, then caution. Sofiya’s smart enough to be grateful and suspicious at the same time. “I’m touched,” she says. “Were they awful?”

“Mikhail wanted me to get rid of you.”

Her eyes narrow. “And yet I’m still here.”

“I reminded him how useful I’ve been over the years, and then I told them nobody touches you.”

Her throat works once but she looks away too fast to hide that she felt it. I let her have the second. Then I say, “They gave me time. Not much.”