Monday morning, 10:00 AM.
Alexei and Mila prepare to leave for Chicago. We gather in the foyer—Sonya moving with renewed confidence after last night's dancing, the forced stillness of bed rest finally behind her.
"Thank you for coming," Sonya tells them. "It meant everything to have family there."
"Of course," Mila says, embracing her. "You're family now. Officially."
Alexei clasps my shoulder. "Congratulations. Both of you. And—" his voice lowers, "—stay vigilant. Anton's silence worries me. Men like him don't just disappear."
"I know. We're watching."
"Good." He releases me, turns to Sonya. "You're strong. Stronger than he ever gave you credit for. Whatever happens next, remember that."
They leave at 10:30 AM, car service taking them to the airport.
The mansion feels quieter after they're gone. Just us, Natasha recovering in the blue suite, Sergei coordinating security, the daily routine of life.
"What now?" Sonya asks, watching the car disappear down the drive.
"Now we announce the foundation. Hire the staff you can't teach yourself yet. Prepare for the baby. Live."
"And wait for Anton to surface."
"And wait for Anton to surface," I agree.
We return inside, closing the door on the November morning.
Married. Pregnant. Safe for now.
Building resurrection from the ruins of what was destroyed.
Two ghosts and two futures.
And the shadow of a monster still hunting.
Chapter seventeen
The Hunt
Sonya
Monday morning, November 15th. One day after our midnight wedding.
I wake at 7:00 AM to gentle nausea—the morning sickness that's been my companion for the past week. Not severe enough to keep me in bed, but persistent enough to remind me constantly that I'm pregnant.
Seven weeks now. The tiny bump is more noticeable each day.
Maksim is already awake, watching me from his side of the bed.
"How bad?" he asks quietly.
"Manageable. Crackers help." I reach for the sleeve of saltines on the nightstand—Dr. Volkov's recommendation from last week's follow-up appointment.
The Philadelphia Bratva doctor confirmed everything is progressing normally. Stress hormones back to acceptable levels, fetal heartbeat strong, my body recovering well from the Halloween trauma. Cleared for light activity, teaching, normal life with caution.
By 8:00 AM, I'm dressed and downstairs in the breakfast room. Natasha joins me—she's been staying in the blue guest suite for two weeks now, recovering from her own ordeal.
"How are you feeling?" she asks, pouring tea.
