Something in her tone makes me stop. Turn. Look at her properly.
Her face is pale, hands trembling. She looks like she’s been waiting—how long? An hour? More?
“What is it?”
She swallows hard, eyes darting to the security camera in the corner. “I heard something. Something I shouldn’t have.”
I step closer, studying her. Fear radiates from her in waves, but beneath it, determination. The look of someone who’s made a difficult decision.
“Speak.”
She blinks.
“Mrs. Belov—your mother,” she begins, stumbling over the words. “I was tending to the roses in the garden a few days ago. Your mother and your wife were there. I don’t think they knew I could hear them.”
I go still, every muscle tense. “Go on.”
“She knows about the baby,” Anya whispers, her eyes widening as she watches my reaction. “Your mother knowsMrs. Belov is pregnant. She gave her options—to terminate the pregnancy or to take money and leave you. Never tell you about the child.”
The world seems to shift beneath my feet.Baby? Pregnant?The words echo in my head, pieces suddenly clicking into place—Bella’s pallor, her untouched wine, the way she looks.
“Why are you telling me this?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
Anya’s eyes fill with tears. “Because I had a baby once. And someone made me choose too.” She straightens, finding courage from somewhere. “And… Mrs. Belov, she’s very kind to me. She… is sad.”
Her simple words cut through me. Sad. Bella, who brings light into my dark world, who makes my children laugh, who faces down Tatiana without flinching—sad because of my mother. Because of choices no woman should have to make alone.
“Thank you,” I say, the words automatic. “You should go now. Join the others.”
She nods once, scurrying away like a frightened mouse.
I stand alone in the corridor, the revelation pounding through my veins like a second heartbeat.
Bella is pregnant. With my child. And my mother threatened her.
The rage that fills me now isn’t cold or calculated. It’s primal. Devastating. The kind that burns cities to ash.
70
Bella
The helicopter blades slice through the afternoon air, a rhythmic thump-thump-thump that matches my racing heart. Through the tinted windows, California stretches below us—golden hills, winding coastline, everything bathed in sunshine that feels obscenely cheerful given our situation.
“Is this a Black Hawk?” Elena asks, fingers gripping the leather seat as the chopper banks sharply to the left. “Because if I’m going to die in a helicopter crash, I’d at least like to know what kind.”
“It’s an AW139,” Nikolai supplies, his voice perfectly calm despite the circumstances. “Twin-engine, fifteen-passenger capacity, cruise speed 165 knots.”
Elena blinks at him. “Okay, mini-Wikipedia. Thanks for that.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. Even now, fleeing from who knows what kind of danger, Elena refuses to be anything but Elena.
Across from me, Yelena sits rigidly upright, one arm around Lev, who fidgets against the restraints of his seat belt. Nikolai sits beside them, his face a mask of concentration as he watches the navigation display. Alya and Lila are squeezed in next to me, Alya’s small hand clutching mine like a lifeline.
“Is Papa going to be okay?” she whispers, her eyes wide with worry.
My chest tightens. “Of course he is,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel. “Your papa is the strongest, smartest man I know.”
“He’s a warrior,” Lev adds fiercely, chin jutting forward in a way that reminds me so powerfully of Konstantin that it hurts. “Nothing can hurt him.”
