Page 92 of Bratva Baby

The city moves past in hard pieces. Gates, concrete, late traffic, wet road, men smoking outside side doors, delivery trucks backing into lanes they shouldn’t use this late. I keep my phone in one hand and the folded Khimki schedule in the other. Maks wanted me at the east service gate near the repair shed. That means he either controls the gate or wants me seen entering there.

Neither is good.

“Call Kolya,” I tell Niko.

He does, puts it on speaker, and holds the phone between us.

Kolya answers with a curse. “Tell me she’s still upstairs.”

“She is not,” Niko says.

Kolya goes silent for one ugly second. Then he says, “Anton is going to peel paint off the walls with my name.”

“Is he moving?” I ask.

“Sofiya, he is trying to get up and come after you while bleeding through a pressure wrap. So yes, emotionally, he’s moving. Physically, I’d prefer he didn’t.”

My chest tightens, but I force myself to stay on the road ahead. “Can you get the boxes out?”

“We’ve got two loaded. Third is still near the dock. The man in the coat is alive and scared enough to be useful if we keep him that way.”

“Good. Maks wants me at the east service gate. That means his attention shifts there. Use that.”

Kolya makes a rough sound. “You’re using yourself as a distraction.”

“I’m using his fear as a distraction. My body is just the delivery method.”

Niko looks at me like he regrets every career choice that led to this back seat.

Kolya says, “Anton heard that and is making a face I don’t enjoy.”

My heart jumps. “He’s there?”

Kolya lowers his voice, though not enough. “He’s listening because he’s impossible.”

Anton’s voice cuts in, rough and furious. “Turn the car around.”

I close my eyes. Just for a second. Then I open them because the driver is taking a left, and I need to know where we are. “No.”

“Sofiya.”

“That tone worked better before I knew you were in love with me.”

Niko goes very still beside me. Kolya makes a strangled sound that may be pain or laughter. Anton says nothing for half a breath, and I can feel his fury through the phone like heat from a stove.

Then he says, “You’re enjoying this.”

“No. I’m terrified.” I watch the road narrow as we leave cleaner traffic behind. “I’m also right.”

“I don’t care if you’re right.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I care that you’re carrying my child and driving toward a man who wants to gut both our houses to climb another inch.”

“I’m not arriving unsupported.”

“You said Maks wants you alone.”