Page 56 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

It’s the nanny. Her voice is strained, drowned out by the sound of muffled, ragged sobbing in the background.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice instantly dropping into a quiet, focused register.

“It’s Ethan, sir. He won’t stop crying. He keeps asking for his mommy, and when I told him she was still working, he started asking for you. He’s worked himself up so much he’s hyperventilating. I can’t get him to calm down. He just wants his daddy.”

Hearing my son’s broken cries through the speaker shreds the icy armor I’ve spent the last hour building. I look at the map on the screen. I look at Kaplan, who’s waiting for my command to move.

Ashley is out there. But Ethan is here, terrified, feeling the sudden, unexplained absence of both of his parents.

I close my eyes for a single, heavy second, balancing the two halves of my soul.

“Kaplan,” I say, lowering the phone. “Hold the team. Keep the engines running and monitor the estate’s perimeter. Give me thirty minutes.”

Kaplan looks up, startled. “Sir? We have the location. Every second—”

“I know what every second means,” I cut him off, my voice brooking no argument. “But my son needs me. Stand down for thirty. I’ll be back.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I sprint out of the server room, the heavy metal door clattering shut behind me. Within seconds, I’m in my SUV, the engine roaring to life as I pull out of the garage and into the night traffic.

I drive with a controlled aggression, threading through the city streets, my eyes darting to the dashboard clock. 8:45 p.m.

The drive home is a blur of passing headlights and the drumming of my own heartbeat against my ribs. I have to compartmentalize. I have to lock the predator away before I walk through my front door. I cannot let Ethan see the violence that’s currently clawing to get out of me.

When I park and storm into the penthouse, the silence of the foyer is broken by the distant, wet gasps of my son’s crying. I drop my keys on the console and head straight for his room, stripping off my heavy outer jacket as I go, forcing my breathing to slow down.

I’m his father first. I have to be the anchor he needs before I go to war.

I push the door to his bedroom open. The only light comes from a small nightlight shaped like a star, casting soft shadows across the walls. Ethan is curled into a tight ball in the center of his bed, his small shoulders shaking as he clutches his stuffed toy. The nanny is kneeling beside him, her face full of helpless worry. She looks up at me, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’ve got him,” I murmur.

She nods quickly and slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress. The wood groans slightly under my weight. I reach out, my hand—which only minutes ago was checking the safety on a firearm—resting gently on his back.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, keeping my voice low, warm, and steady.

Ethan jerks at the sound of my voice. He spins around, his face red, his eyelashes wet with tears. “Daddy!” he gasps, scrambling across the sheets and throwing his small arms around my neck. He clings to me with a desperate, surprising strength, his face buried in my shoulder.

“I’m here,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him close against my chest. “I’m right here.”

“Where’s Mommy?” he sobs, his chest heaving. “She didn’t come home. And you weren’t here. I thought…I thought you both left.”

The pain of his words slices straight through me, deeper than any physical wound could. The urge to run out the door, to find Daniel and end this immediately, screams in my ear. Every second I sit here is a second Ashley is in danger. But as I feel the frantic beat of my son’s heart against mine, I force the urgency down. I bury it deep.

“We would never leave you, Ethan,” I say, my voice an absolute rock. I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, cupping his face in my hands. I wipe a tear from his cheek with my thumb. “Mommy had a very important project tonight. You know how hard she works. She’s safe, and she’s going to be home soon.”

“Really?” His voice cracks, his wide, trusting eyes searching mine for any sign of a lie.

“Really,” I promise, holding his gaze. “I’m going to go help her finish up, and then we’re both going to be right here when you wake up in the morning. Okay?”

He sniffs, the frantic edge of his panic finally beginning to recede, anchored by the absolute certainty in my voice. “Okay.”

“Now, lay back down,” I say, pulling the covers up to his chin. I sit beside him, stroking his hair, humoring him as he slowly relaxes into the pillows.

It takes ten minutes. Ten agonizing, vital minutes of watching his breathing slow, watching his eyelids grow heavy, until his grip on his toy loosens and he finally drifts off into a deep, exhausted sleep.

In the quiet of the room, the contrast of what I have to do next settles heavily on my shoulders. This is what is at stake. My son. My wife. The life I fought so hard to build. I cannot fail them.