Ray opens his mouth. Closes it. Picks up another grape instead.
Lev grins. “So… Boss as a dad.”
Dima murmurs, “He’ll be good at it.”
“Yeah?” Ray asks.
“Yeah.” Boris nods once. “He’s loyal. Protective. Doesn’t quit. That’s what kids need.”
Lev barks out a laugh. “Right? Man can dismantle a cartel but can’t work a diaper.”
“He’ll figure it out,” Dima says quietly. “He figured out how to love her.”
The room goes still for a beat.
Then Lev smirks. “Yeah, but love doesn’t shit itself at 3 AM.”
Ray chokes on his grape.
“I’m just saying,” Lev continues, waving his knife, “the man nearly bled out for her. Took two bullets. Killed half of Timofey’s crew. But a screaming baby? That’s the thing that’ll break him.”
“Good,” Dima says. “He needs breaking.”
Boris huffs. “He’s already broken. We’re just waiting for him to glue himself back together.”
“With what? Duct tape and bad attitude?”
“Works for the rest of us.”
“Fair point.”
Ray leans back, shaking his head. “You guys are insane.”
“And when he wakes up, he’s going to lose his mind.”
“He already lost it,” Dima says. “The second she pulled that trigger.”
My throat tightens. I close my eyes before they catch me watching.
Another beat of quiet.
Then Lev picks up the knife again, starts peeling a second apple. “So, we agree. Best uncles in the Bratva.”
“We’re the only uncles in the Bratva,” Boris says.
“Exactly. No competition. We win by default.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is now.”
I try to move. But my body’s pinned down.
These men—killers, all of them—are sitting in a clinic peeling fruit and planning how to raise a child that isn’t even born yet.
Because they’re not talking about the baby like it’s a problem.
They’re talking about it like it’s already theirs.
