Page 128 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

Fair point.

Yelena doesn’t even look up, just continues packing her equipment with methodical precision.

“Lev let you in?” I ask.

“Lev arranged it,” Yelena says. “He didn’t want to bother you.”

My jaw tightens. That sounds exactly like Lev.

Vera makes a small sound beside me—exasperation, maybe, or amusement—and I turn to look at her. She’s shaking her head, but there’s a fondness in her expression.

Yelena has always operated on her own set of rules.

“He could have told me,” I say.

“Apparently he thought you had enough to worry about.” Yelena finally looks at me. “I’m not stupid, Roman. I checked the perimeter before I entered. Your security is adequate.”

“Adequate,” I repeat, unimpressed.

“For this location.” She shrugs. “You chose well.”

From Yelena, that’s practically a compliment.

I guide Vera to the couch, settling her onto the cushions before turning back to Yelena. She’s finished packing most of her equipment now, and I watch as she moves around the kitchenette.

With anyone else, I’d have a problem with this. But Yelena has spent years keeping me alive, stitching me together in places where questions couldn’t be asked. More importantly, she’s taken the same uncompromising approach to Vera’s care. If someone has to know where we’re hiding, there are worse people to trust.

“You still could have called,” I say.

“I could have,” Yelena agrees. “Now hush and let me further examine her.”

Vera shifts on the couch, and I turn to check on her, taking her hand automatically. She squeezes my fingers, completely at ease with Yelena taking charge.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Yelena has monitored her pregnancy with a care that borders on obsessive, answering every anxious question with patience and precision.

“Examine her?” I ask, turning back to Yelena. “You already did the ultrasound.”

“The ultrasound was routine.” Yelena moves toward the couch, her expression shifting into something more clinical, more focused. “I wanted to check her vitals. Her blood pressure has been slightly elevated the past few weeks, and I wanted to ensure it hasn’t worsened.”

I feel Vera tense beside me, and I turn to look at her. “You didn’t tell me about your blood pressure.”

“It was nothing,” Vera says, but she won’t meet my eyes. “Just a little high. Yelena said it’s common in twin pregnancies.”

“It can happen,” Yelena confirms, settling onto the coffee table across from Vera and pulling out the blood pressure cuff. “It requires monitoring, which is why I’m here.”

She secures the cuff on Vera’s arm with practiced efficiency, pumping it up and watching the gauge with sharp eyes. I sit beside Vera, still holding her hand, my jaw tight. I should have known. I should have been paying closer attention.

“You should have told me,” I say again, quieter this time.

Vera looks up at me, and there’s a vulnerability in her expression that makes my chest tighten. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m going to worry anyway.”

“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “You worry enough. I didn’t want to add to it.”

Before I can respond, Yelena removes the cuff. “120 over 78,” she announces. “That’s good.”

Vera exhales, and I can see the relief in her shoulders.