Katya lost her life because someone wanted to hurt me. Because I failed to anticipate the threat. I let my guard down at exactly the wrong moment and she died. Mila would have died with her if there hadn’t been a last-minute change of plans.
Richard is playing a deadly game. He has to know he won’t win. But what would I do to save Mila? I would go to war. I would burn the fucking world to ashes.
Is Richard doing the same?
The man has never struck me as ruthless, but maybe I don’t really know him at all. If he’s willing to steal, what else?
Hannah Quinn has become essential to me in ways I don't fully understand. The idea of losing her is not something I can get my head around.
I press my palm against her door. In a few hours, she'll wake up and demand answers about her father's situation. She'll look at me with those beautiful green eyes and challenge my authority. She’s going to fight me while she fights for her father’s life.
And I love that about her.
She’s loyal. That’s not something everyone has but myzaika—she does. Could she ever be loyal to me?
Not after I kill her father. I’ll lose her forever. That’s what is keeping me from doing what needs to be done. Alexei knows it. So do Bogdan and my uncle. I’m showing weakness.
I'll have to investigate the betrayal and eliminate my enemies. I need to make the hard choices that leadership demands.
I'm running out of time to figure out which matters more—my duty to the Bratva, or the woman sleeping peacefully on the other side of this door.
14
HANNAH
The nausea hits me like a freight train before I even open my eyes.
I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before my empty stomach tries to turn itself inside out. Dry heaves rack my body as I kneel on the cold marble floor, one hand pressed to my mouth, the other clutching the porcelain like an anchor.
This is getting worse.
When the worst of it passes, I sit back on my heels and press my palms against my face.
The reality settles over me like a weight I can't shrug off. There's a tiny person growing inside me—half me, half Dante Sokolov. A baby conceived during one night of passion that was supposed to be meaningless. I was foolish enough to believe it would be consequence-free. Nothing more than two strangers finding solace in each other's bodies.
Except it wasn't meaningless, and there are definitely going to be consequences.
I force myself to stand. I splash cold water on my face and look at myself in the mirror. I look pale, hollow-eyed, like I haven't been sleeping well. Which I haven't. Between the morning sickness and the constant anxiety about my situation, rest has become a luxury I can't afford.
My hope that I would sleep through all of this was officially dashed. Yes, I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep. Not like that first night.
I stare at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman I was two months ago.
My breasts are tender, fuller than usual. My jeans have been feeling tighter around the waist, though I've been telling myself it's because they’re new. They’re not my old, worn ones. I just need to break them in.
But I know better.
Soon, I won't be able to hide this anymore.
I turn on the shower, letting the water heat while I strip off my pajamas. Steam fills the bathroom, clouding the mirrors. I step under the spray like I'm entering a confessional.
The water is too hot, but I don't adjust it. I scrub my skin with a washcloth until it's red and raw, trying to wash away the guilt and fear that seem to have taken up permanent residence under my skin.
Guilty for lying to Dante about something this important.
Guilty for enjoying his touch when I should hate him for what he's doing to me.
Guilty for the way my heart skips when he looks at me like I matter.
