Page 105 of Bratva Baby

But tonight, the man who killed him got dragged out by the same dirty freight world he thought he owned, and I stood there long enough to watch his story collapse.

Anton’s arm stays around me as Kolya comes back with his phone already out. “We need to move. Grigor wants a secure meet, the Brotherhood wants confirmation, Yuri wants payment in favors, and Anton needs a doctor before he bleeds on anything expensive.”

“I’m fine,” Anton says.

Three of us look at him.

Even Yuri, halfway across the yard, turns his head.

Anton sighs. “Fine. I’m not fine.”

“Progress,” I say.

He looks down at me. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enjoying several things.”

His eyes darken just enough to remind me who he is under the blood and exhaustion. “Careful, Milaya.”

I smile up at him, tired and shaky and alive. “Take me home first.”

His grip shifts at my waist, and for a second the whole yard drops away again. “Always.”

28

ANTON

By the time I get Sofiya home from the yard, I’ve lost enough blood to make the doctor rude, Kolya has threatened to tie me to a chair, and Sofiya has decided she’s in charge of everyone.

She stands at the foot of my bed in my coat, her scarf still wrapped around her throat, one hand resting over her stomach and the other holding a cup of tea she hasn’t touched. Her face is pale, her wrist is bruised from Maks, and she looks at the doctor stitching my side like she might take the needle and do it herself if the work disappoints her.

“Stop moving,” she snaps at me.

I look at the doctor. “Was that medical advice?”

The doctor doesn’t look up. “It was better than anything you’ve contributed.”

Kolya, standing near the bedroom door with dried blood on his cuff and a bandage across his temple, makes a pleased sound. “I like her.”

“You like anyone insulting me while I’m wounded,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m consistent.”

Sofiya steps closer, and her eyes go over the bandage at my shoulder, the stitches at my side, and the bruise starting to rise across my ribs. She tries to keep her face hard, but she can’t hide the way her hand tightens around the cup.

“You said it wasn’t bad.”

“It wasn’t,” I say.

The doctor snorts. “He needed fourteen stitches.”

Sofiya’s eyes come back to mine. “Fourteen.”

“Could’ve been fifteen,” I counter. “I negotiated.”

Her mouth tightens, and then she sets the tea down with enough force to make Kolya take one careful step back. “You are the most impossible man I have ever met.”

I reach for her hand before she can turn away. “You drove into a trap while pregnant, lied to Maks with a fake clock story, pulled Grigor into the war, and held a gun on your cousin badly enough to offend me. I’m not accepting that title alone.”