Page 4 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
Her mouth twists. “I didn’t have a choice.”
I don’t argue. The car fills with silence. After a minute, she says, “They’ll keep coming, and they’re going to try to kill you too.”
“I know.”
She studies me. “So, why’re you here?”
I hold her gaze. “Because they crossed a line.”
Because I haven’t stopped wanting you. I buried that part of myself, and now you’re digging it up.
More silence.
Then, “She doesn’t know who you are.”
“I figured.”
“She just knows she’s safe with me.”
“I’m not asking for more than that.”
“But you’re not walking away, either.”
I grip her hand tightly. “You’re not alone anymore,” I say. “That changes things.”
She turns her face to the window. Her voice drops. “I was never alone. I was hiding. That’s not the same.”
She shifts slightly, the weight of Mila pressing between us. Her voice softens. “You could’ve let them take me.”
I glance at her, slow and direct. “No.”
She doesn’t speak after that.
We reach the safehouse by nightfall. It’s a dacha, old bones with a reinforced frame, set back from the road behind a rusted gate and two acres of peace. The cameras are looped. The windows are narrow. Inside, everything is spare and practical, clean walls, locked drawers, and enough space to think without being watched.
Denis parks in the garage, kills the engine, and looks back once. “Call if you need me.”
I nod. He doesn’t wait. The gate slides shut behind him.
Ana moves across the cobblestone path like her legs have finally caught up with her. The adrenaline is gone. Mila is asleep in her arms now. I check the back room and pull the old cot from storage, close to the ground, basic but clean, with a mattress, fresh sheet, and a soft pillow. It’ll do.
Ana lays Mila down and tucks the blanket around her, her fingers lingering for a while. Then she straightens and joins me in the kitchen. She doesn’t ask if I want tea. So I make it. The kettle’s old, dented. The water takes time. I set down two chipped mugs. Neither of us reaches for them.
“We have twenty-four hours,” I say. “Maybe less.”
“To do what?”
“To decide what we want to do.”
“And if I don’t want to return to this life?”
I groan inwardly. She’s just as stubborn as she used to be. “You don’t get a choice.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“They flagged you. You triggered Markov’s vault and anything tied to it.”
“And Mila.”
