Page 88 of Bratva Baby

“Then let Anton die and see where the package lands.”

The words cost me, but I make them clean.

Maks takes too long to answer. Somewhere behind me, Niko mutters something into his mic and turns away, probably getting confirmation from the yard. I keep my eyes on the desk because if I look at him now, he’ll see too much.

“What do you want?” Maks asks.

“Anton, Kolya, and their men walk out alive. They take the boxes they already opened. They keep the man in the coat.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t get everything.”

“I get what I can ruin you with.”

His voice hardens. “You’re carrying Reznikov blood and still think you can threaten me with family secrets.”

My hand tightens over my stomach, but I’m honestly unsurprised he knows. Someone in the brotherhood has been feeding secrets to the Leonidovs—that’s why Anton was compromised in the first place. Maks likely knew what we were planning all along.

“That baby is exactly why I can threaten you. You made sure I had nothing left to lose except people I’m willing to fight for.”

That shuts him up again.

When Maks answers, his words come slower. “You come to the yard.”

“No.”

“You come to the east service gate near the repair shed, alone, and you bring me what your father left. If the package is real, Anton walks. If it isn’t, I’ll put him down in front of you and make sure Reznikov hears why.”

My mouth goes dry, but my voice doesn’t shake. “Anton walks first.”

“You’re not in charge.”

“I hear his voice first, or I send the index out.”

“You don’t have the reach.”

“Try me.”

He breathes out, and I can almost see his smile returning in pieces. “You sound very sure of yourself for a woman who has spent the last month running.”

“I was pregnant, hunted, and still smarter than your men. Be more embarrassed.”

Pavel glances at me, and if this room weren’t built around disaster, I might enjoy the look on his face. Maks doesn’t enjoy it. I hear that in the silence that follows.

“Five minutes,” he says at last. “Reznikov calls you. Then you come.”

“Three.”

“You’re pushing.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Three,” he says and hangs up.