Unexpected Bratva Baby

Chapter 19Phoebe

19

Phoebe

T he community center bustles with energy as I set up for my Scottish cooking class. The aroma of sautéed onions and fresh herbs fills the air, mingling with the excited chatter of my students. I adjust my apron, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles while trying to calm my stomach. It’s a little bit nerves, since I’ve only taught a couple of classes before this, and a lot of the fish and chips I had for lunch. The dish looked so good, but now, my stomach is rebelling. Pregnancy isn’t being easy on me.

“All right, everyone,” I say loudly to be heard over the chatter. “Let’s gather ‘round. Today, we’re making Scotch eggs.”

The students huddle closer, their faces eager. Nastya is among them, ostensibly just another student. She gives me a subtle nod, reminding me of her true purpose here.

I take a deep breath, pushing away thoughts of danger and focusing on the task at hand. “First, we’ll start with our sausage mixture. The key is to get the right balance of spices...”

As I demonstrate, my hands move with practiced ease, kneading the meat and explaining each step. The familiar motions soothe my nerves, and I start to relax into the rhythm of the class.

“Watch closely as I wrap the egg,” I say, cradling a soft-boiled egg in seasoned sausage. “You want to make sure it’s completely covered, but not too thick.”

A movement outside the window catches my attention. I glance up, hands stilling. A man stands there, watching intently. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, and his dark gaze is fixed on me with an unsettling intensity. My heart skips a beat as recognition dawns. José Valdés. I haven’t seen him before, but I know it’s him on an instinctive level.

I force myself to keep talking, to keep moving, even as my pulse accelerates. “Next, we’ll coat our Scotch eggs in breadcrumbs. This gives them that perfect crunch when we fry them.”

My gaze dart to Nastya. She’s already alert, her posture changing subtly as she notices my distress. I give her the barest of nods toward the window, praying she understands.

“Who wants to try wrapping their own egg?” I ask, my voice remarkably steady despite the fear coursing through me.

As students step forward, eager to get their hands messy, Nastya slips away from the group. She moves casually, as if heading to the restroom, but she’s surely alerting the other security personnel Mikhail has stationed around the building.

I continue the lesson, hyper-aware of Valdés’ presence outside. He hasn’t moved and hasn’t tried to enter. What is he waiting for? “Remember, the oil needs to be hot enough to crisp the outside quickly without overcooking the egg inside,” I say, demonstrating the frying technique. The sizzle of the Scotch egg hitting the oil is deafening in my ears, drowning out my pounding heart.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion outside. I look up to see Nastya confronting Valdés, her stance aggressive despite her smaller frame. They exchange words, too low for me to hear, but the conflict is plain.

“Keep an eye on your eggs,” I say to the class, trying to keep their attention away from the window. “They can burn quickly if you’re not careful.”

A scuffle breaks out. Valdés pushes past Nastya, reaching for the door. Two of Mikhail’s men appear, grabbing him. Fists fly. A student gasps, finally noticing the altercation.

“Everyone, step back from the stoves,” I say, teacher’s instincts I didn’t know I had suddenly kicking in. “Safety first. Let’s move to the back of the room.”

As I usher my students away from the windows, I hear the sound of breaking glass. Valdés has broken free, diving through the window in a shower of shards. He rolls to his feet, his gaze locking with mine for a brief, terrifying moment before he takes off running.

Nastya bursts through the door with her hair disheveled and a cut on her cheek. “Is everyone all right?” she asks, scanning the room before looking at me.

I nod, my voice shaky as I respond. “We’re okay. What just happened?”

Nastya doesn’t answer immediately. She’s already on her phone, speaking rapid Russian. I catch Mikhail’s name, and my stomach clenches, reminding me of the low-grade nausea that’s plagued me all day.

The room erupts into confused chatter. Students demand explanations with some looking frightened and others excited by the unexpected drama.

“I’m so sorry, everyone,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the din. “Class is dismissed for today. Please, gather your things and exit through the back door. It’s just a precaution.”

As the students file out, casting curious glances back at me and the broken window, I sink onto a nearby stool. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and more nauseated.

Nastya approaches, her phone call finished. “We need to move. He wants you back at the penthouse now. Mikhail’s orders.”

I nod numbly, unconsciously moving my hand to rest on my still-flat stomach. Six weeks. Only six weeks along, and already this child’s life is complicated by danger and violence.

“What about the community center?” I ask, looking around at the half-finished Scotch eggs and the mess left behind. “I can’t just leave it like this.”

She shakes her head. “Of course, you can’t. We’ll take care of it. Your safety is the priority now.”

As we make our way to the exit, I wonder if this is my new normal. Will I ever be able to teach a cooking class again without looking over my shoulder? Will I ever feel safe? The night air hits my face as we step outside, and I take a deep breath. It helps calm me and relieves some of the nausea.

“Ready?” she asks, hand on the car door.

I nod, squaring my shoulders. “Ready.”

Several minutes later, the elevator doors slide open, revealing the sleek interior of Mikhail’s penthouse. I step out, legs still shaky, with Nastya close behind me. The familiar surroundings do little to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me.

Mikhail stands by the windows, his silhouette outlined against the twinkling Miami skyline. He turns as we enter, immediately looking at me. In three long strides, he’s crossed the room, enveloping me in his arms.

I collapse against his chest, the adrenaline from earlier finally giving way to fatigue and fear. He tightens his arms around me, with one hand cradling the back of my head, and the other splayed across my lower back. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” His voice is rough with emotion.

I shake my head against his chest, unable to form words. The scent of his cologne—citrus and something distinctly Mikhail—fills my senses and settles me.

“Nastya,” he says, not loosening his hold on me. “Report.”

She is calm and professional. “Valdés approached during Ms. MacKenzie’s cooking class. There was a brief altercation outside and some broken glass. No injuries on our side.” She touches her cut cheek reflexively. “Perhaps just one. Valdés escaped.”

Mikhail’s body tenses at her words. I pull back slightly, looking up at him. His jaw is clenched, and a muscle ticks in his cheek. “And the students?” he asks.

“All safely evacuated. No civilians were harmed.” She briefly smiles. “Yuri and Lavr are currently on clean-up duty to ensure the center is ready for the next class.”

Mikhail nods but never looks away from me. “Thank you, Nastya. That will be all for now.”

I hear Nastya’s footsteps retreat, followed by the soft ding of the elevator. We’re alone.

He cups my face in his hands, gently stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to be in danger.”

The tenderness in his touch, and the raw emotion in his voice, break something inside me. Tears spill down my cheeks. “I was so scared,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “When I saw him there, watching me... I thought?—”

“Shh.” He pulls me close again. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you or our child.”

Our child. The words send a jolt through me, reminding me of the tiny life growing inside me. A life now in danger because of who its father is. I pull away from Mikhail, wrapping my arms around myself. “How can you say that? How can you promise to keep us safe when your world is so dangerous?”

He flinches before his expression softens. He reaches out, taking my hand and leading me to the plush sofa. We sit, our knees touching, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. “I’ve lied to you in the past. I’ve kept things from you, but please believe me when I say that protecting you and our child is now my highest priority.”

I search his face, looking for any sign of deception. All I see is sincerity and determination. “I want to believe you, but how can I trust you after everything?”

He takes a deep breath. “Let me tell you a story… About my father, and how I came to be who I am today.”

I nod, settling back into the sofa.

He seems distant as he begins to speak. “My father was a hard man. Brilliant in business, and ruthless with his enemies, but he was not a good father. He saw me as a disappointment and too soft for the world we lived in.” Mikhail seems lost in memory. “When I was twelve, he took me on my first...job. We went to collect a debt from a man who had borrowed money from the bratva . The man couldn’t pay.”

I tremble, guessing where this story is going.

“My father handed me a gun. He told me to shoot the man, to prove I was worthy of the Sokolov name.”

“Did you?” I whisper, dreading the answer.

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. I dropped the gun and ran. My father was furious. He beat me severely that night, telling me if I was weak, I would never survive in our world.”

My heart aches for the boy Mikhail had been. I squeeze his hand, offering what comfort I can.

“That night changed me,” he says. “I swore I would become stronger, smarter, and more ruthless than my father ever was. I would prove him wrong.” He turns to me, looking sad but resigned. “I’ve done terrible things, Phoebe. I’ve hurt people and killed people, but I’ve also built something. I’ve created an empire that provides for thousands. I protect those under my care.”

“Including me?” I ask softly, feeling reassured though I should probably be disgusted by his confessions.

“Especially you,” he says fiercely. “You and our child are my future. A chance at something I never thought I could have. A family. Love.”

The raw honesty in his voice makes my breath catch. I see the boy he was, the man he’s become, and all the layers that make up Mikhail Sokolov. “I’m scared. This world you live in is so different from anything I’ve known.”

He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “I know, but you can do this, and I’ll be at your side.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, holding me close. For the first time since the incident at the community center, I feel safe. “What happens now?” I ask.

“We prepare,” he says, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Valdés has made his move. We must respond and continue with the plan I outlined before. We do our best to continue to undermine him.”

I tense, remembering the violence at the community center. “Will there be more fighting?”

Mikhail sighs. “I wish I could say no, but Valdés won’t stop until I deal with him, either by undercutting his standing and power or by killing him. I’ll do everything in my power to keep the violence away from you.”

I nod, accepting his words. This is his world, dangerous and complex, but it’s my world now too if I’m going to be with him—and I can’t imagine leaving him. “I believe you.”

I close my eyes, savoring the closeness, and realize something has shifted between us. The fear and resentment that had been clouding my feelings for Mikhail have receded. In their place is a new understanding and a deeper connection.

This isn’t the life I imagined for myself, but the alternative is to live without him, and that isn’t really an option. I can’t imagine going back to the life I had before when I’m aware of how much he loves me, and how deeply I love him. This is it, for better or worse.

A couple of days later, I pace back and forth across the penthouse living room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step. Masha trots beside me, her nails clicking on the marble floor when she veers off the rug. She looks up at me with her big brown eyes, head tilted in confusion at my restless energy.

“I know, girl,” I say, pausing to scratch behind her ear. “I’m not sure what’s going on either. Your daddy just told me to be waiting for him.”

The elevator dings, and I freeze. Masha’s uninjured ear perks up, and she bounds toward the sound. I follow more slowly, smoothing my hands over my dress and taking a deep breath.

Mikhail steps out, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He smiles when he sees me, and all my nervousness melts away. I rush forward, throwing my arms around his neck. He catches me easily, lifting me off my feet in a loving embrace.

“Phoebe,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”

I pull back slightly, suddenly self-conscious about my enthusiasm since he was only gone a few hours, but he doesn’t let me retreat. He cups my face in his hands, capturing my lips in a kiss that makes my toes curl.

When we finally part, both a little breathless, he grins. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

I nod, curiosity bubbling up inside me. “What is it?”

He takes my hand, leading me back to the elevator and apologizing to Masha in Russian when she tries to follow us, but he doesn’t let her. “You’ll see soon enough, my dear. Trust me.”

The ride down and then in the car is filled with anticipation. Mikhail keeps stealing glances at me with a secretive smile. I want to pepper him with questions, but I hold my tongue, savoring the mystery.

A while later, after Vlad parks at a curb, we step out onto the bustling streets of Little Havana. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and fried plantains. Salsa music drifts from a nearby café, and colorful murals adorn the walls of buildings. Mikhail guides me through the crowd, his hand warm and secure in mine.

We stop in front of a small, run-down shop. The paint is peeling, and the windows are grimy, but there’s something charming about its worn facade. Mikhail pulls out a key, unlocking the door with a flourish. “After you,” he says, gesturing for me to enter.

I step inside, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dim interior. Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through the dirty windows. The space is empty save for a few broken shelves and an old cash register.

I turn to face him. “What is this?”

His eyes are shining with excitement. “This, my love, is your Scottish cultural center and shop.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

He steps closer, taking both my hands in his. “I know how much you’ve dreamed of opening a place to share your heritage and passion for Scottish culture, so I bought this property for you.”

Tears prick at my eyes. I look around the space with more interest, suddenly seeing not what it is, but what it could be. Shelves lined with tartans and whisky. A corner for storytelling and music. A small kitchen for cooking demonstrations.

“Mikhail,” I whisper, overwhelmed by the gesture. “I don’t know what to say.”

He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Say you’ll make this place everything of which you have ever dreamed. Say you’ll share your passion with the world.”

I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. All my lingering doubts and reservations melt away. This complex, dangerous, wonderful man understands me in a way no one else ever has.

I tilt up my head, meeting his gaze. “Thank you,” I say, pouring all my emotion into those two simple words.

His eyes darken with desire. He leans down, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s tender and passionate all at once. I melt into him, molding against him as if we were made to fit together. I forget for the moment that we’re in the corner of my future shop in Little Havana, and anyone peering in at the right angle could see us embracing like this. It’s been too long since I had him inside me, and I start tugging at his jacket while making little whimpers of need.

“Shhh,” he whispers against my lips. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t care,” I say, pulling away from him. “I want you now.”

He groans, resting his forehead against mine. “You’re killing me, lyschka .” He’s not trying to push me away though. Instead, he hikes up the skirt of my dress and settles between my legs while pushing me back against the wall. “When you come, you have to be quiet.”

I nod eagerly, spreading my thighs wider to accommodate him. He reaches beneath my dress and pushes aside my panties, exposing my slick folds to the cool air. He finds my clit, rubbing it in slow circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through me as he captures my mouth in a long, drugging kiss.

His hand moves lower, dipping into my pussy and coating his fingers with my juices. Then he slides one finger inside me, followed by another, stretching me deliciously. I moan into his mouth, rocking my hips to match the rhythm of his thrusts.

He breaks the kiss, trailing hot, wet kisses along my jawline and down my neck while he returns his attention to my throbbing clit. He rubs it faster and harder, driving me closer and closer to the edge. I grip his shoulders tightly, digging my nails into his skin as I writhe against him.

The tension builds within me, coiling tighter until I can barely stand it. I throw back my head, banging it against the wall but barely noticing as I teeter on the brink of release. He increases the pressure on my clit, sending me over the edge. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath.

He holds me close, supporting me as I recover from my orgasm before he moves his hand between us, and I realize he’s undoing his pants. I reach down to help him take out his cock, which is hard and ready for me. He lifts me up, positioning me so I’m straddling his waist while supporting my back with the wall, and then lowers me onto his shaft.

I sink down onto him an inch at a time, biting my lip to stifle my moans as he fills me completely. He feels incredible, stretching me almost to the point of pain. Once he’s fully sheathed inside me, he begins to move, thrusting slowly at first, then picking up speed as he finds his rhythm. “No need for a condom, lyschka ,” he says, sounding winded. “You’re already pregnant. My seed did its job, and now I can have you like this, without any barriers.”

His words are decadent and should make me embarrassed, but they only rev my desire again. I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him as he pounds into me. The friction of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body. I grind against him, matching his rhythm as best I can. “Yes, Mikhail. Fuck me. Fill me with your cock.”

He growls deep in his throat, increasing his pace. Our bodies move together in perfect harmony, as if we were made for each other. The sound of our ragged breathing echoes off the walls of the empty store, mingling with the faint sounds of traffic outside.

I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his scent and lose myself in the sensations coursing through me. The tension builds within, coiling tauter until I can’t endure it. I cling to him, meeting each thrust with equal fervor.

“Such a tight pussy, and so wet.” He says something in Russian. I don’t speak the language yet, but it’s guttural, probably obscene, and it makes my stomach quiver with another flare of desire. “Cum for me, Phoebe. Cum on my cock.”

He slips his hand between us, finding my clit and rubbing it in quick, firm circles. That’s all it takes to send me spiraling over the edge, screaming his name against his chest as I come apart in his arms. My pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him as he continues to pound into me.

My climax triggers his, and he buries his face in my neck, muffling his shout of release. His cock pulses inside me, filling me with his seed as he bites down on the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder.

We hold each other, riding out the storm of our shared passion. When it’s over, he sets me gently on my feet, steadying me when my knees threaten to buckle. He kisses me softly, tenderly, before helping me straighten my clothes and righting his own. He’s grinning, and my lips are stretched in a wide smile.

With a laugh, he says, “I take it you like the shop?”

I nod. “Very much. I’ll have to show you several more times.” I grab his tie and tug him closer for a long, soulful kiss.

When we finally part, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. “I love you, Phoebe,” he says softly. “You and our child are my future. Everything I do, I do for you.”

My heart swells with emotion. “I love you too, Mikhail. All of you, even the parts that scare me sometimes.”

He pulls back slightly, his expression serious. “I promise I will always protect you and our family. No matter what.”

I nod, believing him with every fiber of my being. “I know you will.”

We leave the shop hand in hand as though we didn’t just fuck like animals in the corner, and his cum isn’t leaking down my thigh, strolling through the vibrant streets of Little Havana.

“Tell me about your plans for the shop,” he says.

I laugh, my mind already spinning with ideas. “Oh, where do I even start? I want to have a section for traditional Scottish goods—tartans, kilts, and maybe even some handcrafted jewelry, and of course, a selection of the finest Scotch whiskies.”

Mikhail chuckles. “Of course. We can’t forget the whisky.”

“And I was thinking,” I continue, warming to the subject, “We could have a small performance space for music and storytelling. Maybe host ceilidhs on weekends.”

“Ceilidhs?” he asks, his brow contracting in confusion.

“Traditional Scottish social gatherings. There’s music, dancing, and storytelling. It’s a celebration of culture and community.”

Mikhail nods. “It sounds wonderful. I look forward to experiencing it.”

We turn a corner, and the aroma of fresh Cuban coffee fills the air. Mikhail steers us toward a small café, its outdoor seating area bustling with patrons. “Shall we sit?” he asks. “I’d love to hear more about your plans.”

I nod eagerly, and he pulls out a chair for me before taking his own seat. A waiter appears almost immediately, and he orders for us in fluent Spanish.

As we wait for our drinks, I rest my elbows on the table. “I’ve been thinking about the cooking classes too. I could expand them to offer more variety. Not just Scottish cuisine, but maybe a fusion of Scottish and Russian dishes. What do you think?”

He grins. “I think it’s brilliant. A perfect representation of our two worlds coming together.”

His words warm me from the inside out. Our two worlds. Despite the danger, despite the challenges, we’re building something together. Something beautiful and unique.

The waiter returns with our coffee, which makes my mouth water. I take a sip, savoring the bold flavor before saying, “Things have been complicated lately, with Valdés and everything else, but I want you to know, I am all in. We’ll make this work.”

“Yes.” He kisses my hand, and it feels like sealing a promise, not just a sign of affection.