“Six weeks,” I say, breath ghosting between us.
He inhales sharply, his eyes flicking between me and the image. “You’re certain of the date?”
“Yes.” The word emerges in a half laugh, half sob. “Positive.”
Snow drifts across the tiles like shaken confetti. Vlad’s gaze sweeps the terrace perimeter, then settles once more on the printout. When he speaks again, his voice has shifted into briefing mode—neutral, organized.
“You’ll move under full medical protection from here on out. Dr. Kornilov can oversee your care in Manhattan. I’ll arrange a private OB stationed at Mount Sinai. Third trimester we relocate upstate, helicopter on standby. Legal paperwork will be drafted as soon as possible. I want to make sure you and the child are taken care of if anything happens to me.”
The words tumble out crisp and flawless, each one a sandbag on top of the next. Logistics, security, legal scaffolding.
He pauses only to ask, “Dietary needs? Supplements? Anything the doctor recommended?”
Wind funnels through the arch, and I realize my arms are wrapped around my middle in a defensive gesture. I clear my throat. “That’s… very thorough. But Vlad, I didn’t tell you because I need to discuss security logistics.”
He blinks, a tiny flicker of confusion crossing his features.
“I needed to know…” The words tumble out of my mouth. I don’t know how I expected him to react, but it wasn’t like this.
The city glow bounces orange against low clouds, painting a soft fire in his eyes. His face remains composed, almost impersonal. “You are my family now, Teresa. My priority.”
Family. Priority. Words that should feel warm land oddly flat, like they missed the bedside manner on-ramp. I think of New Year’s on the balcony, his palm on the small of my back, the tenderness.
He steps closer, gloved hands coming to my shoulders. “Teresa, you and the child will be safe. Volkov won’t come near you. Any threat?—”
“It’s not only safety I’m afraid of losing.” I meet his eyes, allowing him to see the raw edges. “I need more than bulletproof glass. I need you.”
Something shifts in his gaze, like gears re-engaging. He exhales. One hand lifts, thumb brushing snowflakes from my eyelashes. For the first time since the sonogram appeared, he softens.
“I’m not practiced at this,” he admits. “Protection is the language I know.”
“I’m learning Russian.” I add a shaky smile. “Maybe you can learn this.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but the mask slips further, tenderness ghosting across his features. He tucks the printout back into its sleeve and slides it inside his coat over his heart.
“I will try.”
Snow keeps falling, more earnest now, flecking his dark hair. He leans in and presses his forehead to mine, breath mingling, and for a suspended beat the world falls away. He pulls back, fingerssplayed over my coat, exactly over the spot where our child pulses like a secret star.
“Let’s go home. We’ll talk where it’s warm.”
He offers his arm and I take it. As we climb the steps, he’s already on the phone with Dmitri speaking low in Russian—more plans, more shields. But his free hand never leaves mine.
Halfway up the grand staircase, Vlad’s body tenses. He pivots, eyes tracking the tree line where lantern light dies into shadow. Footprints, a fresh, single set, cut through otherwise untouched snow, weaving the exact path we just took but stopping twenty paces back, as if the walker vanished mid-step.
“Teresa,” he whispers, dropping my hand to slide a discreet pistol from his coat. “Someone’s tailing us.”
My pulse slams. “Volkov?”
“Could be.” He scans the darkness.
The wind carries a faint metallic click. Vlad angles himself between me and the shadowed trees. “Change of plan. We run on three.”
Counting never starts; a muzzle flash blooms in the darkness, white and soundless. Vlad yanks me down behind the balustrade as stone chips explode overhead.
Somewhere in the trees, heavy boots crunch over the snow, closing in.
CHAPTER 28
