57. Sophie
57
SOPHIE
I ’m halfway through a call with another client when the door swings open, and Grandma marches in like she owns the place.
Her walker clatters against the polished floor, the sound punctuated by her commentary on the world’s injustices.
“Excuse me, genius hacker,” she announces, hands on her hips. “I think someone stole my cookie dough ice cream from the kitchen. If this household doesn’t have security footage for that kind of crime, what’s even the point of living in a mansion like this?”
I press a hand over the receiver, fighting back a laugh. “I’m on a call.”
She raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. “And I’m on a mission to get ice cream. Priorities, dear.”
Before I can respond, Victor steps into the room, leaning casually against the doorframe.
He’s impeccably dressed, as always, his graying hair giving him an air of distinguished authority. “Amber, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here who eats cookie dough ice cream. Are you accusing yourself of theft?”
Grandma scoffs, turning to face him. “You’ve got jokes, huh? Careful, or I’ll accuse you next.”
Victor smirks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d like to see you try.”
I wave at them, pointing to the phone with exaggerated emphasis. “Still on a call here!”
Grandma blows a kiss in my direction. “Fine, fine. Don’t mind us.”
Victor strolls further into the room, eyeing Grandma with thinly veiled amusement. “You know, for someone who relies on a walker, you move with alarming aggression.”
“And for someone who’s supposed to be a retired Bratva boss, you’re awfully concerned about my ice cream habits,” Amber fires back. “Got something you want to confess, Victor?”
“Only that I’m far too old for this kind of harassment,” he replies smoothly, his smirk widening.
Grandma narrows her eyes. “Old? Please. You’re the same age as a fine wine—aging to perfection. Too bad the cork’s still stuck.”
Victor chuckles, a genuine, rumbling laugh that makes Grandma grin. “Careful, Amber,” he says, his voice light. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I don’t need flattery to get somewhere,” she shoots back, jabbing her thumb toward the door. “I’ve got charm, wit, and a walker that doubles as a weapon.”
Victor shakes his head, looking at me. “How do you put up with her?”
“Same way I put up with you,” I quip. “By remembering that deep down, you’re both big softies. Now get out both of you, I’m working here.”
I glance at the baby name list. Mila. I like that.
I gasp as a sharp, unmistakable pain shoots through my abdomen.
I freeze, hand pressing instinctively to my belly. The baby’s been active all day, and I’ve brushed off every twinge as part of the deal. But this is different.
“Everything okay?” Grandma asks, still locked in her verbal sparring match with Victor.
“I think…” My voice wavers, and I push myself upright. “I think the baby’s coming.”
Both of them stop mid-banter. Grandma’s jaw drops. “Now?”
Victor’s calm demeanor evaporates as his eyes widen. “You’re sure?”
I grip the edge of the desk, dropping the phone, breathing through another contraction. “Oh yeah. Pretty sure.”
Grandma springs—or rather, wobbles—into action. “Victor, get Maxim! Now! Operation Babydrop is go.”
Victor nods, already reaching for his cellphone. “Stay calm, Sophie.”
“Calm?” I snap, pacing the room as the contraction fades. “I’m about to give birth, Victor. Calm isn’t exactly on the agenda.”
Grandma grabs my arm, steadying me. “Breathe, kiddo. In and out. We’ve got this.”
Maxim strides in seconds later, his expression a mix of alarm and determination.
“Sophie?” His eyes lock on mine, scanning me for injuries, and then dart to my belly. “What’s going on?”
“The baby,” I say, my voice shaky but steady. “It’s happening.”
Maxim’s entire demeanor shifts. He crosses the room in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around my waist to support me. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“What about work–” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You’re not staying here one second longer than necessary.” His voice is firm, commanding, but there’s a gentleness in the way he adjusts his hold, ensuring I’m comfortable. “Your clients can wait.”
Grandma nods, grabbing her walker. “Don’t worry about us. Victor and I will handle things here.”
Victor smirks. “By ‘handle things,’ she means she’ll boss me around while eating ice cream.”
“Damn right,” Grandma retorts, her smile faint but reassuring. “You deal with the work calls, I eat. We agreed that was the system.”
Another contraction hits, and I grip Maxim’s arm, my nails digging into his sleeve. He doesn’t flinch, his focus entirely on me. “Breathe, malyshka,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Time to go have a baby.”