Page 134 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
Maeve stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed. "You put it in my pocket? You let me run?"
"No. You ran. The card was our insurance. I just didn't expect it to take nine months to find you again."
She looked at Artem, then at Gregor, then at me. The smile that spread across her face was the kind of thing men wrote poetry about and failed.
"The tracker never worked," she said.
"Until it did."
"Perhaps," she added quietly, "I hoped you'd come and find me."
I kissed her shoulder. Gregor's hand found hers under the water. Artem pressed his lips to her hair.
"We were always going to find you," I said. "You were ours from the moment you walked into that alley with a steak knife and a bad plan. The credit card just made it official."
"It wasn't official," Gregor said. "The tracking failed."
"I'm being romantic."
Gregor grunted. "The tracking was still substandard. I remember speaking to the security team about it. I was not happy."
"You filed a report on a romantic gesture?"
"It was a security failure with emotional consequences."
Maeve laughed. The sound echoed off the marble and the water and the tiled walls
"Only this pack," she said, "would turn a credit card tracker into a security debrief."
"Only this pack," I agreed, "would need to."
“I’m so happy,” she said. “Who would ever think this Irish mafia princess would have a pack baby for the Bratva?”
“Babies, Maeve Petrov.”
“Yes, lots of babies.” Her hand rested on her stomach. “I love you all so much.”
Epilogue - Maeve
Two and Half Years Later
The Highland Bean smelled exactly the same.
That was the first thing that got me. Not the new green door or the framed newspaper review near the till. The smell. The smell was old paper and the vanilla extract Lena used in her muffin recipe, which she'd once admitted came from the corner shop because the fancy stuff was "twelve quid and tasted the same."
It didn’t
I stood in the doorway for probably too long, letting it hit me. The last time I'd been here, I was Maeve Porter, with not enough money in the business account, pregnant and pretending my ankles weren't swollen because I couldn't afford to stop working.
I'd kept my scent buried under coffee grounds and cheap body spray and the permanent damp of Edinburgh weather.
Now I was Maeve Petrov, and I knew I no longer belonged here.
Artem's hand found my lower back. "You okay?"
"Yes. I’m ready."
"Good. Let’s do it." He pressed once, lightly. "Now go inside before Ivan traumatizes the staff."
