Time was up.
I took a deep breath. Felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. Slowly, stiffly, I turned and let my eyes fall to the counter.
Two pregnancy tests. Two red lines. Stark. No room for misinterpretation.
My legs gave out. I slid down the door onto the cold tile.
My mind went blank. No sound, no thoughts. I just stared at those two lines like my soul had left my body.
I was pregnant. I was carrying Nikolai Volkov's child.
Right after discovering he'd been monitoring me, controlling me like some psycho. Right when we weren't speaking. Right now, a tiny life with Russian mob blood was growing inside me.
I don't know how long I sat there. Until two controlled knocks came at the door.
"Ms. Cole?" Natasha's voice carried subtle concern. "You've been in there a long time. Are you all right? Do you need help?"
I snapped back to reality and shot up like I'd been electrocuted.
"I'm fine!" I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal. "Don't worry about me."
"Of course, Ms. Cole." Her footsteps faded.
I stared at those tests on the counter. I couldn't let anyone find out. Absolutely not. Not now. If Nikolai found out I was pregnant, he'd lock me in this gilded cage even tighter. I'd become nothing but a breeding machine under constant surveillance, producing his heir.
I didn't think twice. Grabbed a massive wad of toilet paper and wrapped both tests in at least ten layers until they were completely unrecognizable, then buried them deep at the bottom of the trash can and covered them with used cotton pads.
After finishing, I walked out of the bathroom like nothing had happened and climbed back into that wide bed, burying myself under the covers.
I closed my eyes. But all I could see were those two stark red lines, Nikolai's savage bloodlust in that octagon, and his words: "In my world, survival always trumps your pathetic pride."
I lay in that silent estate with my eyes open until the sky outside turned pale with dawn.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nikolai
The meeting room in the ancestral mansion was thick with smoke, the air so heavy it felt like blood might drip from the ceiling.
The long table was packed with Bratva's core members—those old bastards who'd clawed their way up with my father. Every single one of them wore a dark expression, their eyes full of doubt and discontent.
"Pakhan."
Gregory, sitting to my right—a thick-necked bruiser with a double-headed eagle tattooed on his bald skull—crushed his cigar into the crystal ashtray with a harsh, grating hiss.
"The Marchetti family's been causing trouble on our turf three times this month. Last week they blew up two of our warehouses at the docks, and this week they went after your woman in broad daylight." His voice rasped like a rusted saw. "Every crew in Washington's laughing at us. They're saying the Volkov family's gone soft, that we can't even protect our own women!"
"Gregory's right."
Another old-timer jumped in—Ivan, who ran our weaponssmuggling. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with mockery.
"Pakhan, forgive my bluntness, but since Ms. Cole entered your life, you've become... hesitant in your decision-making. The old you would never have tolerated this kind of provocation from Marchetti."
"And your point is?" I leaned back in my chair, lifting my eyes from the shadows.
"My point is—" Ivan drummed his fingers rudely on the table, "perhaps it was the young lady's... aggressive attitude toward Carmine at the charity gala that triggered this series of retaliations. A woman's tantrum shouldn't become the whole family's burden."
I slammed my rocks glass onto the black marble table. The thick glass bottom shattered instantly, amber whiskey mixed with sharp glass shards spraying out and slicing Ivan's cheek.
