Together, the three of us walk inside.
Chapter 34
Alyona
Early afternoon settles over the plantation in a quiet, golden hush that makes everything feel suspended, as though the world has decided to hold its breath for me. Michael conducts the appointment in my rooms instead of dragging me all the way into town again. I secretly appreciate it more than I admit. The last few days have left me jumpy in ways I don’t quite know how to explain. There’s something comforting about being examined in a space that smells like my soap and my clothes instead of antiseptic and strangers.
He shows up dressed the same way he always does: faded jeans and a t-shirt. His sleeves are rolled up like he’s about to fix a sink instead of check my blood pressure. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a bored neighbor dropping by for coffee rather than the only doctor brave enough to step foot in a Bratva boss’ home.
“Still feeling nauseous?” he asks, pressing the stethoscope lightly against my back.
“Only when someone tries to feed me fish,” I mutter.
He snorts under his breath. “That tracks.”
As he moves around the room, efficient and unhurried, I notice a shadow slide across the thin strip of light beneath thedoor. It lingers, shifting just slightly, like someone trying very hard not to move at all.
I can’t help it; I smile.
Michael follows my gaze and sighs, long-suffering. “He’s out there again, isn’t he?”
“Maybe,” I say innocently.
“He’s worse than an anxious first-time father in a sitcom.”
“He’d hate that comparison.”
“I’m aware,” Michael replies dryly. “Everything looks good, Aly. Heartbeat’s strong, vitals are normal, and you’re right on track. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about, despite the six-foot-three Russian sentinel guarding your door.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “Thank you, Michael.”
He pats my shoulder, then slips out through the connecting door to the hallway, deliberately avoiding the main exit.
The second the latch clicks, I cross the room and pull the door open.
Kaz practically stumbles inside.
For a man who can orchestrate kidnappings and corporate takeovers without blinking, he looks sheepish, like a boy caught eavesdropping. His hair is slightly mussed, his shirt sleeves rolled, tension carved into every line of his body.
“I wasn’t listening,” he says immediately, jaw set like he’s facing down a rival.
I laugh. “You were absolutely listening.”
He exhales through his nose, conceding the point, and then he’s in front of me, hands on my waist, eyes scanning my face.
“You’re not very discreet for a mafia leader,” I tease.
His mouth twitches, but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “What did he say?”
“That everything’s fine,” I answer softly. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. And apparently, I’m officially close to three months along.”
He sinks onto the edge of the bed and pulls me with him until I’m settled in his lap, my legs bracketed by his thighs, his arms circling me like he’s afraid I might vanish. His face buries into my neck, breath warm against my skin, and for a moment the ruthless man everyone fears disappears.
His voice is rough when he murmurs, “Ya vlyubilsya v tebya.”
I run my fingers through his loose hair and smile. “You know I haven’t started my Russian lessons yet, right?”
He lifts his head slowly and looks at me. His dark eyes are steady, vulnerable in a way they haven’t been before.
