I watch her swallow, slowly, painfully. Every instinct in me screams to take her into my arms, to tell her it’s going to be all right, but it’s not all right. Not for her or Anya or anyone who’s been affected by our business.
She opens her eyes again and stares down at her hands. “So, this is what I’m bringing my child into,” she says harshly. “A world where mothers can just be gunned down in front of their children. Who’s to say your other enemies care about your damn code? What if they kill our child?”
“That wouldneverhappen,” I say quickly. “That would be an act of all-out war. Anyone stupid enough to try that would be dead in the next breath, and I would scorch the earth.”
She laughs once, a short, humorless exhale. “What would it matter?” she spits. “If someone is that stupid, they’re not going to care, Samuil. They’d probably do it to provoke you. You can’t guarantee our safety.”
She gently rubs her stomach on the wordour, and I can’t help but grit my teeth.
“Molly.” I sigh, trying to stay patient. “Listen to me. What happened to Lena should never have happened. If I could change that day, I would. I’d have protected his home better. Hell, I probably never would have gone after Zahn in the first place. I can’t rewrite the past, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I’ve learned from it.”
She finally looks at me, and the devastation in her expression nearly buckles me.
“I’m sure that’s a great comfort to Anya,” she answers with so much venom it’s like she’s stabbing me in the heart.
“I know,” I say, hanging my head. “I can never bring back her mother, and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life, but I’ve been honest with you. I’ve told you the truth about everything you asked.”
“You told me pieces,” she corrects softly. “You told me things in a way that made you sound like the good guy. I didn’t know the full picture. I didn’t know that you’re the reason Anya doesn’t have a mother anymore.”
I inhale sharply. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe. But it’s true,” she says.
Her voice isn’t angry or hostile in any way. Worse than that, it’s flat and resigned. She’s come to an indisputable conclusion about me, and there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.
She wipes her cheek with the back of her wrist and sits up straighter. “You have to choose,” she says suddenly, her tone crisp. “Your business or our baby.”
My entire body goes still.
It feels like every molecule of air in the room disappears in an instant. My heart thuds once, hard, and then my ears ring with the sudden silence. I take a deep breath, then another.
“I can’t give up the Bratva,” I say slowly.
Her face cracks. Just slightly. Enough to show that she hoped, somewhere deep down, that I would say something else.
“You’re just scared right now,” I say, forcing the words out gently. “You read some old news stories and now you’re panicked.”
Her eyes widen with disbelief. “Panicked,” she repeats quietly.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “You’re overwhelmed by everything. The baby, the trauma of your attack, the last few weeks. The idea of danger feels bigger and scarier than it actually is, but it’s manageable. I can handle it.”
“You can’t guarantee that,” she says.
“I’ll protect you,” I say forcefully, irritation mounting.
“You can try,” she corrects. “But there will always be someone out there who wants what you have. There will always be someone who wants you dead. And I will not be used to get to you. I won’t let our child be used to get to you.”
I feel a hot, sharp flare of anger at the idea that she believes I would ever let anything happen to her. How can I make her understand when she’s being impossible?
“I will do anything to keep you safe,” I repeat firmly. “Anything except abandon my men. I will not walk away from the brotherhood. It is a way of life. It’s the only thing that has ever been stable for me.”
Her voice breaks. “And what about us? What about our child?”
I stand up so fast the coffee table rattles.
“Don’t do this,” I warn. “Don’t make me choose.”
“But you already have,” she says, barely audible.
