She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push either.
I cross to her and sink onto the couch, pulling her against my side. She fits perfectly there, her head on my shoulder.
"I'm tired," she murmurs.
"Then sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
It's a lie. In a few hours, Semyon and I will head out to scout the location where they're holding her father. But she doesn't need to know that right now.
She needs to rest. To take care of herself and our baby.
Everything else can wait.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kira
I wake to the sound of low voices filtering through the thin walls. My neck aches from falling asleep on the couch. The bedroom is dark. Maksim must have carried me in here. I can still feel the ghost of his arms around me.
I push myself upright, fighting a wave of nausea. The morning sickness has started hitting at random times now, not just mornings. I breathe through it, waiting for my stomach to settle.
The voices in the living area are hushed but urgent. I catch Maksim's tone and feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Something's wrong.
I pad to the door and ease it open.
Maksim and Semyon stand by the kitchen table; heads bent over something. Anya sits on the couch, her face blotchy and red. She's been crying.
My heart lurches. "What happened?"
All three heads snap toward me. Maksim's expression shifts immediately—from hard strategist to concerned protector in a heartbeat.
"You should be resting," he says, moving toward me.
"Anya's been crying." I sidestep him, crossing to my sister. "What's going on?"
She looks at Maksim, uncertain. He nods once, jaw tight.
"Roman has our father," she whispers. “He sent pictures. It’s so bad.”
The words take a moment to register. Our father. The man who sold Maksim out for money. The man who set this entire nightmare in motion.
"Show me," I demand.
Maksim hesitates. "Kira—"
"Show. Me."
He exchanges a look with Semyon, then pulls out his phone. The screen shows a photo that makes my breath catch.
My father tied to a chair. His face is a mess of bruises and blood. One eye is swollen completely shut. His shirt is dark with what I know is blood.
“Next,” I order.
