"It won't. We've done this before. We know how to be careful."
The three of us spend the next hour planning. Identifying targets among Abram's organization. Men who handle logistics, who coordinate attacks, who might have knowledge of the larger strategy. We need proof that will hold up, that will convince the other families and the Moscow delegates that I'm not the aggressor.
My phone buzzes with a text from Eva. A photo of her and Megan in some boutique, both women laughing, Eva's hand resting on her slightly rounded stomach. The image makes something warm bloom in my chest, chasing away some of the cold calculation that's been building.
Having fun?I text back.
Yes.
I pocket my phone and refocus on the strategy session, but part of my mind stays with Eva.
"We move tonight," I finally decide, my voice hard with determination. "Grab them while they're off-guard, before Abram realizes we're coming. Bring them to the estate’s basement. I want answers by morning."
Lev nods, already pulling out his phone. David looks like he wants to argue, to point out all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. But he stays silent, trusting my judgment even when it terrifies him.
45
EVA
Istand before the walk-in closet in the master bedroom, staring at the rows of new clothes Roman had delivered while we were at the office yesterday. My fingers trail over soft fabrics, designer labels, price tags I deliberately don't look at because the numbers would make my stomach turn. Everything is beautiful, expensive, and completely foreign to the woman who used to count pennies for subway fare. And quite a bit different from the clothes I purchased while shopping with Megan.
But it's the section on the left that makes me grimace. Maternity clothes. Elegant dresses with empire waists, flowing tunics designed to accommodate a growing belly, pants with stretchy panels. Evidence of the life growing inside me, of how my body is changing in ways I can't control.
I pull out a green sweater dress that looks professional enough for the office, the fabric soft against my fingers. The mirror reflects back a woman I'm still learning to recognize. My breasts are fuller, straining slightly against my bra. My stomach has a definite curve now, no longer just bloating I can pretend away.My face looks different too, softer somehow, with a glow I've heard pregnant women get but never believed was real.
Roman's reflection appears behind mine in the mirror, and my breath catches. He's already dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, charcoal with subtle pinstripes, his short black hair immaculate. His blue eyes meet mine in the glass, and the heat in them makes my thighs clench involuntarily.
"You're beautiful," he says, his accent thick in a way that does things to my body I can't control. His hands slide around my waist, settling possessively over my stomach. "More beautiful every day."
I lean back against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him, the controlled power in his body. "I feel like a whale."
"You feel like my wife." His mouth finds the sensitive spot below my ear, and I shiver. "Carrying my child. There's nothing more beautiful than that."
His hands drift higher, cupping my breasts through my bra, and I gasp. My nipples tighten immediately, responding to his touch with eagerness. I can feel him hardening against my lower back, and heat floods through me despite knowing we don't have time for this.
"Roman," I breathe, my voice already unsteady. "We need to leave soon."
"I know." But his hands don't stop their exploration, one sliding down to the curve of my hip, the other still teasing my breast. "But watching you stand here, looking at clothes I bought you, wearing nothing but that lace…" His voice drops lower, becomes almost a growl. "It makes me want to bend you over this dresser and sink deep inside you."
My core clenches with need, wetness pooling between my thighs. God, even just his words make me ache for him. But I force myself to step away, to put distance between us before I give in to the desire thrumming through my veins.
"Tonight," I promise, my voice rough. "After work."
His blue eyes darken with hunger, and I see his jaw tighten with restraint. "I'm going to hold you to that,solnyshko."
I dress quickly, acutely aware of Roman watching my every movement. The way his gaze tracks the sway of my hips when I step into the dress. How his eyes linger on my ass when I bend to retrieve my shoes. The heat in his expression when I smooth the fabric over my stomach, emphasizing the curve there.
By the time we're ready to leave, the sexual tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife.
The drive to the office passes in comfortable silence, my hand in Roman's, his thumb tracing circles on my palm that send shivers up my arm. I catch him glancing at me repeatedly, his gaze dropping to my breasts, then lower, and I know he's remembering last night.
I'm remembering too. The controlled violence of his thrusts. His hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks I can still feel. The way he looked at me---
"What are you thinking about?" His voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
Heat floods my cheeks. "Nothing."
"Liar." His hand slides up my thigh beneath my coat, and I gasp. "You're thinking about last night. About how I made you scream my name."
