Chapter 47
Mary
The water is supposed to be calming.
That’s what the brochure said. Gentle aquatic exercise for expectant mothers. Reduce stress. Build strength. Connect with your baby.
What the brochure didn’t mention: how awkward it is to be the only pregnant woman in a pool with two six-foot-plus Russian bodyguards sitting in the bleachers ten feet away like they’re watching an Olympic event.
“I look ridiculous,” I mutter to the woman next to me as we do gentle leg lifts in the shallow end.
The woman—blonde, friendly, obviously trying not to stare at Lev and Dima—laughs nervously. “You look fine. Your… are those your brothers?”
“Security.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
She shifts. Just slightly. Puts about six more inches of water between us.
Great. Perfect. Exactly what I need—to be the scary pregnant lady with the mobster bodyguards.
I should’ve said brothers. Why didn’t I say brothers? Or cousins? Or literally anything that doesn’t scream witness protection program.
“Okay, ladies!” Bethany, our instructor, is waist-deep in the water with us. Aggressively cheerful. The kind of person who probably drinks green smoothies and does yoga at sunrise. “Let’s start with some gentle leg lifts. Remember—no strain! Just movement. Let the water support you.”
We’re all clustered in the shallow end, maybe ten women total, various stages of pregnancy. Partners and family members are in the bleachers along the pool deck.
Except most partners aren’t armed and scanning the room like someone might attack with a pool noodle.
I still can’t believe Lev signed me up for this.
This morning, he just appeared at my bedroom door at 7 AM, holding a protein smoothie I didn’t ask for and a printout of class schedules.
“Aquatic exercise,” he’d announced. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. Good for pregnancy. Reduces swelling, improves circulation, helps with back pain.”
I’d stared at him. “Did you… research this?”
“Of course I researched it. You think I’m going to let you sit around eating cinnamon rolls for two weeks?”
“I also made bread.”
“Mary.”
“Fine. How did you even find this class?”
“Google. Also, Dr. Vera recommended it.” He’d thrust the smoothie at me. “You’re registered. Class starts at nine. Don’t be late.”
“You can’t just register me for things without asking.”
“I can and I did. The boss would want you to stay active. Healthy.” He’d paused. “Also, Dima and I are coming.”
“To watch me waddle around in a pool?”
“To make sure no one drowns you in a pool.”
“Lev, we’re in Las Vegas. Not Moscow. No one’s going to—”
“We’re coming.”
And here we are.
Me, doing leg lifts with women who keep side-eyeing my security detail. Them, sitting in the bleachers like they’re watching their kid’s swim meet, except instead of holding encouraging signs they’re probably armed.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s also kind of touching.
Because Lev researched prenatal exercise.
Because he cares enough to make sure I’m not just surviving, but actually taking care of myself and the baby.
Because even though Anton’s gone, they’re still here, still protecting me, still treating this pregnancy like it’s the most important mission they’ve ever had.
Which apparently includes pool aerobics.
“Alright, mamas!” Bethany claps her hands, voice somehow even more cheerful than before. “Now we’re going to add some gentle jumps. Nothing crazy, just little bounces. Let the water absorb the impact. It’s great for your joints and gets that blood flowing!”
She demonstrates. Tiny little hops. Barely leaves the pool floor.
I glance at Lev and Dima.
They’re both leaning forward now. Watching me like I’m about to perform open-heart surgery instead of bouncing in three feet of water.
Lev’s jaw is tight. Dima’s got that look—the one that says he’s calculating exactly how fast he could reach me if something went wrong.
I start to bounce. Gently. Like Bethany showed us.
Lev’s eyes track every movement.
This is insane. This entire situation has gone so completely sideways that I’m doing prenatal water aerobics while two Russian enforcers watch like I’m about to explode.
My phone sits in its waterproof bag on the bench between them. Right there. Within their arm’s reach. Within my line of sight.
Five days since I heard Anton’s voice. One hundred and twenty hours. Seven thousand two hundred minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
The phone hasn’t rung since. No texts. No mysterious international calls. Nothing.
But he’s alive. I heard him. That has to be enough.
It has to be.
I’ve developed a system since that call. A routine. The phone comes everywhere. And I mean everywhere.
Shower? Phone’s in a Ziplock bag on the sink.
Bathroom? Phone’s on the counter, volume maxed.
Kitchen? Phone’s in my pocket or on the counter, always within reach.
Sleeping? Phone’s on Anton’s pillow, ringer on full volume.
I even brought it into the pool today; waterproof bag, double-sealed, sitting right there where I can see it.
Because what if he calls and I miss it? What if those forty-three seconds were my only chance, and the next call is the one that matters, and I’m too far away to hear it?
So yes. The phone is now a permanent extension of my body.
It’s annoying. It’s obsessive. It’s probably unhealthy.
I don’t care.
“Beautiful work, ladies!” Bethany’s circling us now, passing out foam noodles. Bright blue. Long. “These are for our cool-down float. We’re going to end with some relaxation and breathing exercises.”
She hands me a noodle. I take it, feeling ridiculous.
The blonde woman next to me—the one who shifted away earlier—takes hers without looking at me.
Great. I’ve officially become the scary pool lady.
“Alright!” Bethany moves to the center of our circle. “Place the noodle under your shoulders and lean back. Let the water hold you. Close your eyes. Just breathe.”
I do as she says. Lean back. The noodle supports my weight. Water laps at my ears.
Above me, through the skylight, I can see blue sky. Clouds drifting past.
“Breathe in for four,” Bethany’s voice echoes. “Hold for four. Out for four.”
I breathe. In. Hold. Out.
My hand drifts to my stomach.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper. Too quiet for anyone else to hear over the water. “We’re floating. Your dad would probably hate this class. Too slow. Too… peaceful.”
But would he come if I asked? Would he sit in those bleachers like Lev and Dima, watching me bounce and float and breathe?
The image makes me smile despite everything.
Anton. In swim trunks. Sitting in the pool bleachers. Probably scowling at Bethany’s excessive cheerfulness.
This is ridiculous, malyshka.
It’s good for the baby.
I could think of better ways to exercise.
Behave.
Make me.
My throat tightens.
God, I miss him. Miss his voice. His hands. The way he—
My stomach growls.
Loud.
Several women turn to look at me.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Apparently, swimming makes me hungry.”
Bethany laughs. “That’s completely normal! You’re burning calories, and Baby’s growing. Listen to your body.”
I look down at my still-flat stomach. “You hear that? You’re making me hungry. Already demanding things and you’re not even the size of a lime yet.”
Another growl.
“Okay, okay. Lunch. I hear you.”
After class, I change quickly. Lev and Dima are waiting outside the locker room.
“How was it?” Lev asks.
“Wet.”
“Helpful?”
“Actually… yeah. Kind of.” I adjust my bag. “My back feels better.”
“Good.” He’s already moving toward the exit. “Lunch?”
“Starving.”
“Italian or Thai?”
“Italian. Carbs. Lots of carbs.”
Dima makes a noise that might be approval.
We end up at a small place three blocks from the penthouse. Private booth in the back. Lev and Dima positioned so they can see the entire restaurant.
I order pasta. Garlic bread. A side salad I probably won’t eat.
My phone sits on the table. Face up. Screen on.
Lev notices. “You’ve been checking that every thirty seconds.”
“Have not.”
“Have too.”
“It’s been five days since—” I stop. Can’t finish the sentence without my voice breaking.
“I know,” Lev says quietly. “But he’s working. When he’s working, he doesn’t check in. That’s protocol.”
“I hate protocol.”
“Yeah. Me too, sometimes.”
The food arrives. I eat mechanically. Pasta’s good. Bread’s warm. I barely taste any of it.
After lunch, we go back to the penthouse. I’m exhausted. One hour in a pool shouldn’t tire me out this much, but apparently pregnancy has other ideas.
“I’m taking a nap,” I announce.
“Good,” Dima says. “You need rest.”
“I’m not a toddler.”
“You’re acting like one.”
I flip him off. He almost smiles.
In the bedroom, I change into Anton’s T-shirt. Climb into bed. Set my phone on his pillow.
Close my eyes.
And for the first time in days, I actually fall asleep.
I wake up to voices.
Low. Urgent. Just outside the bedroom door.
My eyes snap open. The room’s darker, late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains.
First instinct—my phone. I reach for it on the nightstand, thumb brushing the screen. No missed calls. No new messages. Just a few unread texts from Jasper and a reminder about Grandma’s meds.
4:47 PM. I slept for almost three hours.
The voices continue. I can make out Lev and Dima. Arguing? No. Discussing something.
Something serious.
I slide out of bed. Move to the door. Press my ear against it.
“—can’t tell her yet,” Lev’s saying.
“She needs to know,” Dima responds.
“Not until we have confirmation.”
“Boris said—”
“Boris said it’s unclear. That means we wait.”
My heart stops.
Boris. They’re talking about Boris.
Which means they’re talking about Anton.
I yank the door open. Both of them freeze.
“Tell me what?” I demand.
They exchange a look.
“Mary—” Lev starts.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare lie to me right now.” My voice is shaking. “What did Boris say?”
Another pause. Too long.
Then Dima’s phone buzzes.
He looks at the screen. His face doesn’t change, but something in his eyes shifts.
“We need to talk,” he says.
And my world tilts sideways.