He rises, flashing me one more smirk before nodding to his guards, who flank him as he leaves. I watch him go, melting into the crowd.
I rise, too, Bogdan appearing at my side. We walk out in silence, not saying a word until we’re back in my car, away from prying ears.
“He knows,” Bogdan says. “Not a doubt in my mind. He’s teasing you, giving you just enough to keep you from acting.”
“Taunting me,” I confirm. “Drive.”
He does. I watch the glittering casino lights fade as Bogdan drives off. Peter’s words are fresh in my mind. The way he talked about my company, the way he talked about Gabriella… it all suggested he knows what’s going on.
And that he was the one who set up the hits.
CHAPTER 24
GABBY
The nausea hits mid-morning, creeping up behind my ribs with a shocking suddenness. One minute I’m happily typing away, entering data like no one’s business. The next I’m gripping the sink in the AngelCorp executive washroom, knuckles white, forehead slick with sweat.
But once I’m ready to let loose, nothing comes. Just the sour taste of nerves and toothpaste. My stomach twists for a bit, but the nausea fades, pulling back like a bad tide. I stand there for a few long moments, breathing through my nose until everything steadies.
When I finally look up, the mirror isn’t kind. My cheeks are pale, eyes puffy, hair frizzy, like it’s the most humid part of summer, instead of the butt-end of winter. I stand up, tug my blazer tighter, and turn sideways.
No bump showing, not yet. The doctor said it takes longer to show for the first pregnancy. All the same, I let my hands settle over my stomach, like the bump is already there.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself, smoothing down my hair. “Totally fine. You can do this.”
And while I believe it, the fact of the matter is that this first trimester has been hard. The aches, the fatigue, the nausea—it’s felt like a two-month-long hangover from hell.
Back at my desk, I try to concentrate, but it’s not working. All I do is stare at my screen until the numbers blur into hieroglyphics.
I need something normal—Angie, a chocolate croissant, an hour of pretending I’m not living in a Bratva soap opera.
I text her.Coffee? Hopefully, it won’t turn out as bad as our last date.
Yeah, should be more low key, unless everyone’s head spontaneously explodes. Meet you in the lobby?
Yes.
I grab my things, stand up, and start toward the elevators with a spring in my step that hasn’t been there in days. Crazy how something as small as coffee with a friend can be such a boost to my mood.
When I reach the lobby, I see Bogdan. The sight of him with his suit and shaved head and crossed arms makes me realize that this coffee date won’t go as planned. His expression is flat and, as always, his eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Afternoon, big guy,” I say as I approach, like he’s an old friend.
“Miss Resse.”
Nothing else. Great.
“So I’m grabbing some coffee with Angie. Let the boss man know for me, okay?”
He shakes his head. “Not today.”
I laugh, as if he’s just told a joke. “Bogdan, unless there’s a gun battle happening right outside on the street, or Freddy Kruger is inside the elevator, I’m leaving.”
I take a step forward. His arm instantly shoots out, and I slam into it. The sensation is like walking into an iron bar.
“Come on,” I say. “You have to be joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
