Chapter 22
DANTE
Iwalk to the door and turn back to look at her. I wish I could tell her everything will be fine, but I can't. The hit has already been ordered.
Richard Quinn will die.
I didn't want to agree to it. At the meeting in New York, I argued for more time, presented Hannah's findings about the inconsistencies in the evidence. But the elders were unmoved. Radimir had been in their ears for weeks, painting me as weak, compromised, unable to enforce our own laws.
"Two weeks," Yuri had said. "If Quinn cannot produce the money or proof of his innocence, the sentence is death. This is not negotiable, Dante."
Two weeks passed three days ago. I've been stalling, making excuses, buying hours when I have no more days left to give.
The hit has already been ordered. My only choice now is whether I'm the one to carry it out—or whether I let someone else do it and lose what little control I have left.
I managed to get them to allow me to keep her without fear of a hit being put on her. She has no idea. I don’t want her to know.
“I’ll speak with the doctor,” I say.
“Fuck you! I hate you! I don’t want to go to your home. I’ve changed my mind. I never want to go back there. I refuse. I’ll tell the doctor you’re keeping me as a hostage.”
I shake my head. “And that just seals your father’s fate.”
She shoots me a glare that would make a weaker man wither. "I refuse to let our child grow up with a violent father. You will never be around him.”
I’m about to walk out when I replay what she just said.
The words don't register at first. I hear them, but my brain can't process them, can't fit them into any framework that makes sense. Our child. Violent father. The pieces are there, but they won't connect.
I turn slowly, my hand still on the door handle. "What did you say?"
Hannah's eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale against the hospital pillows, and there's something defiant in her expression. Something that looks almost like guilt mixed with anger.
"You heard me."
"Say it again." My voice sounds strange, distant, like it belongs to someone else.
She sits up straighter, wincing slightly from the movement. She meets my eyes with a directness that's pure Hannah—brave and stubborn and absolutely terrifying in this moment.
"I'm pregnant," she says, and there's a hint of bitterness in her tone. "It's yours. From that first night, I assume, since you're the only person I've been with in months. So congratulations, Dante. You're going to be a father again."
The sarcasm in her delivery should make me angry. Instead, I'm frozen, every muscle in my body locked in place while my mind tries to catch up with what she just told me.
Pregnant.
She's pregnant.
With my child.
"When—" I stop, start again. "How long have you known?"
"Does it matter?"
"How. Long."
She flinches at the steel in my voice. "Since before you brought me to your estate. Since that day outside the coffee shop when I saw you again."
Weeks. She's known for weeks and didn't tell me. She’s been walking around my house, sleeping in my bed, letting me touch her while keeping this secret locked away where I couldn't find it.
"Are you—" I can't finish the question. Can't force my throat to shape the words that might break me.
"Am I what?"
"Are you okay? Is the baby—" My eyes go to the bandage on her head, and horror floods through me. She fell down the stairs. She was bleeding. She could have—
"We're fine." Her hand moves to her stomach, protective, maternal in a way that makes something crack open in my chest. "The doctor did an ultrasound. The baby's fine. Strong heartbeat, measuring right on schedule."
Relief hits me so hard I have to grab the door handle to stay upright. They're okay. Both of them are okay.
Then reality crashes in like a tidal wave.
She's pregnant.
I'm going to be a father again.
Hannah is carrying my child in a world where enemies use the people I love to destroy me.
I'm going to lose them both.
The thought is so clear, so absolute, that it steals the air from my lungs. This is Katya all over again. Another woman I care about, another innocent life, both of them targets because of who I am and what I do.
"Dante?" Hannah's voice sounds far away. "Are you—"
I can't stay here. Can't stand in this room with her looking at me like that while my world implodes around me. I wrench open the door and stumble into the hallway, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that don't seem to bring any oxygen.
Pregnant. She's pregnant. With my child.
"Boss?"
Alexei materializes beside me, his hand on my arm, steady and grounding. "Dante, what's wrong? Is Hannah—"
"She's pregnant."
The words come out flat, emotionless. There’s no surprise in his eyes. Nope. But there is something that looks almost like guilt.
"You knew." The accusation is out before I can stop it. "You fucking knew and didn't tell me."
"She made me promise—"
"She made you—" I laugh, but there's no humor in it, just the brittle edge of hysteria. "She made you promise to keep this from me? And you agreed?"
"She needed time—"
"Time for what? To hide the fact that she's carrying my child? To decide whether or not to tell me?" I grab his shirt and stare directly into his eyes. "What else are you keeping from me?"
"Nothing. I swear, Dante, nothing." His hands come up, not to fight back but to steady me. "I only found out when we got here. I was going to make her tell you, but then you showed up—"
I release him abruptly, stumbling back until I hit the wall. My hands are shaking. When did my hands start shaking?
"I need—" I can't finish the thought. Don't know what I need beyond the impossible desire to rewind time and make different choices.
"Go home," Alexei says quietly. "See Mila. Clear your head. I'll stay with Hannah, make sure she's safe."
"Don't let her leave." The order comes out harsh, desperate. "She said she wants to go home, back to her apartment. Don't let her."
"Dante—"
"Promise me." I grab his arm, my grip probably too tight but I can't seem to modulate my strength right now. "She's pregnant with my child, Alexei. If she leaves, if she goes home, my enemies will find her. They'll use her, use the baby—"
I can't finish. Can't voice the terrible scenarios playing out in my mind, each one worse than the last.
"I'll keep her safe," Alexei promises. "I won't let anything happen to her or the baby."
The drive home is a blur. I don't remember getting in the car, don't remember telling the driver where to go. I just find myself at the estate gates, the familiar walls that have always meant safety and control now feeling like a cage I've built around everyone I love.
The house is quiet when I enter. Most of the staff have gone to bed, just the night security making their rounds. I should check in with them, should verify that all protocols are in place and be the leader they need.
Instead, I go straight to Mila's room.
She's asleep, her dark hair spread across the pillow. In sleep, she looks even younger than seven. She’s so innocent and pure in a way that breaks my heart.
I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to wake her. I just watch her breathe. This is what matters. This small person who trusts me absolutely, who has no idea that her father's world could swallow her whole without a second thought.
Soon there will be another child. Another small person who will depend on me for everything.
How am I supposed to do this again? How am I supposed to love another child when loving the first one already feels like keeping my heart outside my body?
"Papa?"
Mila's voice is sleepy, confused. I force a smile, smoothing her hair back from her face.
"Go back to sleep, milaya."
"Is Hannah okay? Maria said she hurt her head."
"She's fine. She'll be home tomorrow."
Mila's eyes are already closing again, reassured by my presence and my words. "Good. I made her a card. With flowers."
"I know she'll love it."
Within seconds, she's asleep again, the resilience of childhood allowing her to slip back into dreams without worry. I stay there for a long time trying to prepare myself for the terrifying reality of doing this all over again with another child.
Eventually, I force myself to stand and leave her room.
I head to my office with every intention of drinking several glasses of vodka to dull the panic.
I hate this feeling. It’s like a hair shirt.
Everything feels wrong. I don’t have control.
I always have control. But damn, Hannah is sending me into a tailspin. I have to find my footing.
I'm two drinks in when Bogdan appears in the doorway.
"Heard about Hannah's accident," he says. He walks to the bar to pour himself a drink without invitation. "Is she alright?"
"She's fine." I take a sip from my glass. "Concussion, some stitches. No broken bones. She'll recover."
"Good." He studies me with those eyes that never seem to miss anything. It would be disturbing if he wasn’t family. "You look like hell, though. What else happened?"
I take another drink and ponder the words. I don’t want anyone to know about Hannah yet. Not until I get some safeguards in place, but Bogdan is someone I can trust with the secret.
"She's pregnant," I hear myself say.
The silence that follows is absolute. I look up from my drink to find Bogdan staring at me, his expression frozen in something that might be surprise or might be something else entirely.
“It’s mine,” I clarify.
For just a moment—so brief I might have imagined it—I see something dark flicker in his eyes. Something that looks almost like anger.
Then it's gone, replaced by a broad smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Congratulations, cousin." He holds up his glass in salute. "Another Sokolov heir. The family will be pleased."
"Will they?" The vodka is starting to soften the edges of my panic, making me bold. "Or will they see it as another weakness to exploit?"
"That depends on how you handle it." Bogdan settles back swirling the liquid in his glass. "The elders respect strength. Show them you can protect your family while still leading the organization, and they'll accept the child."
"And if I can't?"
"Then they'll remove the weakness." He says it so casually, like he's discussing the weather instead of threatening the life of my unborn child. "But you're strong enough, Dante. You've proven that."
Have I? Because right now I feel like I'm barely holding on, like one more crisis will shatter what little control I have left.
"The Quinn situation," Bogdan continues. "That's going to be resolved soon, yes?"
The abrupt change of subject catches me off guard. "I'm still investigating."
"The elders gave you two weeks. That deadline is approaching rapidly."
"I'm aware."
"And what have you found?" He leans forward, interest sharpening his features. "Any evidence that Quinn is innocent like his daughter claims?"
“No.”
“Now she’s carrying your child,” he says. “That complicates things.”
“She wants me to make sure he truly stole the money,” I reply.”
"Hannah is emotionally compromised. Of course she wants to believe her father is innocent." Bogdan stands, finishing his drink. "But we both know the evidence is overwhelming. Sometimes, we have to make hard choices for the good of the family."
After he leaves, I sit alone in my office and finish a third drink. I’m not drunk. Not even buzzed, but I feel like I can function again.
I pull out my phone and call Alexei.
"How is she?" I ask when he answers.
"Stubborn. Angry. Refusing to rest like the doctor ordered." There's affection in his voice despite the exasperation. "She wants to know when she can leave."
"Tell her she can leave whenever she wants." The words hurt coming out, but they're necessary. "But also tell her that I'll have security follow her if she goes back home. Not to control her, but to keep her safe."
"You're letting her go?"
"No, but let her think she’s free for tonight. It might help her rest.”
“You want me to lie to her?”
“I want you to do what’s best for my child,” I say in that cold tone I’ve perfected. “Tomorrow, she’ll come here.”
“She’s going to cut my balls off when she finds out I lied to her.”
“Yes, she is. But if she’s going after yours, mine are safe.”
He curses before I hang up.
She’ll get over it. She might be carrying my child, but she is still my captive.