Page 85 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
The secret note that only came out since she found her mates.
The effect was immediate.
Three of the older alphas lowered their glasses. Dmitri, who'd been halfway through a sentence about shipping lanes, stopped speaking mid-word. Petyr removed his glasses and cleaned them, which was the closest thing to shock his face was capable of producing.
Ivan walked on her right. Gregor on her left. And in Gregor's arms, wrapped in a dark blanket and completely indifferent to the most dangerous room in Europe, was Mac.
Yuri's face went through several expressions very quickly, none of them flattering.
"What is this?" His voice had climbed half an octave. "This isn't the McCarthy girl. Who is this omega?"
I didn't answer immediately. I let the silence stretch long enough for everyone at the table to understand that Yuri had just demanded information from me in my own house while standing next to my fireplace.
"This is our pack omega." My voice carried without shouting. The acoustics in the hall were excellent for moments like this. "And our son."
The murmurs started low and built quickly. Uncle Mikhail, who had been watching the entire exchange from his seat near the center of the table, raised one hand. The room quieted.
"Artem." Mikhail's voice was measured. The voice of a man who had survived seventy-two years of Bratva politics by never committing to a position until he knew where the bodies would fall. "You have an omega, and an heir." He glanced at Mac, then back at me. "This is unexpected. But it’s also not what you promised this council. You promised the McCarthy alliance. You promised the routes."
Yuri saw his opening and lunged for it. "He lied! He brings a bastard and some—"
"Finish that sentence," Ivan said quietly, "and I'll finish you."
Yuri's mouth closed. He was stupid but he wasn't that stupid. Ivan's reputation had been earned at eighteen and reinforced every year since.
"Club girl," Yuri said instead, spitting the words toward Maeve. "You expect us to hand over the Bratva because you found some omega in a—"
"Club girl?" Maeve's voice was soft, almost conversational.
The room went very still.
Ivan's smile spread slowly across his face. I'd seen that smile before. It usually preceded property damage.
Maeve tilted her head and looked Yuri up and down with the calm assessment of a woman deciding whether a stain wouldcome out in the wash. "That's ambitious from a man dressed like an accountant with blood pressure issues."
One of the younger guards made a sound that might have been a cough.
Dmitri's mouth twitched. He covered it with his vodka glass.
Yuri's face went a shade of red I'd previously only seen in tomatoes and apoplectic uncles. "You dare—"
"Oh, constantly," Maeve said. "It's one of my more difficult qualities. Ask my alphas."
Then she looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “Continue, please, before I improve this room further.”
I loved her so much that I nearly forgot why we were here. But I reached into my jacket and tossed the certificate onto the table.
"The marriage license," I said. "Signed and filed in Nevada."
Yuri grabbed it before anyone else could move. His eyes tracked across the paper. The color left his face in a slow, satisfying drain.
"It's signed M. McCarthy," he said. His voice had gone thin.
"Maeve McCarthy." Her soft voice said.
The murmurs erupted properly this time. Mikhail took the certificate from Yuri's limp fingers and read it himself, his expression giving away nothing.
"The paperwork is in order," he said finally. He looked up at me, and there was something new in his eyes. Not respect, but the beginning of a recalculation. "You told us you were marrying Mary McCarthy. Yet you stand here with this omega."
