Page 107 of Bratva Bidder

“I know,” I say. “But you’re getting one anyway.”

There’s a pause.

Something in my tone must land differently, because her eyes flicker. She doesn’t argue again, not out loud. She’s not stupid. She knows if I’m sending Lev, it’s not just paranoia.

Something’s wrong.

“I don’t like this,” she says under her breath.

“I don’t either,” I admit.

And that’s the truth.

If I had a choice, I’d stay here. I’d sit in the corner of that sterile room and hold Nikolai’s hand while he sleeps. I’d watch Mila eat vending machine crackers and fight to keep her crayon drawings within the lines. I’d be the man she deserves at her side. The father they both need.

But I’m the man who brought enemies with him.

And right now, those enemies are too close.

“You’ll call me?” she asks.

“As soon as I have something to say.” I reach out, brushing a knuckle down her arm, just a whisper of contact. “Don’t leave the hospital until I say. Don’t go anywhere without Lev. No arguments.”

Her jaw tightens, but she nods.

Not for me. For the kids.

I take one last look at them—Mila humming softly beside the vending machine, Nadya standing tall even when the ground is shifting beneath her feet—and then I turn and walk away.

Every step feels like a betrayal, but I don’t look back.

Because if I do, I won’t leave.

And right now, staying would be the biggest mistake of all.

I’m already halfway to Staten Island by the time I make the call.

The tires hum over the bridge, city stretched wide and indifferent on either side, and still—every inch between meand the hospital feels heavier than steel. I shouldn’t have left like that. Not without saying more. Not without giving Lev the heads-up.

I press the call button anyway.

He answers immediately. “What,” Lev snaps. “You left?”

I can hear the echo of the hospital lobby behind him—the soft murmur of a nurse’s station, a distant child crying, the too-clean stillness of a place meant to hold bad news gently.

“I’m on my way to the warehouse,” I say. “Had to move fast.”

Silence.

“I’m in the goddamn lobby, Kon. You left without telling me?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“You didn’t have time?” His voice is low and dangerously steady.

I grip the wheel tighter. “I didn’t want to pull you away from them. Not right now.”

“I’m not asking for a goddamn invitation to tea. I’m your second,” he bites out. “You walk into a blood-soaked warehouse on your own, after a deal like that went sideways, you’re asking to get buried. And don’t feed me that I-can-handle-myself bullshit. We’ve lost men, Kon. Good ones. That could’ve been you.”