I step back, breaking the contact. “I can’t do this, Mikhail. I can’t watch you disappear into that darkness again. I won’t raise our child in a world where every day could be their last because of who their father is.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or pain. “What are you saying?”
I don’t answer directly.
Can’t bring myself to say the words that have been forming in my mind for days.
Instead, I turn back to the window, my arms wrapped around myself. “I’m saying I need to think about what’s best for our baby.”
The silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. I hear him move behind me, feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches away.
“You’re thinking about leaving.” It’s not a question.
“I’m thinking about our child’s future.” I force myself to meet his gaze in the window’s reflection. “And whether that future includes watching their father become the very thing he once fought against.”
His jaw clenches, and I see the war playing out behind his eyes. The man who loves me versus the pakhan who knows only one way to protect what’s his.
“I love you,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I love you and our child more than anything in this world. But I can’t be weak. Not now. Not when there are still enemies out there who would use that weakness against us.”
“Loving me isn’t weakness.” I turn to face him fully. “Choosing a different path isn’t weakness. It’s strength, Mikhail. Real strength.”
He reaches for me, his hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. “I’m trying, Sophia. I’m trying to find a balance. Butyou have to understand that my world doesn’t allow for half measures. Either I’m the pakhan, or I’m nothing. And if I’m nothing, I can’t protect you.”
I lean into his touch despite my frustration. “Then maybe we need to leave. Go somewhere far away where no one knows us. Start over completely.”
“They’ll find us.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “Men like Torrino, like the families who still have grudges against me, they have long memories and longer reaches. Running won’t save us. It’ll just make us easier targets.”
The truth of his words settles over me like a weight.
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
But I also can’t accept that violence is our only option.
“I need some air,” I say, pulling away from him. “I need to think.”
He doesn’t try to stop me as I leave the room, though I feel his eyes on me until I turn the corner.
I find Melinda in the guest room, reading a book on the window seat. She looks up when I enter, and her expression immediately shifts to concern.
“What’s wrong?” She sets the book aside and pats the cushion beside her.
I sink down next to her, and suddenly the tears I’ve been holding back start to fall. “I don’t know what to do, Mel. I don’t know how to save him from himself.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Tell me everything.”
So I do. I tell her about Mikhail’s insistence on returning to his old ways, about my fear for our child’s future, about the impossible choice I’m facing.
She listens without interrupting, her presence a comfort I desperately need.
“Do you love him?” she asks when I finally fall silent.
“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. “God help me, I love him so much it terrifies me.”
“And does he love you?”
“Yes.” I wipe at my tears. “But I don’t know if love is enough when the world he lives in demands so much violence.”
Melinda is quiet for a moment. “You know what I think? I think you’re both right and both wrong.”
