Page 94 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I nod slowly, hand still resting on my stomach.

I haven’t slept properly or thought clearly since I asked Leonid for space. Two weeks. The longest, emptiest weeks of my life. Not just because I miss him, but because I miss Alexei too. Being away from them feels like a slow kind of torture.

Each new day in the past two weeks, I realize how deeply my love for Leonid runs. I find myself rationalizing what he does, turning his darkness over in my mind until it doesn’t sound as unforgivable as it did at first.

Yes, he’s in the mafia. Yes, he kills. But I’ve seen the other side too—the man who reads Alexei bedtime stories until the boy falls asleep against his chest, who remembers I like oat milk in my coffee. The man who looks at me like I light up his world.

Who am I kidding? I don’t care what Leonid does for a living. Not really. Not when it comes down to it. I just want to be with him. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. Maybe it’s a double standard. But like he said, he doesn’t go around hurting innocent people. That man at the party—he asked for it. If he’d backed off when I told him no, he would still be alive.

Tasha watches my face closely, then smiles. “Okay,” she says. “Judging by that look, I’m guessing you’ve made up your mind.”

I nod, a small, real smile breaking through. “I need to go see him.”

“That’s my girl.” She leans over and pulls me into a tight hug. “Go get your man. And tell me everything later.”

“Promise.” I hug her back hard, then grab my bag. I step into the hallway, heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with certainty. She walks me to the door. “You’ve got this.”

I didn’t drive, so I’m taking a taxi to his office. I glance at my watch; it’s past three, he should still be there. If not, I’ll head to his house. I keep replaying the last two weeks. Even though he’s been giving me the space I asked for, I still feel him everywhere.

Every morning, there’s a bouquet of flowers at my door, a card tucked inside telling me he loves me. That I belong to him. Meals show up daily. When I texted him to stop, he simply told me to eat. If I run out of anything, it’s replaced before I even realize I need it. The other day my kitchen sink broke, and by the time the property manager finally showed up with a plumber, it was already done.

I’ve texted Leonid more times than I can count, asking him to stop. He always answers the same way—that he won’t, that he’s just making sure I’m taken care of. I shake my head, smiling despite myself. What was I thinking? That I could stay away from him? That I could pretend I didn’t need him?

I love him. And I’m carrying his child.

My hand drifts to my stomach. What will he say when I tell him? Will he want this baby? Or will he think I’m trying to trap him the way Alexei’s mother did, using a pregnancy to get something from him?

The cab driver’s voice jolts me out of the fog in my head. “We’re here, ma’am.”

I blink, startled, and fumble for my wallet. “Right. Thank you.” I hand him cash and step out onto the sidewalk. The office building towers above me, the question replaying in my head: Will he want this baby?

I mutter under my breath, “There’s only one way to find out.”

Before I can take a single step forward, the revolving doors spin, and Leonid walks out. My heart leaps. A wide, involuntary smile breaks across my face. He’s here, right in front of me, looking every bit the man who owns every room he enters. Black suit, no tie, dark hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it during a long meeting.

But the smile dies on my lips the second I see her.

A blonde woman steps out right behind him—stick-thin, designer dress hugging her frame, hem stopping just above her knees, six-inch heels clicking against the pavement. She’s smiling up at him, head tilted in that intimate way women do when they know they’re being listened to. And Leonid, my Leonid, has his hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My feet root to the concrete. What? Who is she? Why does he have his hand on her? The questions run through my head, and I have no answer for any. My stomach drops so fast I feel sick. Is this real? Am I seeing things? My vision blurs at the edges, but I can’t look away. He’s helping her into the back of a waiting black SUV, the same kind he always uses. Holding the back door open for her as she slides in with practiced grace.

I’m moving before I realize it, marching toward them, fists clenched, ready to demand answers. I barely make it three steps when a wall of muscle steps into my path.

Dmitri.

Leonid’s right-hand man. Tall, broad, expression blank except for the faint shake of his head. “I’d strongly advise against that, Ms. Harper.”

I stare up at him, chest heaving. “What’s going on, Dmitri? Who is she?”

Dmitri doesn’t answer. Just stands there, immovable. I look past him in time to see Leonid round the SUV, glance in my direction, and our eyes lock.

For one heartbeat, everything stops. No guilt. No flicker of recognition. Just… nothing. His face is blank, cold, like I’m a stranger. Like I don’t exist.

Then he looks away, gets in the car, and shuts the door. The SUV pulls away from the curb, tires whispering against asphalt, and disappears into traffic.

I stand frozen, mouth open, words trapped in my throat. Dmitri’s voice drifts in from somewhere far away. “Let me take you home.”

I turn to him slowly. Tears are already pooling in my eyes, hot and stinging. I don’t answer. I just turn and walk away, mechanically hailing a cab.