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I’m pregnant, and I’ve been kidnapped by the Bratva.
Chapter 27
Mikhail
I’m not at all surprised when I find him waiting for me at the airport. When the private jet I borrowed from Buffet was directed to stop at a separate hangar, I knew something was up. Konstantin and his men were easy to spot out of the windows, a foreboding presence dressed in all black like they’re getting ready for a funeral.
I hope it isn’t mine.
“Welcome home, dear nephew,” he greets with a hearty laugh, his arms spread out wide as if expecting a hug. I make no move to humor him.
“Where are they?” I ask immediately. One of Konstantin’s men searches me roughly, patting me down from head to toe in search of weapons.
“They’re at the compound. You remember the compound, don’t you?”
“Let them go. I’m here now, just like you wanted. Set them free.”
My uncle shrugs, laughing softly. He ignores my demand outright and gestures to the waiting vehicle behind him. I should have expected it wouldn’t be so easy.
It’s strange being back after so long, like walking into a dream. Moscow has changed immensely in the years I’ve been away. As we drive through the cold, grey city, flashes of my childhood streak across my mind’s eye. I used to walk these streets with my little brothers, visiting the park together. It has long since been replaced by massive apartment complexes, the sidewalks full and crowded with people going about their days.
“How was your flight?” Konstantin asks me with an easy smile.
I’m not going to dignify that with a response.
“Don’t look so sour, nephew. People will think somebody died.”
“Keep pissing me off, and you just might.”
My uncle chuckles. He knows he’s in his element. This is his territory, his kingdom. He will do and say whatever he pleases. I’m treading on thin ice as it is, but I sincerely doubt he’s going to kill me. Why go through all this trouble just to put a bullet in my head?
I’m safe for the moment.
Pulling up to the compound brings up a fresh batch of childhood memories. This place has been passed down through four Antonov generations. My father used to tell me the mansion was acquired during the chaos following the Russian Revolution. My great-great-grandfather purchased the property from its original owners, lesser nobility who felt the need to flee to Europe to save their own necks. It’s been the Antonov Bratva’s fortress ever since.
Konstantin’s been making upgrades to the place. There used to be a thick border of trees around the compound for privacy’s sake—and to make it easier to pick off any fool dumb enough to trespass. He’s added several watch towers, tripled the number of guards on active patrol, and the tall fencing has been upgraded with barbed wire winding around the top and bottom. He’s been taking security very seriously, something I suppose we have in common.
The car pulls up to the front of the mansion. There are two armed guards posted on either side of the large double doors leading inside. Konstantin and I climb out, along with his personal bodyguards. They keep me within arm’s reach, one hand gripping onto either of my shoulders like they’re afraid I might make a run for it. They have no need to worry. I’m not going anywhere without Aurora and my mother.
“Home sweet home,” Konstantin says with a contented hum. “Nice to be back, no?”
“Where are they?” I snap. “Stop stalling. If you hurt a single hair on their heads, I’ll—”
His bodyguards dig their fingers into my shoulders harder, sharp talons against my tense muscles. One of them makes a hasty move to reach for the pistol holstered at his hip, but Konstantin clicks his tongue, shakes his head. The man immediately stands down.
My uncle reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He lights up, taking a long drag. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack, nephew. They’re being treated like princesses. They’re living it up in the east wing.”
“I want to see them.”
“Very well.”
Konstantin tilts his head to his nearest guard. “Bring them to the window,” he instructs.
Instructions fly quickly over the radios strapped to their chests. They’ve got an entire closed-circuit communication network set up. I’d be impressed if I weren’t two seconds away from ripping into all of them with my bare hands.
I detect movement above. From where I’m standing in the front courtyard, I can see the curtains on a third floor window fly open. My eyes widen when I see Aurora. She steps forward, clearly shouting at someone as she swats a hand away. One of the guards must have made the mistake of manhandling her. She looks feral, ready to start a fight.
Then our eyes lock.
