Page 91 of Bratva Baby

“It can be both.” I grab the scarf from the chair and wrap it around my neck, making sure the stitched hem lies flat. “Get me a car.”

“He told you not to go.”

“We’re all making interesting choices tonight.”

Niko drags a hand over his mouth, then turns and speaks into his mic. I move past him before he finishes, heading for the side cabinet where Anton keeps things he assumes I don’t know about. He really should’ve known better after locking me in here with nothing to do except read, pace, and learn his house.

I don’t want to waste any more time climbing upstairs to get my own gun.

The drawer opens on the third try.

Inside are two handguns, spare magazines, cash, and a passport that is definitely not under Anton’s real name. I take one gun, check it the way my father taught me, then tuck it into the back of my waistband under Anton’s shirt and my coat.

Niko notices. “You know how to use that?”

I look at him. “My father was paranoid, not negligent.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I know where to point it, and I know not to wave it around like a nervous idiot. Tonight, that’ll have to do.”

He mutters something in Russian that I choose not to translate. Then he reaches into the cabinet, takes another magazine, and holds it out.

I take it.

His face stays grim. “You don’t go alone.”

“Maks said alone.”

“Maks isn’t in this house.”

I almost smile. “Anton must like you.”

“Anton is going to shoot me.”

“Probably not if you save me first.”

We leave through the service side instead of the private elevator. The hallways of Anton’s penthouse feel different now, not like a cage, not like safety either. They feel like a machine I’m moving through for the first time with my own hand on the switch.

Two guards meet us near the staff entrance. Niko gives them a look before either can speak. “She goes with me. You didn’t see the car, you didn’t hear the route, and if Anton calls, you tell him we are handling it.”

One of the men looks at me. “He’ll ask what handling means.”

I lift my chin. “Tell him I’m being unbearable.”

That earns me the smallest twitch of a smile before the man steps aside.

The service lift takes us down too slowly. I stand beside Niko with my coat buttoned over Anton’s shirt, the scarf at my throat, and the gun pressing into my back. My stomach rolls once, either nerves or pregnancy or both. I set one hand over it.

“Not now,” I whisper.

Niko glances down, then away fast enough to pretend he didn’t hear.

Good. I don’t need softness right now. I need movement.

In the garage, a grey sedan waits with its lights off and the driver already behind the wheel. I get into the back before Niko opens the door for me because I don’t have time for manners. He slides in beside me and gives the driver one clipped order.

The car pulls out.