"You will. But first, you need to rest. Heal.”
I nod, settling back against the pillows. "One week. Then we plan."
"One week," she agrees.
She finishes with my bandages and climbs into bed beside me, careful of my injuries. Her body fits against mine like it was designed to be there.
"Tell me something," I murmur. "Something good. Something that has nothing to do with Roman or revenge or any of this."
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "When I was ten, before everything got complicated, I wanted to be a dancer. Ballet. I used to practice in our ballroom when no one was watching."
"Why did you stop?"
"My father said it wasn't appropriate for a Markov daughter. That I needed to focus on things that would make me a good wife to a bratva heir." Her voice is soft and wistful. "I still remember the routines though. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I practice the positions."
I try to imagine her dancing—graceful and beautiful, free from all the weight she carries.
"When this is over," I say, "I want to see you dance."
"I'm rusty."
"I don't care." I press my lips to her temple. "I want to see you do something just because it makes you happy. Not because it's strategic or necessary. Just because."
She makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "That sounds like a fantasy."
"It's a plan." I pull her closer. "We're going to do things that make us happy. And no one will tell us we can’t.”
She lets out a soft sigh. “I like the sound of that.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kira
Daysevenin the safehouse, and I'm learning what it means to live in limbo.
We can't leave—too dangerous, Roman's men are still hunting us. But we can't stay forever either. The walls press in closer every day, the small space feeling smaller with each hour.
Maksim and Semyon spend their days planning. Semyon has allies he trusts, but not enough to make Maksim comfortable enough to bring them to the safehouse.
Apparently, they are going to try and do this without violence. They want to expose Roman and let things take their natural course. That means the bratva handles the punishment. Betrayal means death. Roman deserves to die.
Semyon is an absolute saint. He’s used his connections to get Anya art supplies. It keeps her busy, but I hate how quiet she’s been. She’s scared. I get it. Roman wants me dead, but he wants her for far more sinister reasons.
I pace. I think. I try not to go crazy from the inactivity after years of constant motion. It’s strange to not be in control. But also, good. I’m happy to leave things to Maksim. I trust him. I trust Semyon. They know this world. It’s a change for me, but…
It comes with relief.
The adrenaline from our escape has long since faded, leaving behind exhaustion that settles into my bones. I'm tired all the time. Bone-deep weariness that sleep doesn't fix. I feel like we sleep a lot. I sleep because I’m trying to make Maksim rest. He seems to be more inclined to do so when I lay next to him.
And the nausea. God, the nausea.
At first, I blamed stress. We're hiding from a murderous crime lord who wants us dead. Of course, my stomach is upset.
But it's been a week now, and instead of improving, it's getting worse. And if I think back, I wasn’t feeling great before Roman decided to throw me in a dungeon. The smell of the meat from the butcher shop below makes me gag. Coffee—which I used to love—turns my stomach.
And then this morning, I realized I had missed my period.
The thought hits me in the tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. When was the last time? Before the engagement party? Before Roman moved me into the compound?
