Page 17 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
Ana shifts, murmurs something I can’t make out. Then her eyes open. She takes in the room, the light, me sitting across from her like I never left. Her gaze hardens.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Early.”
She props herself on one elbow. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I did enough.”
She studies my face like she’s scanning for damage. “Something happened.”
“Something moved.”
Her jaw tightens. “The council.”
“Yes.”
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and reaches for her clothes. I stand before she can get the shirt over her head.
“Sit,” I say.
She freezes for half a second. She doesn’t like how it sounds. But she lowers herself back onto the bed, anyway.
“They’re debating you,” I say. “Not formally yet.”
“And you?” she replies. Her hands tremble just a little. It’s a small thing, but it’s there.
“And me.”
She scratches a dent in the parquet with her toenail. “Is this about yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Is this about remarriage?”
“Yes.” I don’t soften it. “We need to talk.”
“How fast?” she insists.
“Faster than yesterday.” I take a chair and sit in front of her. “Look, Ana,” I say, “this isn’t just about a marriage deal. There’s faction rivalry behind it, and someone high up is pushing this harder than tradition. They’re not just trying to control you. They want your name folded into someone else’s and erased from the ledger. And they won’t stop at a warning.”
Ana shivers. “It’s cold,” she says.
I get up, grab the blanket, and drape it over her shoulders. She pulls it close but keeps her eyes on the floor.
I give her space.
She presses her hands to her face, rubs hard. When she looks up, her eyes are red.
“What will I do?” she asks. “I’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.” Her voice breaks.
She gets up and moves to the kitchen. I hear the jug scrape as she pours water into a glass.
When she comes back, she’s shaking less.
“I think you should go.”
“Go where?” I stare at her.
