Page 1 of The Bratva King

1

Gabby

My eyes sweep the dining room, searching for the threat I can feel but can’t see. The warning prickles at the back of my neck before crawling down my spine.

No one is looking at me, but I already feel caught.

I pull the envelope from my oversized purse and place it on the table. Everything feels too loud. Conversations hum around us. Coffee drips into another pot. The smell of greasy bacon and pungent eggs turns my stomach.

I swallow the nausea and stare at the man sitting across from me in a restaurant that feels far too exposed for the conversation we’re about to have.

“You’re sure about this?” Greg asks. His reading glasses are pushed into his gray hair, and he has a tired, fatherly look on his face. The dark circles under his eyes are proof he’s not sleeping any more than I am.

“No, I’m not sure, but I’m doing it anyway.”

I slide the envelope another inch toward him. Everything inside is a death sentence. The only question is who kills me—my husband or his family?

I’ve kept the paperwork hidden for three months. Every day it stayed in my possession was another chance Matteo would find it.

Greg opens the envelope and scans the first few pages. He looks up at me over his glasses when he reaches the statement about the murder I witnessed two weeks ago.

Now, he understands why I risked asking for this unscheduled meeting.

“I see,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry, Gabby.”

Tears burn my eyes.

I’ve known Greg for less than six months, but he’s been more of a father to me than mine ever was. If I could have chosen my father, it would have been Greg.

"This is good, Gabby." He closes the folder. "This is more than good. This corroborates everything our other informant gave us."

"So, what happens now?"

"Now you go home." He says it like it's simple. Like home is still a word that means something safe. "You go home; you play it normal. Dinner, television, whatever you two do. You don't act differently. You don't act nervous."

"I am nervous. I’m terrified. If he finds out⁠⁠—”

“He won’t,” Greg insists.

“Matteo has people everywhere,” I whisper.

As if to remind me of that fact, my phone buzzes with a text from Matteo.

Your location is off. Turn it on.

But I don’t do it. I can’t. I have a terrible habit of “accidentally” turning it off. I hate being tracked like a fucking dog. It’s only a matter of time before he places one under my skin like a prized piece of property he refuses to lose.

“You’re brave, Gabby. You can do this.”

I nod because I have to. My hand settles over my stomach before I can think about the gesture.

"Greg, what if—hypothetically—I were pregnant."

He looks up, concern flashing across his face.

"Are you?" he asks.

"I don't know. I think so. I can't walk into a pharmacy and buy a test without him finding out."