Page 19 of Unexpected Bratva Baby
A slow smile spreads across my face. “That’s an idea with potential. Sergei, I want you to handle this personally. Make it look like a mugging gone wrong. No connections to us.”
He nods, a predatory grin on his face. “Consider it done, boss.”
“The rest of you,” I say, addressing the room, “I want our security tightened. Double the guards on our remaining shipments and start looking for any weak links in our organization. Valdés may have had inside information.”
The captains nod in agreement, but they seem as skeptical about a mole as I do. My people are loyal.
A chorus of “Yes, boss” echoes around the table.
“Good. Get to work. I want updates every hour.”
The captains file out of the room, their hushed conversations fading as they disperse to carry out their tasks. I remain seated, staring out at the Miami skyline. The city sparkles like a jewel, oblivious to the undercurrents of violence and power struggles that shape its destiny.
My thoughts drift to Phoebe, the unexpected brightness in my life. She’s so far removed from this world of darkness and retribution. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine a different life, one where I could simply be Misha, the man who enjoys her company and her cooking classes.
But reality crashes back in like a tidal wave. I’m Mikhail Sokolov, leader of the Russianbratvain Miami, and right now, I have a war to prevent and a message to send. I stand, straightening my suit jacket. My responsibilities feel especially weighty today. Leaving the room, my phone buzzes with a message from Sergei.
“Preparations underway. Will update in one hour.”
I nod to myself, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Sergei is always one to act methodically, so it could be a few days before the plan bears fruit.
Stepping out of the secure room, Vlad is waiting for me. His imposing figure is a constant presence necessitated by the dangers of the world I inhabit. “Everything okay, boss?” he asks, scanning the hallway for potential threats.
“For now,” I say, already thinking of contingency plans. “Stay alert. Things might get... interesting in the coming days.”
Vlad nods, falling into step beside me while we make our way to the elevator. The hotel, which is a front business for us, and where we conduct business in one of the top-floor conference rooms, is lavish but its opulent decor feels almost garish now, like a thin veneer of respectability covering the gritty reality of my life.
I just want to be back in the penthouse with Masha…and Phoebe. I think longingly of the way she looks at me like I’m just a man, not a feared mafia boss. It’s intoxicating and dangerous because it risks making me forget who and what I am.
The elevator doors open, and I step out into the bustling lobby. Tourists and businesspeople mill about, blissfully unaware of the criminal underworld that operates right under their noses.
“Sir,” says Vlad, interrupting my thoughts. “Your car is ready.”
I nod, following him out to the waiting black SUV. Sliding into the back seat, I decide I need to see Phoebe and remind myself of the simple joys in life before I dive back into the murky waters of retaliation and power plays. “Take me to Cafecito Dreams,” I say to Vlad, who is also my driver.
As the car pulls away from the curb, I allow myself a small smile. Perhaps a cup of coffee and a glimpse of Phoebe’s warm smile will help clear my head. After all, even a mafia boss needs a moment of peace now and then.
The drive to Cafecito Dreams is mercifully short with the Miami traffic cooperating for once. When Vlad pulls up to the curb, I spot Phoebe through the café’s large front window. She’s laughing with a customer, her face lit up with genuine joy. The sight of her eases some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Wait here,” I say to Vlad as I exit the car. He frowns in protest but doesn’t argue.
The bell above the door chimes when I enter, and Phoebe looks up. Her smile broadens when she sees me, and for a second, I forget about hijacked shipments and impending violence.
“Misha,” she calls out, using the nickname she’s grown fond of. “I didn’t expect to see you today except when I pick up Masha for her walkies.”
I approach the counter, drinking in the sight of her. “Business brought me to your neighborhood,” I lie smoothly. “Thought I’d stop by for a cup of your excellent coffee.”
She beams at the compliment, already reaching for a cup. “The usual ‘Thunderbolt?’”
I nod, watching as she prepares my drink with practiced ease. Her movements are graceful, almost like a dance. It’s a far cry from the brutal efficiency of my world.
“Here you go,” she says, sliding the cup across the counter. Our fingers brush when I take it, and I savor the brief contact.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. The rich, bold flavor floods my mouth, grounding me in the present moment. “How has your day been?”
She launches into a story about a difficult customer and a mix-up with the day’s pastry delivery. I listen, letting her animatedchatter wash over me. It’s a welcome distraction from the weighty decisions waiting for me.
I finish my coffee, and while I’m setting down the empty cup, my phone buzzes in my pocket with a message from Sergei.“Target acquired. Formulating plan.”
