Page 20 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

ISAAC

T he image of our baby won’t leave my head. It replays on a loop as a silent film behind my eyes showing the tiny flutter on the monitor. Katya’s instinctive squeeze of my hand and the quick rise and fall of her breath when our gazes locked. In that instant everything became real.

We heard our baby’s heartbeat today, and it broke me in the best possible way. For the first time I truly understand what it means to cradle someone else’s future. This child holds every hope and dream I’ve ever dared to name.

I pat the pocket where the ultrasound photo rests. The grin stretching my mouth feels permanent, a private promise between Katya, our unborn child, and me.

I close my office door and release a slow breath. Mikhail steps in a beat later, shattering my good mood. The tension in his eyes tells me everything before he even speaks.

“What is it?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

He shuts the door with sharp, controlled movements. Ignoring the couch and chairs, he plants himself in front of my desk with his hands clasped behind his back, a soldier delivering a report. No pleasantries. Never a good sign.

“The shipment last night was compromised,” he says.

Everything inside me goes still. “That makes two hits in as many weeks.”

“Yes,” he says, his tone grim. “It was the same setup, the same route, the same timing, as if they’ve mapped our routine. The guards were ambushed on the southern perimeter just before the truck made the turn at Pier 18.”

“Were there any casualties this time?” I ask, impatience edging my voice as I brace for the worst.

“No deaths, but one man was wounded. It was too close. We can’t survive many more hits like this.”

Fighting to stay calm, I draw a slow breath through my nose and let it out. “What did they get?”

“Nothing. The backup team responded fast. But the fact that they got that close again…”

“Means someone knew exactly where to be.”

Mikhail nods once.

I lean back and let the silence stretch. My mind sifts through a thousand possibilities, each darker than the last.

“We scrub the location,” I say after a beat. “No more runs through Pier 18. We find new routes, new meet-ups. I don’t care how inconvenient it is. If someone is watching our every move, we need to make sure everything we do stays unpredictable.”

“I’m already working on it,” he replies dutifully.

I pause.

“What about the men? Are there any potential leaks there?”

He tenses slightly. “The team is clean, as far as we can tell. We’ve run background checks on all of them, even pinged their phones to be sure no information is leaking. Nothing stands out so far.”

“Someone is talking, Mikhail. No one hits us twice by accident.”

“I know,” he answers grimly.

I rub the back of my neck, slow-burning frustration crawling up my spine. I’ve worked too hard for some coward to crack the foundation from the inside.

“What about the Grinkovs?” Mikhail asks, breaking through my reverie with the one question I dread.

I arch a brow, aware of how much effort it cost him to make the suggestion.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “If this were before Katya, I would tell you that they’re the top of my suspect list. But now?”

Mikhail shrugs. “Oleg’s been quiet lately. I hear he’s running things very differently from his father.”

“Quiet isn’t always good,” I mutter.

“Exactly.” He nods, a fraction more at ease.

I glance at the doorway where, only hours ago, Katya and I walked in hand in hand, flushed from the doctor’s appointment. Her smile had been radiant, hopeful, and for a moment I let myself imagine what peace might feel like. Now I’m being dragged back into the rot of our world.

“Keep running the background checks,” I tell him. “Start over if you have to. Every man who touched that shipment. Every driver. Every call that went out of the warehouse in the last two weeks.”

“I’ll get on it,” he says, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “You’re thinking we have a rat?”

“I don’t want to,” I mutter. “But what other answer makes sense?”

We don’t voice the other answer that makes sense. I know Katya would never betray me, but that says nothing about her father. Mikhail finally nods and walks out, leaving the door half-open.

I take my time sorting the files Mikhail left, spreading them across the desk and thumbing through names I’ve read a hundred times. I stop at a few, double-checking timestamps, searching for inconsistencies in routine. Nothing jumps out, and that only makes it worse.

I stand and pace. I should be with Katya, holding her and staring at that ultrasound together. Today should still be one of the happiest days of my life. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go now that I finally have something worth fighting for.

I grab the bottle of Scotch from the cabinet behind the bookshelf, pour two fingers, and drain it in one slow gulp. It burns well, but not enough to chase off my worries.

My phone buzzes on the desk with a message from one of the men stationed at the warehouse, confirming they’ve installed a second round of cameras. I reply with a simple message.

Stay vigilant.

This is about far more than a territory war. Whoever keeps attacking us is sending a message. They want to prove they can outmaneuver me. Maybe they think I’ve gone soft. I’ve only been married a month so maybe they think that means I’m distracted or weak.

Unfortunately, they have no idea what they’ve awakened. Being married to Katya, having a baby on the way, those things give me everything to lose. And that makes me lethal.

Later that evening I’m lighting the last candle on the dining-room table when Maude walks in.

“I’ve left your plates in the oven, and dessert is in the fridge. Do you need anything else?”

“That’s all, Maude. Thank you,” I say as she holds out her hand for the lighter.

I hand it over. She nods and heads back to the kitchen to tuck it into the drawer.

I’d given her the rest of the night off because I want a romantic evening with Katya.

When I told her, she offered a knowing look I wouldn’t let anyone else get away with.

Maude has worked for me so long she’s become another mother, so it’s no surprise she knows more about my feelings for Katya than even I do.

Now that Maude is gone, I’m absurdly nervous. I’ve been in shootouts that felt less stressful than telling my wife I have feelings for her.

Just as I set the last plate on the table, Katya appears in the doorway, and every coherent thought slips away. She’s wearing a deep blue dress that hugs her torso and skims her thighs. Pregnancy has already made her breasts fuller, and I’m practically salivating by the time she reaches the table.

“You clean up nice, Kozlov,” she says with her dry, dangerous little smile.

“You’re the one stealing the air out of the room,” I say, moving toward her and pulling out her chair.

She gives me an amused look. “So, what’s with the fancy dinner?” she asks as she sits. “Am I in trouble? Have you done something awful and this is your way of buttering me up?”

I chuckle, easing into the chair opposite hers. “Can’t I just have a nice dinner with my wife without an agenda?” I ask, teasing.

“I don’t know, Isaac, it’s all pretty suspicious,” she murmurs, unfolding her napkin and laying it across her lap. “But I’ll allow it.”

She digs into the food on her plate, a traditional Russian dish she once told me her mom made for special occasions. Everything I asked Maude to prepare tonight is something Katya has mentioned. I want her to see I’m paying attention.

“Did you make this?” she asks, sniffing suspiciously. “I didn’t peg you for a cook.”

“Your instincts are solid.” I laugh and take a sip of wine, watching her eat. “I burn water. Maude made this, but I personally requested everything on your plate.”

She looks down at her plate, eyes turning glassy. She wipes them quickly, trying to be inconspicuous, but I don’t miss the motion.

“Are you all right?” I ask, suddenly worried that I’ve done something wrong.

She looks up at me, surprise blossoming into a luminous smile. “Everything is perfect, Isaac,” she whispers. “I just can’t believe I’m married to such a thoughtful man. The pregnancy hormones are really getting to me tonight.”

We eat slowly, savoring the delicious meal Maude’s prepared.

Every once in a while, her hand grazes her belly, almost unconsciously, and every time she does, I feel something shift in me.

We’re really doing this. We’re really on the journey of parenthood together, and I’ve never felt like a luckier son of a bitch. By dessert, I can’t sit still.

I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. She’s mid-bite of her chocolate tart when I say, “I need to tell you something.”

She looks up, eyes cautious. “Okay.”

“I know this isn’t the life you wanted,” I begin. “You didn’t choose this marriage, and you didn’t choose me.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Isaac…” she starts, but I raise my hand to stop her. I need to get through this.

“You’ve made the best of it. You’ve stayed. You’ve challenged me. You’ve taken on a life that was forced on you and made it your own. And now you’re carrying our child.”

She puts down her fork, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to predict where this is headed. I stand up, walk around the table, and kneel beside her.

Her brows rise in surprise and confusion.

“I never wanted marriage either,” I tell her honestly. “I never wanted children or anyone in my life who could be used against me. And, frankly, I didn’t think I deserved to have any of that until you.”

She swallows hard, tears already spilling from her stunning green eyes.

“From the moment you stormed into my office, full of sass and fire, I knew I was in trouble. I knew that you were exactly the person I never realized I needed.”

Her eyes shimmer, and she shifts in her seat slightly, but doesn’t interrupt.

“You saw me,” I continue. “The real me. And you didn’t flinch. You challenged me. You met me on my bullshit and didn’t back down. And somewhere in all of that chaos, I fell for you.”

Silence. Her chest rises and falls, shallow and fast.

“I love you, Katya.”

She stares at me for a long time. Then her hands reach for my face, cupping my cheeks, pulling me up as she leans down to meet me in the middle. The kiss is immediate. Deep. Not tentative or unsure, but molten. She kisses me like she’s laying claim to me.

I grip her hips, pull her to her feet, and her arms wrap around my neck. We stumble back from the table, knocking a chair slightly askew as our bodies press together.

“I may be pregnant, but I’m still your wife. And as your wife, I demand you take me to bed right now.”