Chapter 21 Savannah
SAVANNAH
I’m in my office, headphones on, working through market analysis data when I hear raised voices from the dining room. Not quite shouting. But loud enough that the sound carries through the walls.
I pull off my headphones and listen.
Ledger’s voice. And someone else. Maybe the council chairman.
“—appreciate what you’re saying, but I have procedures to follow—”
“—already been paid a hundred thousand—”
I stand and move to my office door, opening it quietly. The dining room is down the hall, and if I’m careful, I can hear without being seen.
“Mr. Volkov, I don’t respond well to threats.”
“I’m not threatening you, Richard. I’m simply pointing out that we all have families. People we care about.”
My stomach drops.
Ledger keeps talking, and the other man’s voice shakes when he speaks. “The permits will be approved tomorrow.”
“I’m glad we could come to an understanding. Marie will show you out.”
I slip back into my office and close the door quietly, my heart pounding.
That was a threat. A clear, undeniable threat against that man’s family. This is how Ledger does business—through fear and intimidation and knowing exactly where people are vulnerable.
I sink into my chair and stare at my laptop screen without seeing it.
I knew he was dangerous. Knew he’d killed Viktor Kozlov and burned his body. Knew he ran operations that weren’t entirely legal. But hearing it firsthand, hearing him threaten someone’s children, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.
This is who I married. This is the father of my baby. And I don’t know how to feel about it.
After another month, my routine has become comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe.
I wake up in Ledger’s arms. Work in my office while he handles business in his. Marie brings lunch. Sometimes Alexi stops by with Elena. In the evenings, we have dinner together and talk about our days like a normal couple.
Except we’re not a normal couple. And I’m starting to understand exactly how not-normal we are.
It starts with the flowers.
I’m on a call with Jenna, discussing the Q4 campaign rollout, when my phone pings with a text from Pedro: Someone sent flowers to the main office. Security intercepted them. They were addressed to you.
My stomach tightens.
Who sent them?
No name on the card. Just said “I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”
I know exactly who sent them. There’s only one person who would do that.
Mason.
Throw them away. Don’t tell Mr. Volkov.
But even as I send the text, I know Pedro will tell him anyway. He reports everything to Ledger.
Two days later, my work phone rings. It’s an unknown number. I let it go to voicemail.
It rings again an hour later. Same number. I ignore it.
By the end of the week, there have been six calls from unknown numbers. I block them all, but new numbers keep calling. Then I make the mistake of checking Instagram.
I barely use social media anymore. Haven’t posted since before the wedding. But when I open the app, I have dozens of notifications.
Mason has been commenting on my old photos. Pictures from a year ago, two years ago. Photos of me and my mom.
Remember when things were simple?
Your mom wouldn’t want you with him.
You’ve changed. This isn’t you.
I still love you. I always will.
I delete the comments and block him, but the damage is done. He’s found a way to reach me, even from Chicago. And he’s not going to stop.
Three days later, I’m in Ledger’s office using his laptop. Mine is updating, and I need to review a contract before a meeting. He said I could use his anytime, that we don’t have secrets.
Except we do. We both do.
I’m scrolling through my email when I accidentally click on his inbox instead of mine. The folders look similar, and I don’t realize my mistake until I see the subject lines.
RE: Shipment arrival - Containers 447-451
Distribution network - Q2 updates
Port authority contact - Payment confirmed
My finger hovers over the trackpad. I click on the shipment email even though I know it’s wrong.
It’s from Silas, dated two weeks ago. The text is coded, but not coded enough that I can’t understand it.
The merchandise from Prague arrived on schedule.
Five containers cleared customs without issue, thanks to our contact at the port authority.
Standard hotel furniture and art pieces on the manifests, but the special items are secure in the hidden compartments.
Distribution to the network is scheduled for Friday night. All buyers confirmed.
I click on another email. This one has attachments. Invoices for hotel furniture. Shipping manifests for art pieces from Eastern Europe. But there’s also a separate document. Encrypted, but I can see the file name: Inventory - Restricted.
I shouldn’t open it. I know I shouldn’t.
I open it anyway.
The password prompt appears, but Ledger’s computer remembers it. The file opens.
It’s a spreadsheet. Columns of numbers and codes I don’t fully understand. But some things are clear enough.
Firearms. Ammunition. Quantities. Prices. Distribution points throughout New York.
And another section: Pharmaceutical imports. Weights in kilograms. Street values. Buyer networks. Drugs.
He’s smuggling drugs and weapons into the country, hidden in shipments meant for his legitimate hotels.
I close the laptop so fast I almost knock it off the desk.
My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. I feel like I’m going to throw up, and it has nothing to do with pregnancy nausea.
This is what he does. This is how he makes his money. I knew he was connected to the Bratva, but seeing it laid out in a spreadsheet, seeing the quantities and prices and distribution networks, makes it impossible to pretend I don’t know.
My husband is a criminal. A real one. Not just someone with shady connections, but someone actively running a smuggling operation.
And I’m carrying his child.
That evening, I hear voices in Ledger’s office. I’m in the kitchen with Marie, supposedly helping her with dinner prep, but really just trying to act normal.
“—customs got too close this time,” Alexi is saying. “Pedro said they almost opened container 449. If they had, we’d be screwed.”
“But they didn’t.” Ledger’s voice. “Our contact came through. That’s why we pay him.”
“What if he gets nervous? Decides the money isn’t worth the risk?”
“Then we find a new contact. There’s always someone willing to take the money.”
“And the distribution went smoothly?”
“Everything’s moved. The buyers are happy. We’re clear until the next shipment.”
I set down the knife I’m holding, my hands trembling too much to keep cutting vegetables.
Marie notices. “You alright, dear?”
“Fine. Just tired.”
“You should rest. Let me finish this.”
I escape to my office and close the door, leaning against it.
Alexi knows. Damn it, of course he knows. He’s being groomed to take over someday, to run the empire his father built.
This is the family I married into. This is the world my baby will be born into.
I sink into my desk chair and stare out at the city. All those lights, all those people living normal lives. Going to normal jobs. Raising their kids without worrying about customs inspections, port authority bribes, or distribution networks.
I could have had that. Could have lived a normal life. Met a normal man. Had a normal family.
But I chose this.
I love him, and I’m pregnant with his child, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with what I now know he is.
The vibration on my phone breaks the quiet, and I see Ledger’s name.
Dinner’s ready. You coming?
I look at the message for a long moment. Then I type back: Be right there.
Because what else can I do? I’m his wife. I’m carrying his baby. And whether I like it or not, this is my life now.