I knew he was capable of violence.
I watched him kill Pyotr brutally and in cold blood, for Christ’s sake.
But seeing him unleash that same fury before the sweet, frail, helpless old woman who I love more than anyone in the world?
He looks like a man on the brink of snapping.
Miko yanks his hand back out of the wall, blood coating his knuckles and dripping onto her Persian rug. “Why tell me now?” he snarls. “After everything that’s happened? After all that I’ve done.”
“You’re the one who came to me looking for answers. I didn’t want to force the information upon you, but I knew this day would come—when you were ready to know the truth, though I think you’ve suspected something all along. You deserve to know who you are.”
“I knew who I was, until five minutes ago,” Miko hisses, his voice dripping with vitriol.
My skin crawls as my legs refuse to move. This is the same hateful rage I saw in Pyotr. The same unpredictable violencethat made me flinch every time he raised his voice or moved too quickly.
It’s a ruthless anger capable of destroying anything in its path: Svetlana, me—our unborn child.
Shivers rack my body as the thought hits me like a freight train.
Then, Svetlana laughs. The sound is low and dry and ancient, and it makes my heart pound.
Visions of Miko coming at her flash behind my eyes, mirroring the way Pyotr used to come at me when I responded in a way he didn’t like.
His fists clench, his shoulders tensing, but before he can come at her, Svetlana crows, “There it is! That red-blooded fury all the Novikov men are so well known for. I was starting to wonder, but you’re just like the rest of them. It’s in you, boy. You better learn to control it unless you want to lose everything you love—and die a young, gruesome death like the men before you. Don’t let that rage consume you, Mikhail. You’ll end up dying alone, because it’ll make you kill everyone you care about before the end.”
Her voice is laced with bitter warning, like she’s always known the conclusion to this story but hoped it might turn out different—just this once.
Standing rooted to the spot, I can’t move or think or speak through the terror coursing through me.
I’m clenching my fist so hard over my heart that I hear a soft crack and look down.
I’ve broken the lid of the pregnancy test that I’d completely forgotten about.
In an instant, my excitement over having Miko’s baby feels like a sick joke.
What if Svetlana’s right about the Novikov men having poison in their blood?
What if the blood in Miko’s veins is louder than the love in his heart?
What if the darkness in him isn’t something that can be drowned out by good intentions and vows and warm hands in the night?
I press a hand to my stomach, bile rising in my throat.
I can see that same anger in him now as I saw in Pyotr, and I’m terrified that, while I’ve been falling in love with Miko, he might be more of a Novikov than I ever could have realized.
What if, in the end, he ends up just as cruel as his brother?
Can his promise not to hurt me last a lifetime?
Would that promise extend to his child?
What if, despite his best intentions, that legacy of violence already lives inside Miko, waiting for the opportune moment to rear its ugly head?
I can’t take that chance. Not when I have an innocent life that’s just become my sole priority to protect.
Tears sting my eyes as I turn away from Svetlana’s room, from the truth still vibrating in the air.
I walk briskly down the hall, then run back to our bedroom. My hands tremble as I race to the bathroom, pulling handfuls of tissue from the box to wrap my pregnancy test in.
