21. Celia
Chapter 21
Celia
There isn’t much I inherited from my father after his death. The house went to my mother, all of his business assets and contracts went to my brother, and anything else within our home was either given away or sold when my mother finally moved on. But while Mikhail was swept away by new responsibilities and my mother consumed by grief, I spent countless hours inside his office. Sitting at his desk. Fingering through the books on the shelf. Pretending to answer the landline. The thing about sudden, unexpected death is that it hits everyone differently. For me, I wanted to uncover secrets my father kept. It’s how I learned that in addition to his extensive real estate contracts and connections, he kept a ledger on the side. Although I never cracked the code for what he bought, sold, and traded his life for, I did find something much more valuable to a girl whose path diverged from the role of submissive bratva wife she was supposed to fill.
It was a place to hide.
The house my father kept in secret is under another man’s name. I haven’t the faintest idea who he was—my father bearing a false name or some other long-forgotten soul whose identity he stole—but I took the key hidden in a side panel in my father’s office and claimed the safe house as my own. I spent the latter part of my teenage years going back and forth between our family home and this one. I haven’t changed much in the time I’ve spent there—it’s a bachelor pad through and through, with shag carpet and a huge TV in the sitting area, enough canned goods to feed a small army in the pantry, and a single bed that creaks with the slightest shift of weight. Nothing luxurious—just enough to get by for a night or two before the appeal of alone time wears off. It’s the opposite of the luxury my brother and I grew up in.
That must be part of its charm.
I kept this property a secret from my ex-husband—in fact, I haven’t been back in years. It’s only when I’m panicking in the street that it even comes to mind. A place to run. A place to hide.
You can’t hide forever . They’ll find you sooner or later.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. I’ll have to go back to my house to get the key. If those texts I sent from Rage’s phone have done their job, none of the boys will be waiting for me at home. Hopefully, they’re too busy looking after Rage to spend even an ounce of their attention on me.
I move on stiff legs as I cross a busy street, considering my next steps. Am I fleeing the city? Or am I going to stay and fight for the life I’ve built?
I think of Valentina and wonder how she made the decision to flee not only the bratva, but her position as our princess. Had she been planning it all along, or was it a spur of the moment decision? How did she get away—and stay away? Did she have help, or was she alone?
Staring up into the gray winter sky makes me feel as small as every speck of snow flurrying down. Calling anyone for help will only put them in danger. Mikhail is the exception, but as much as he might support me getting away from Rage and his brothers, he wouldn’t support leaving the city altogether.
Is that what I want? To leave?
I catch my reflection in a storefront window and place my hands on my stomach. Flutters of hope stir in my chest, and I fight the tears welling in my eyes. If I become pregnant, which option is the best for my child? To stay within the city—within Rage, Rebel, and Ruin’s sphere of influence—or to leave? I clutch my stomach as another idea emerges.
Is it better not to become pregnant at all?
The last time I let Rage in, I took a morning after pill. At the time, having sex with a stranger made the consequences a bit too permanent. But now that I know Rage, has that really changed? Or is it worse knowing who he is and what he’s done?
Bile rises to the back of my throat and I duck in an alley and throw up my breakfast. Conflict wars inside my body, the future uncertain, my path unclear.
Rage seemed like he wanted to have a baby.
With me.
But as much as I want a child, bearing his child feels like a noose tightening around my neck. I’ll be at his mercy until the baby arrives—and even then, once I’m under his complete control during the pregnancy, will he ever let me go once it’s over?
Me and the baby?
I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Having Rage’s child will tie me to him permanently, and a baby born into the bratva will become a weapon just like its father. I can’t let that happen, or all of my dreams of a perfect, normal, happy family will go up in smoke.
The walk to the pharmacy around the corner is frigid, chilling me to the bone. I’m shivering as I step up to the counter and ask the pharmacist for a Plan B . Forty dollars and a numb journey home later, I’m standing in my master bathroom with a tiny cardboard box in hand.
I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever dreamed.
For a moment, I believed him.
But only for a moment.