Viktor's shout, the desperation in his voice, echoes against the crack of a single gunshot. I flinch, waiting for the explosion of pain.
But when the echoes of the gunshot die down, I hear the thump of a body. In my shock, it takes a moment for me to realize it wasn't my body—I'm not lying on the ground.
Andrei is.
Iliya stands at the top of the catwalk, near the office. His gun is still aimed at the spot where Andrei stood.
I can't move; I'm frozen, my feet stuck to the ground, my body unresponsive. Even my mind has ground to a halt as I try to comprehend that I’m still alive.
And then Viktor's arm is around me, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe, his fingers tangling painfully in my hair. I can feel how hard and how fast his heart is beating against my cheek.
"It's okay. You're safe. You're okay."
Eliza holds us both in her small arms, and then Suzie’s arms are wrapped around us. I start to weep, enormous wracking sobs as I hold the most important people in my life to me, as I try to come to terms with the fact that it's all over, that I'm safe, we're all safe.
Iliya comes down and stands just outside of the circle. He's dragging a barely conscious Marius with him; he went to town on the bastard, the man is beaten, bloody, and broken. I can also see several bite marks on Marius’s arm, and Benji, whose leash Iliya holds, looks self-satisfied.
"It's over. It's all over," Viktor murmurs into my hair.
And I finally let myself believe it.
32
LEAH
“Did you hear the doctor? I’m okay.”
When the nightmare with Andrei was over, when we were safely ensconced back in the Chelsea house, when Eliza was playing with Benji and Athos in the small, wintry yard still perfectly manicured despite the temperatures, I finally broke down.
The reality of our situation, the way death had hung over all of us in that warehouse, the emotions, fear, and terror I held back for so long to survive finally hit me like a ton of bricks. And then came the cramps in my abdomen.
Viktor had, justifiably, gone into crisis mode. My doctor had appeared at my bedside in less than half an hour, a miracle considering the traffic and distance between us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the AntonovPakhanhad flown him by helicopter. I didn’t ask how he’d gotten the equipment the OB used, and neither did she.
The baby was fine, and so was I. I was put on a strict bed rest regimen until further notice.
It wasn’t all bad—I got one-on-one time with Eliza, which she needed as much as I did. We watched movies, read books, and I was even able to put serious time into applying to law schools, which had been an impossibility with everything going on before. The dogs rested with me often, and with two enormous animals sprawled with me, I was glad the bed itself was so large.
When he could, Viktor worked from his home office. He would check on me often and even bring me my meals personally, instead of leaving it up to the personal chef.
I’d finally gotten the okay from the doctor to be—carefully—mobile. But Viktor had still insisted on bringing my dinner upstairs.
Viktor sits on the bed, his hand automatically finding my leg under the blanket. “Eliza is having a tea party with Iliya. We have some time to ourselves. We should take advantage of it.”
My eyebrows draw closer to my hairline. “You took a picture of that, right?”
A deep chuckle is my answer as Viktor gets to his feet and disappears into the closet. “Of course, I’ll send it to you, so you can forward it to Suzie.”
He reappears with my parka, then chuckles again at my expression, gesturing to the terrace with a dip of his head. “Come on.”
I slip out of bed and into the parka to have Viktor escort me to the small table decked out with a tablecloth, dinner, a winter bouquet, and, thank goodness, heat lamps.
“What’s this?” I ask with a laugh as Viktor gallantly pulls my chair out.
He pops the cork on the sparkling cider. “A dinner. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Us. This. You.” He waved his hand grandly before pouring cider for me and then for himself. I already told Viktor he didn’t have to abstain on my behalf, but if I couldn’t have champagne, he wasn’t going to, either—my gallant lover.
