Telling Niko you're pregnant.

The cigarette burned low between Nikolay’s fingers as he sat in the private booth above the main floor, one leg slung over the other, ankle resting on his knee. House of Vixen pulsed under him—bass, bodies, cheap perfume, expensive liquor. He watched the crowd like he was scrolling a feed—crypto bros trying to sell a scam, Pyotr looking like a marble statue, Vikentiy making out with his girl in a booth.

Pregnant.

He let the word sit in his head while he took another drag, smoke rolling out slow. His eyes tracked the dancers on the stage, the red light sliding across their oiled skin, but his focus was miles away.

Valeria . Gloryhole party. Pretty thing with that tiny cunt that had clamped on his cock like she’d been made for it. He remembered her on the other side of the wall, then later in that back room, riding him, the way his cum had spilled out of her when he finally pulled out.

Niko snorted, almost laughed.

(Out of all the pussies in Miami, he’d hit the jackpot.)

Pregnant. It kept replaying in his mind, like some neon sign buzzing obnoxiously to get his attention.

He didn’t feel panic. No jolt of oh fuck, my life is over. Mostly curiosity. A little amusement. A flicker of something territorial that annoyed him by existing at all.

Once Nikolay was satisfied with how long the silence had stretched—had to keep the pretty thing on her toes, after all—he let his gaze land on her again, green eyes amused.

"So. Pregnant," he said, like they were discussing the weather, not her uterus. "Congrats to us both, baby girl.”

(Father of the year right there.)

The absurdity of it made him want to laugh, but he just smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching. He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, closing the distance between them until he could smell her perfume. It was intoxicating, sweet. Like candy you knew would rot your teeth.

"Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do."

Although he straightened and kept a playful grin on his face, Nikolay was serious—anything that touched his life had to be handled with precision. Couldn’t afford to fuck up and lose everything he’d built over the years, especially not for a tight cunt and pretty face. His eyes were fixated on Valeria , gaging her expression, her body language.

"I’ll house you. I’ll feed you. I’ll pay the bills, buy you the clothes, the vitamins, whatever the fuck it is you need for the next nine months. You live like a queen. No stress, no work, just... growing the little parasite."

He lifted his hand, palm up, casual. Like this was just any other night of the week, and not a discussion about his potential brat growing in her womb.

"But we have a condition. Obviously." Niko took a slow drag, exhaling a long stream of smoke directly towards her. "The second that kid pops out? We do a test. DNA. Paternity. Scientific proof."

Simple enough. Smart, too. He wasn’t going to trust some bitch he met at a sex party—he didn’t remember most of that night, too. Had he been a sloppy second? Sloppy third? Fuck’s sake, maybe sloppy twenty!

"And if the math doesn't add up..." He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave, low and dangerous, the faintest trace of a Russian accent sharpening the consonants. "If it turns out you decided to use me as a checkbook for some other asshole's mistake?"

The smile that showed now was friendly on the surface, but his green eyes didn’t match it.

"I kill you."

It was said so casually, like he was commenting on the weather or the quality of the coke. "I’ll put a bullet in your head and dump you in the Everglades for the gators to feed on. Do we understand each other?"

(Would raise the kid, though. He wasn’t that cruel.)

He sat back again, relaxing like they’d just closed a nice deal.

"So. For nine months, you get the good life. Royal treatment, good food—” a pause, followed by a snort, “premium dick.”

Nikolay allowed his eyes to drop to her stomach. Tried to imagine it round, life building under the skin and muscles. A life that, apparently, he’d help create.

"And you don’t disappear. You go ghost on me, I assume you’re scamming and we cut this experiment short. You understand me, Valeria ?"

Not like she had a choice.

"Good news for you is—" a huff of amusement left him, as if the situation as a whole was comedic and he hadn’t threatened her life a few moments ago, "—I am pretty confident in my swimmers."