Chapter 23
DANTE
My phone rings at sunrise, cutting through the restless half-sleep I've been pretending passes for actual rest. I've been staring at the ceiling for hours, my mind cycling through everything that changed yesterday. Hannah's pregnant. She's carrying my child. The thought still doesn't feel real.
"Alexei," I answer, my voice rough.
"Morning, boss. Sleep well?"
I'm about to tell him the truth—that I haven't slept at all, that every time I close my eyes I see Hannah falling down those stairs with my child inside her—when he continues without waiting for my answer.
"Hannah's awake. I told her we were coming back to the estate like you instructed.
" There's a pause, and I can hear shouting in the background.
"She hasn't stopped yelling at me for the past ten minutes. I'm pretty sure she just called me a lying sack of shit in three different languages. She’s clearly been picking up on Russian. Her insults don’t make a lot of sense, but she told me to fuck a dog. "
Despite everything, I laugh. Actually laugh, the sound surprising me with its genuineness.
"What's she saying now?" I ask, because the shouting has gotten louder.
"Something about how she's not going anywhere with me and that she’s going to put my balls in a glass jar and make me look at them..." He pauses. "Okay, now she's threatening to castrate me with a butter knife she apparently stole from her dinner tray last night."
I laugh again, harder this time. Of course she did. Of course my pregnant, concussed, furious woman is planning to emasculate my best friend with hospital cutlery.
"We'll be there soon to pick you both up," I say.
"Boss," Alexei's voice drops to a whisper, "I am not riding in the same car as her. She looks like she wants to murder me with her bare hands."
"Then you'll take a separate vehicle."
"Thank you. I was starting to fear for my life."
I end the call and head for the shower, already planning the conversation I need to have with Hannah. She's angry, scared, and feeling betrayed. I understand all of that. But she's also carrying my child, which changes everything whether she wants to accept it or not.
The drive to the hospital gives me time to prepare for whatever version of Hannah I'm about to face. Angry Hannah I can handle. Hurt Hannah breaks something inside me. But pregnant, protective Hannah? That's uncharted territory.
I find her in the discharge area, fully dressed and practically vibrating with fury. When she sees me, her green eyes flash with something that could incinerate steel.
"You," she says, pointing at me with her eyes flashing with unbridled fury. "You're a lying bastard."
"Good morning to you too, Red."
“You’ll get your own jar on my mantle,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
Alexei groans, shakes his head and takes a step back.
“Your balls, Dante. Your balls will be in a jar on my mantle right next to Alexei’s.”
I stare at her. She gets vulgar when she’s cranky.
“I’m getting in the car,” Alexei says. “Good luck.”
When I try to help Hannah up from the wheelchair she’s been forced to sit in, she slaps my hands. “Don’t touch me.”
The nurse says nothing and actually gives me a sympathetic look.
Hannah climbs into the SUV, jerks on her seatbelt and then crosses her arms across a chest.
Mila has similar tantrums.
I’ve learned to just let my daughter work it out in her head, which is what I’m going to do with Hannah. I think that’s safer for all involved.
When we get back to the estate, she’s still not talking.
I help her from the SUV, noting how she winces when she moves too quickly. Despite all the threats, Alexei hovers nearby. He’s ready to catch her should she fall.
"Welcome home, miss," Maria says at the door, her expression warm but worried. "I have tea ready, and soup if you're hungry."
"Thank you, Maria." Hannah's voice is polite but distant. She doesn't look at me as she speaks.
That's fine. Better, even. Distance is what we need right now.
Mila comes running from somewhere inside, her face lighting up when she sees Hannah. "Hannah! You're back! I made you a card and Papa said you'd love it and are you okay? Maria said you fell down the stairs, and I fall down the stairs all the time, but I never bleed—"
"Mila," I say gently, cutting off her excited rambling. "Hannah needs to rest. Why don't you show her your card later?"
My daughter's face falls, but she nods, already reaching for Hannah's hand. "I can help you rest. I'm very good at being quiet."
Despite everything, Hannah smiles. "I'd like that."
“I’ll walk you up,” I say.
“I don’t need you to walk me anywhere,” she snaps.
“Too bad.”
“Alexei, would you please escort me to my room?” Hannah asks in a syrupy-sweet voice.
I look at my friend who is looking at me.
I know what he’s thinking.
And he’s right.
She’s using him to piss me off.
I nod once, giving him the all-clear.
Hopefully, she didn’t bring that knife with her.
I watch them disappear upstairs together, Mila chattering about all the ways she can be helpful and feel that sick feeling in my stomach.
I feel so fucking vulnerable.
Twenty minutes later, Alexei comes into my office. The man looks like he’s been through a war.
Once again, I have to hide my smile.
“Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a dirty look. Then squats in front of the liquor cabinet and pulls out the expensive scotch. Usually, that’s reserved for special occasions.
I let him get away with it because I can tell he’s had a round night.
He pours a glass, takes a drink and then exhales.
“Did you get her pregnant on purpose?” He asks.
I scoff. “What kind of question is that?”
He shrugs. “I’m just curious.”
“No.”
“You know that woman is going to put you through absolute hell. She is never going to be the meek, obedient woman a strong pakhan needs.”
"That's not what I want. I don't want meek or obedient. I've never wanted that, not really. The women who bend and break under pressure, who smile and nod and never challenge anything—they bore me. They always have. And they’re weak.”
He nods as if he expected the answer.
"So what are you doing with her?" he asks, his tone shifting from casual to serious. "Because this isn't just about keeping her as collateral anymore. This isn't even about the baby, not entirely. What's your endgame here, Dante?"
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted by the weight of the question. "I don't know."
The admission doesn’t feel good. I'm Dante Sokolov. I always know. I plan, I strategize, I control every variable I can. But with Hannah, I'm flying blind, making decisions based on instinct and desperation instead of logic.
"I don't fucking know," I repeat. "I'm in over my head here, and I can't seem to find my way back to solid ground."
Alexei's expression softens, understanding replacing the judgment I expected to see. "She got under your skin."
"She got everywhere." I sink into my chair, suddenly feeling every one of my thirty-seven years. "The moment I saw her again outside that coffee shop, I knew I was fucked. And now she's pregnant, and her father is probably going to die, and she hates me, and I still can't let her go."
"You're scared," Alexei observes.
"Terrified," I admit. "Of losing her. Of keeping her. Of fucking this up the way I fucked up with Katya."
Alexei nods slowly, then does something unexpected—he smiles. Actually smiles, like my complete emotional breakdown is somehow amusing.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing is funny. It's just—" He shakes his head, that smile widening.
"She's a lot, your Hannah. Stubborn as hell, sharp tongue, absolutely no respect for authority.
But damn, Dante. She's beautiful. And not just physically.
The way she fought for her father, the way she protected Mila during the alarm, the way she looked at you in that hospital room like you hung the fucking moon even while she was calling you a monster—"
"Finish that thought and I'll kill you," I interrupt, my voice deadly quiet.
Alexei just laughs. Actually laughs like he doesn't have a care in the world.
"You'll try," he says, still grinning. "But you won't succeed. You need me too much right now."
“I know.”
“You should talk to her. Work this out. Come to some kind of agreement.”
“You just spent the last twenty-four hours with her, what gives you the impression she wants to work anything out?”
He grins again. “Good luck. I’m going to shower and sleep for a day.”
“Alexei, thank you for taking care of her.”
“Sure, boss.”
After putting Mila to bed and putting off the conversation I’ve been dreading, I make my way to Hannah’s room. I didn’t dare try to put her in my room. I don’t want to have to sleep with one eye open.
I knock once and enter without waiting for permission. She's sitting up in bed. The bandage on her head looks stark white against her pale skin.
She doesn't look happy to see me. Not a surprise.
"Go away," she says without looking up from the book she's pretending to read.
I ignore the dismissal and sit on the edge of her bed anyway. She immediately scoots away from me, putting as much distance between us as the mattress allows.
"How are you feeling?" I ask. "Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not an answer."
She finally looks at me, and the fury in her green eyes could melt steel. "My head hurts. My hip. I'm exhausted and cranky and I want to go home. There. Happy now?"
"What about morning sickness? Is that getting worse?"
Her jaw tightens. "It's manageable."
I study her face, noting the shadows under her eyes, the way she's holding herself like everything aches. "You need to take better care of yourself. You're not just responsible for your own health anymore."
"Don't." Her voice is sharp as a blade. "Don't you dare lecture me about responsibility. I've been taking care of myself just fine without your input."
"Until you fell down my stairs and could have killed my child."
I watch her flinch like I've slapped her.
"Your child?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Last I checked, it takes two people to make a baby. This isn't just your child, Dante. It's mine too."
"You're right. Which is why I'm putting additional security measures in place."
Her eyes narrow. "What kind of security measures?"
"You're on lockdown. Complete lockdown. No leaving the estate grounds. No contact with the outside world."
The silence that follows is absolute. I watch understanding dawn in her eyes, followed immediately by rage so pure it makes me take a step back.
"You can't be serious," she whispers.
"Dead serious."
“You bastard! You absolute bastard!"
"Hannah—"
"No!" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You don't get to do this! You don't get to lock me away like some kind of—of breeding animal!"
"That's not what this is about."
"Isn't it?" She glares at me. "The moment you find out I'm pregnant, suddenly I'm under house arrest? Suddenly I need to be locked away for my own good?"
"You're carrying my child in a world where my enemies would pay millions to get their hands on you. This is about keeping you alive."
"This is about control!"
"Yes," I say quietly. "It is. Because control keeps the people I love breathing."
"I won't stay here," she says, her voice deadly calm. "I'll escape. I'll find a way out, and when I do, you'll never see me or this baby again."
"No, you won't."
"Watch me."
"Hannah, be reasonable—"
"Reasonable?" Her voice rises to a dangerous pitch. "You want me to be reasonable about being imprisoned by the father of my child? You want me to smile and nod while you turn me into a captive breeding mare?"
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being honest! I will not be locked down like an animal. I will not be kept here against my will. And I sure as hell won't raise my child in a house where his father thinks women are property to be managed!"
"Our child," I correct. "And he'll be raised safely, which is more than I can say if you're running around Chicago making yourself a target."
"He?" She seizes on the pronoun. "You don't even know if it's a boy or a girl, but you're already planning his life? Already deciding what's best for him?"
"I'm deciding what's best for both of you."
"No." She shakes her head. "You're deciding what makes you feel most in control. There's a difference."
I run my hands through my hair, frustration boiling over. "I'm trying to keep you safe!"
"I don't want your protection!"
"Too fucking bad!"
The words explode out of me, loud enough to echo off the walls. Hannah goes very still, her eyes wide with something that might be fear or might be fury.
"Too bad," I repeat, quieter now but no less final. "You're pregnant with my child. That makes you mine to protect, whether you like it or not."
"I belong to myself," she says quietly.
"Not anymore."
I can see the exact moment she stops fighting and starts planning. The fury is still there, but it's colder now, more focused. More dangerous.
"I'll escape," she says again. "And when I do, I'll make sure you never find us."
"Try."
The single word hangs between us like a gauntlet thrown down. I can see in her eyes that she's already accepted the challenge.
I turn and walk toward the door, needing distance before I say something that will make this situation even worse.
"Dante," she calls when my hand is on the handle.
I pause but don't turn around.
"When I get out of here," she says, her voice steady as stone, "I'm taking my baby somewhere you'll never find us. And I'll make sure they grow up knowing their father was a monster who kept their mother prisoner."
The words sting. I don't let her see how much they hurt.
"Good luck with that," I say, and close the door behind me.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
She'll try to escape. I know her well enough now to know that much. And when she does, I'll have to stop her.
Because losing her and our child isn't an option.