Page 59 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
I looked at this lethal, ridiculous man who'd been a two-day heat and a memory I'd tried to bury, now holding my son like the whole of him had been rewritten.
"Whatever you earn," I said.
Ivan swallowed. "Then I'll earn Papa Ivan."
I held my hand over my chest. "Ambitious."
"I'm known for exceeding expectations."
"Are you?"
"Please do not damage my credibility in front of my son."
Artem's face did something complicated. Ivan, with visible effort, transferred Mac into Artem's waiting arms.
"Breathe," Gregor said.
"I am breathing."
"Breathe better and deeper."
"Did you two rehearse that?"
"It was effective," Gregor said.
Fergus was at the bottom of the stairs, dancing around Ivan's boots. Ivan scooped him up, holding him at eye level. Fergus immediately licked his nose.
"Yeah, yeah, you too, little monster." Ivan tucked him under one arm. "Family. Don't think we forgot."
The drive to the Surrey estate happened in silence, heavy with things none of them were saying.
Artem's hand never left my thigh. Ivan sat twisted in the front seat so he could watch Mac. Wrought iron gates appeared after forty minutes, massive, flanked by stone pillars and armed guards who didn't pretend their weapons were decorative.
The driveway unspooled through ancient trees. Cameras tracked us from black domes. Men in dark coats stood at intervals, pretending to be grounds staff and failing because gardeners rarely wore shoulder holsters.
The house emerged slowly, the way you can’t take in a mountain all at once.
Honey-colored stone. Dozens of windows. Chimneys against a washed-out sky. Ivy climbing one side in a way that probably cost more to maintain than my café made in a year. The front steps were wide enough for a wedding or an execution, depending on family mood.
This was the Petrov compound. Generational wealth with a weapons budget. My new home.
It was beautiful. That was the worst part.
I wanted to hate it. I wanted the grand windows and armed men to feel like a cage. But the grounds were green and quiet. The air smelled of cut grass, old stone, and roses warming in the sun. Somewhere a fountain splashed. Birds called from the trees like nothing terrible had ever happened here.
It looked like the sort of place a woman could heal if she forgot to be afraid.
As the SUV stopped, Artem's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and something differed in his face. The father receded, the Pakhan surfaced.
He didn't get out. He stayed in the shadow of the backseat and hit a button.
"Killian." His voice dropped. "The flight just landed. We're at the Surrey estate."
Pause.
"Good. Bring the shipment tonight. No delays." Another pause, his jaw tight. "Killian… we need to talk."
He hung up and looked at me. Whatever was behind his eyes, it wasn't small.
