Page 90 of The Bratva King

“It could.”

He studies me for a moment. “Do you trust her?”

I think about last night. The way she looked at me. The kiss. All of it.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Fair enough.” We walk toward the front doors. “I’ll keep digging. Quietly.”

“Good.”

“Nik?”

I look at him and wait.

“What will you do if I find something? Something that might suggest she’s a problem?”

I don’t have an answer.

“Just find the information.”

I get into the SUV and consider the question.

Caring about Gabby is dangerous. Caring about Luke might be worse. The moment something matters, it becomes a weakness. A pressure point. Something an enemy can find and use.

I've built my life around not having weak spots.

Now, I have two.

21

Gabby

I deal the cards on autopilot, replaying this morning over and over. Luke sitting at the kitchen table, looking at Nikolai with something close to trust when he said he wanted his own room.

My son has never had his own room. Four and a half years old, almost five, and he’s always shared space with me. Hotels. Shelters. Tiny one-bedroom apartments where we slept in the same bed because there was only one. I told myself it was about money. About keeping him close. About safety.

But maybe it was about me. Maybe I needed him close because he was the only constant I had. I know it isn’t healthy. I know it can’t be that way forever.

And now, Nikolai is offering him something I couldn’t give him. A room. His own space. Dinosaurs on the walls.

It terrifies me.

Not because I don’t think Luke is ready. He is. I can see it in the way he’s starting to spread out a little. There hasn’t been a meltdown in weeks. No withdrawing to that place that scares me to death. He’s talking. Interacting.

Happy.

It’s good for him.

It terrifies me because it means we’re staying. Really staying. Not just for a week or two until I can scrape together enough for a deposit. Not just until I find something better.

We’re building a life here.

With Nikolai.

A man I slept with last night. A man who made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. A man who takes care of my son. Maybe that’s the problem. He can do it better than I can.

Am I afraid, or am I jealous?