The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

Fuck. That.

I give her a smile that promises retribution. “Don’t worry, counselor. I won’t ask.”

I’ll take.

“I look forward to seeing you again.” I pack everything into my words—innuendo and warning—and she reads it all.

Chapter 2

Lucy

I lean on my desk after Ravil and his young bratva soldier leave my office and breathe deeply.

Not yogic breathing. More like the kind of frantic panting to keep from passing out.

What are the fucking chances?

After all my concern that my best friend Gretchen would tell someone at the Black Light and that it would somehow get back to Master R, my partner from that night, he ends up in my office purely by chance.

A referral from Italian mafia kingpin Paolo Tacone.

Gretchen will call it fate when I tell her. She believes in the Universe delivering your highest good and all that crap. She also told me I had an obligation to tell Ravil about my pregnancy.

But I had a very good reason not to.

God, I don’t know if I played that right. Threatening a Russian mafiya kingpin probably wasn’t my smartest move.

And I definitely offended him.

But maybe he has no interest in the child. For all I know, he could be married. Or hate kids. Or agree with me that his profession doesn’t lend itself to fatherhood.

A shiver runs across my skin remembering the way he held my hand way too long. How I turned into a doe in the headlights, his masculine magnetism making me weak in the knees even when I know I should run.

I definitely shouldn’t have lied. It’s not my style and insulted his intelligence. There was no way he didn’t guess it’s his. I remember him being extraordinarily perceptive. Knowing how I’d react to his every suggestion before I did. Planning our scenes together with every nuance of perfect timing and action to coax my surrender.

I also remember him choking a man for saying something disrespectful about me.

Ravil is dangerous. Lethal, even. He’s in the bratva or Russian mafiya. I knew it when I met him at Black Light by the tattoos that cover his skin. He’s probably high up, considering the Russian diplomat he was at the Black Light with. He operates outside the laws I spend my day tap dancing around. He takes what he wants.

I don’t mind lethal in a client. I’ve been exposed to the Tacone family since I passed the bar. Part of me finds the power and danger they wield exhilarating. I found it just as thrilling in a play partner at Black Light. Until the violence unfolded before my eyes. That was when I used my safe word and walked.

And I definitely mind it in the father of my son. Someone filling the actual role of father, not just the sperm-donor part. As a sperm donor, Ravil Baranov is perfect. I don’t know his medical history, but he’s physically fit and good-looking with piercing blue eyes, fair hair, and a body built of solid muscle. He’s also highly intelligent.

He’s just not the sort of man I want as a role model for our son.

Dammit.

Now I’m on pins and needles, waiting for his reaction. Will he try to insert himself into this pregnancy, or will he walk away? He’s in the driver’s seat with me anticipating the sky falling.

And I do fear it could fall.

I just don’t know how. Or when.

Ravil

“It’s a boy.” Dima—the best hacker on this continent and Russia’s— winks at me over the top of his laptop.

A boy.

I’m having a son.

I lean over Dima’s shoulder as he scrolls through Lucy’s medical records. I ordered Dima to give me every piece of information he could find on her, starting with medical records.

“Due date is November sixth,” Dima reads aloud. His twin, Nikolai, looms over his other shoulder.

“That makes the conception date...hang on…” Nikolai’s thumbs work over the screen of his iPhone. “Valentine’s Day.” He meets my gaze. “But you already knew that.”

I suck in my breath and rub my jaw. Yes, I knew. The baby is definitely mine.

I’m having a son.

I never thought I would be a father.

“We’ll have to share our papa with a new baby brother,” Nikolai teases, clapping me on the shoulder. Papa is a name sometimes used for the pakhan, or head of the bratva. It’s not one I’ve ever claimed, but my men use it jokingly.

The hard look I shoot him makes him immediately retract his hand. He offers a shrug. “Congratulations? Are you going to claim him?”

Part of the bratva Code of Thieves is to swear off all family—disassociate yourself from mothers, brothers, sisters, wives.

Lovers are all right because we don’t swear off sex. We’re the opposite of monks.

But severing ties is a way to protect the organization. It keeps everyone’s interests clean and unimpeded. Protects the innocent.

It’s one of the reasons I never pursued Lucy after Valentine’s Day, despite the fact that she utterly captivated me that night. That I haven’t stopped thinking of her since. Finding out she’s pregnant changes everything and nothing at all.