The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

Or better yet, I’ll wear the baby strapped to my chest, and then I’ll get to see the smiles, too.

Suddenly, Lucy stops walking, her hand yanking from mine to hold her belly. The people behind us grumble as they jockey past. I push her back against the parapet to get out of the foot traffic.

“Are you all right? What is it?” It occurs to me she could be faking as an escape attempt, but then I see her face is full of wonder.

Her eyes brighten with tears. “He kicked.”

I press my hand to her belly, too. “First kick? Or first time you’ve felt it?” I’d meant to ask her because I’d read that the quickening should be happening soon.

She nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I listen with my fingers.

“There?” she says. “You feel it?” She presses her hand over mine, pushing it deeper into her belly.

Faintly, like tiny bubbles or flutters, I register something. I crowd closer to her, molding my body to hers, taking up all her personal space. “Our son,” I murmur against her neck.

Her breath hiccups.

I brush my lips across her skin.

She doesn’t move her hand from mine. She doesn’t move at all. I nibble lightly. Nip her earlobe, kiss her jaw.

I tip her chin up to look into those downturned brown eyes. “I understand now why they call pregnancy a miracle.”

She studies me, like she’s measuring for the truth. “Yeah,” she nods after a moment of scrutiny. “Me too.”

“This baby is a gift.”

One she tried to keep from me. But I don’t say that. I don’t begrudge her right now. I just want to soak in the moment. The sweetness of our baby kicking.

I sense a current of tension run through her, but I ignore it and lower my lips to hers. I’ve fucked her twice, but it’s our first kiss since Black Light, and I take my time, brushing lightly over softness, nibbling, then finally descending for a full, deep drink from her mouth.

When I pull away, her face is flushed, eyes dilated.

Her body is so responsive to me, even when the rest of her hates me. It makes me want to kiss her again, so I do. And then a third kiss, a punctuation to the first two. I don’t wait for her to process it, but slip an arm around her back and guide her into foot traffic, pacing myself at her speed as we walk a couple miles up and down along the shore.

When she slows down and is breathing hard, I guide her back to my building.

“The people in the neighborhood call it the Kremlin,” I tell her as we approach. Maykl comes around from behind the desk to hold the door open for us. It’s not a courtesy he normally employs—he’s definitely stationed there more for security—but the mother of my child gets special treatment.

“Spasibo,” she says, practicing her Russian. To me, she says, “Do you only allow Russians to live here?”

“It’s not a hard rule, but yes. That’s the way it’s worked out.”

“And is everyone… in your organization?”

“No. Not at all. Most are not.”

She chews on that as we get in the elevator. “What kind of business are you in, Ravil?”

“Imports.” Smuggling.

“Legal?” Smart woman.

I shrug my shoulders and let her interpret that as she will. She nods like she understands perfectly.

“Also microlending.”

She studies me like she’s trying to figure out if that’s legit. “Loan shark?”

I smile. “Not anymore. Most of my clients live in the building. I invest in their small businesses. They either pay me interest or make me a partner. It’s a win-win.”

“Tell me about the fire.”

I shake my head. “That’s Adrian’s story to tell.”

“Did you order it?”

“No.”

“Was it bratva business?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me. “Did you tell Adrian not to tell me the full story?”

I tilt my head to the side. “No, but I did not encourage him to speak, either.” As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t need to know Adrian’s story unless he wants to tell it, and I doubt he will. I didn’t stop him from trying to burn that building down, and I won’t stop him if he keeps going after the building’s owner, Leon Poval. He has every right.

Adrian is new to America and new to my cell, but if he’d asked for my help in ending Koval, I would’ve given it. I still will.

We arrive on our floor, and I escort her out of the elevator.

Oleg, Nikolai and Dima are in the living room, as usual, when we come in.

“Privet, kak dela?” Lucy calls out brightly. Her accent needs work, but the greeting, “Hi, how are you?” is totally recognizable.

Nikolai exaggerates his surprise, smiling back at Lucy. “She speaks Russian!” he crows in Russian. “I’m good, doll, thank you for asking.”

His twin grins as well. “Yep, all good here. Probably better than you’re doing, considering you’re being held prisoner by our boss.”