More armed guards.
Always more guards.
Luca guided me quickly toward the nearest vehicle.
Then everything stopped.
Because a familiar voice echoed across the garage.
“Well,” the man said coldly, “this just became very interesting.”
Luca turned sharply.
So did I.
And my stomach dropped.
Nikolai Volkov stood beside the garage entrance surrounded by armed men.
Tall. Blond. Smiling like violence amused him.
The head of the Volkov Bratva.
The man responsible for at least half the bloodshed in New York during the past year.
And his icy blue eyes were locked directly on my stomach.
“Congratulations,” Nikolai said softly.
Luca stepped in front of me instantly.
Protective. Possessive. Deadly.
Nikolai laughed. “Oh, now you want to hide her?”
Every weapon in the garage lifted.
One wrong move and everyone here would die.
Including me.
Including the baby.
