NIKOLAI
Ipace the length of my study, my eyes fixed on the security monitor mounted discreetly in the mahogany paneling. The screen shows the front gate, the iron bars still closed, the driveway empty. My men are taking too long. Each minute that passes feels like an eternity, each second another opportunity for something to go wrong. Aria remains outside my protection, vulnerable and exposed to enemies who would use her against me without hesitation. The blackmailer who sent those photographs is still out there, calculating his next move, and I can't shake the feeling that time is running out.
When the black sedan finally pulls through the gate, I force myself to stop moving. I plant my feet behind my desk and grip the edge of the polished wood, projecting the control that has kept me alive for two decades. But my heart hammers against my ribs in a way that has nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with the woman stepping out of the vehicle.
Through the window, I watch her emerge. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand moves protectively to her stomach. That simple gesture makessomething primal surge through my chest. Mine. She's mine, and so is the child she carries.
Footsteps echo in the hallway. I straighten, schooling my features into the mask I've perfected over years of negotiations and power plays. The door opens, and she enters like a storm given human form.
Fire blazes in those dark eyes I've memorized in a thousand different lights. Her chin lifts in defiance despite the fear I can see trembling at the edges of her composure. She's wearing jeans and a simple sweater that hugs the subtle curve of her waist, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that exposes the elegant line of her neck. Beautiful. Furious. Terrified.
"Why?" The single word cracks like a whip. "Why did you send armed men to collect me like I'm property?"
The accusation hits harder than any physical blow. Something cracks in my chest, a fissure in the armor I've worn for so long, it feels like skin. "Aria?—"
"Don't." She holds up a hand, her fingers trembling slightly. "Don't you dare try to justify this. I was at my apartment, minding my own business, and two of your men showed up demanding I come with them. They wouldn't tell me why. They wouldn't let me refuse. Do you have any idea how that felt?"
I move around the desk, needing to close the distance between us, but she takes a step back. The rejection stings more than it should.
"I needed you here," I say, keeping my voice level despite the emotions churning beneath the surface. "Where I can protect you."
"Protect me from what?" Her voice rises, echoing off the study's high ceilings. "You keep saying that, but you won't tell me what's happening. I'm not some damsel who needs rescuing, Nikolai. I'm a grown woman who deserves answers."
She's magnificent in her rage. Her cheeks flush with color, her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, and I want nothing more than to pull her against me and feel her heartbeat sync with my own. But I can't. Not yet. Not until she understands.
I cross to my desk and retrieve the file Yaroslav prepared. The manila folder feels heavy in my hands, weighted with secrets I never intended to keep. I slide it across the polished wood toward her, watching her face carefully.
"Open it."
Her eyes narrow with suspicion, but curiosity wins. She steps forward and flips open the cover. I watch comprehension dawn as she scans the first page of data, her expression shifting from confusion to shock to something that looks like betrayal.
"What is this?" Her voice drops to barely above a whisper.
"Data from my watch." I keep my tone clinical, factual, even though my pulse is racing. "The one I wore on the island. It tracked more than justmyvitals."
Her hand moves unconsciously to her stomach, protective and possessive. The gesture makes primal satisfaction surge through my veins, warring with the guilt of invading her privacy.
"You knew." The words come out flat, emotionless, which is somehow worse than her earlier fury. "You knew I was pregnant before I did."
"The sensors detected hormonal changes. Elevated HCG levels consistent with early pregnancy." I force myself to maintain eye contact, to not look away from the hurt blooming in her dark eyes. "The technology is medical grade. It can identify conception within days."
"How long?" She grips the edge of my desk, her knuckles white. "How long have you known?"
I don't answer. I just stand there and watch her.
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch her process this information, see the calculations happening behind her eyes. She's piecing together the timeline, realizing I've known for weeks while she struggled with morning sickness and exhaustion, thinking she was just stressed.
"You had no right." Her voice shakes with barely controlled rage. "No right to monitor my body without my consent. No right to keep this information from me. No right to?—"
"I had every right." The words come out harsher than I intend, the Pakhan asserting himself before I can stop him. "That child is mine. My responsibility. My heir."
"Your heir?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what this is about? Your legacy? Your empire?"
"It's about keeping you both safe." I move closer, unable to maintain the distance any longer. "Do you have any idea what you represent now? What that child represents? You're not just Aria Levin anymore. You're carrying the next generation of the Alekseev bloodline. That makes you a target for every enemy I've ever made."
The color drains from her face. She actually sways on her feet, and I move instinctively to steady her, but she jerks away from my touch.
"Every enemy." Her voice comes out thin, breathless. "Every… how many enemies does a Bratva Pakhan have, Nikolai?"
