Page 87 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
“And if you don’t?” she asks. “If they get to you first?”
“Then the plan continues without me,” I say. “Mila is moved first. That isn’t negotiable.”
Ana searches my face. Then she says, “Okay.”
She gets up and wakes Mila gently, a hand on her back, her voice soft so it doesn’t startle her.
“Get up, baby. We’re going to the city.”
Mila blinks, still caught between sleep and morning. “All of us, Papa too?”
She answers without hesitation. “Yes.”
Mila sits up without complaint. She drinks her milk at the table, eats her cereal slowly, eyes still heavy. Ana packs something simple for the road, fruit and biscuits and chocolate. I don’t rush them.
Mila hums to herself while she lines her things along the edge of the bed, arranging them the way she likes. Books go first, stacked by size. Then the crayons, held tight with a rubber band. Her fox stays under her arm the whole time, pressed to her side like it belongs there. She adds the tin sword last, checks it twice, and slides it into the bag with care.
I check the car once, then again. Tires, brakes, oil, mirrors, the space behind the seats. It’s habit, not nerves.
We pull out just after midmorning. I take the coastal road first so it looks like a normal choice. Mila presses her face to the window when the water comes into view, and I stay on it a little longer for her.
I slow down instead of passing the spot. I don’t park right away. I check the pull-offs, count who’s there, and look at the angles. When I stop, I pick a place where the sand meets a low wall and I can still see both directions.
We don’t go far. Mila walks a short stretch with Ana, shoes in her hands, stopping every few steps to point at something in the water. I stay close enough that I don’t need to raise my voice. I keep my eyes on the road and the space around us.
The sea keeps Mila busy. The wind tangles her hair. She laughs once, quick and surprised, when a wave reaches farther up the sand and wets her feet. It’s enough. I don’t need more than that.
We’re back in the car within minutes. I pull out easy and keep going. The road curves ahead of us, then turns inland where traffic thins and the color drains out of things. Ana sits in the front this time, watching the road without saying anything. Mila rides behind us, curled against the window, looking out until a yawn pulls her eyes half shut.
The road stretches. I let the car settle into its pace.
I watch the mirrors the way I always have, quick looks that don’t linger. I note the space between intersections, the way cars stack or fall back. Three drivers want to push past me. I let them. The fourth car hangs back longer than it should, so I change lanes and force the decision. He takes it, pulls past, and taps the horn once like he’s thanking me.
I keep driving after the coast road turns inland, just long enough for the road to get narrower and the trees to close in on both sides. The shoulder drops off after a bend, and that’s when a car appears behind us.
It’s a dark sedan, one I don’t recognize right away. Clean shape. Tinted windows that don’t give much back. Then I place it. Same car I let pass earlier, the one that tapped the horn.
Now it stays behind us.
I don’t change speed, and I don’t signal.
The road curves left, and I take it clean. The sedan follows. Another turn comes, tighter this time, and it stays at the same distance. Same gap. Same patience.
Ana keeps looking ahead. She doesn’t turn to check the mirror. She knows not to.
She twists just enough to reach back.
“Stay awake,” she says. Her voice is steady, like she’s said this before. “Hold on till I tell you.”
Mila sits up right away and grabs the seat belt strap with both hands. She gets it.
I take the next turn faster than I need to. The car behind us follows without trouble. No sudden brake. No hesitation. Like it knew the turn before I took it.
25
DOMINIK
The car behind us never hurries, and that’s the first thing that tells me it isn’t a mistake.
