Chapter 41
IVY
"Konstantin, you were shot yesterday. You need to rest." I stand in front of him as he adjusts his shoulder holster, wincing slightly as the leather straps pull against his bandaged wound.
"I'm fine, Ivy." His voice carries that familiar edge of authority that brooks no argument, but I can see the tightness around his green eyes, the way he favors his left side.
"You're not fine. You lost blood, you need—”
He turns to face me fully, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. "What I need is to handle this before it escalates further. They shot at me in my own territory, in front of my wife. That cannot go unanswered."
The word “wife” still sends a flutter through my chest, even now. Even when I'm terrified he's going to get himself killed because of his stubborn pride.
"Then send Viktor. Send Maksim. You don't have to—”
"Yes, I do." He steps closer, his hand cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness. "This is how it works, solnyshko. I lead from the front, always."
The Russian endearment, meaning little sun, kind of like the English version of sweetheart, makes my heart skip, but I force myself to focus on the danger. "What if you pass out? What if your wound reopens?"
"Then you'll be there to patch me up again." His thumb traces along my cheekbone, and despite everything, heat pools low in my belly at his touch. "You're coming with us."
"What? No, absolutely not. I'm not—”
"You are." His tone leaves no room for negotiation. "I'm not leaving you here unprotected, and I need you where I can see you."
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in the back of Konstantin's SUV, my purse clutched tightly in my lap.
What am I doing? The thought circles through my mind like a vulture.
Yesterday, when I saw Konstantin bleeding, when I thought I might lose him, everything became crystal clear.
The terror that gripped me wasn't just fear for someone I cared about.
It was the bone-deep panic of potentially losing the man I love.
Love. The word sits heavy in my chest. When did that happen? When did this arrangement, this marriage of protection, become something real?
But then my mother's voice echoes in my memory. "He's dangerous, Ivy. These people destroy everything they touch."
I glance at Konstantin in the rearview mirror. He's staring out the window, his jaw set in that determined line I've come to know so well. Viktor is driving, occasionally glancing back at his boss with concern. Maksim sits in the passenger seat, checking his weapon with practiced efficiency.
"Where are we going?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
"To have a conversation," Konstantin replies without looking at me.
The warehouse district looks exactly like what I'd expect from a crime movie—industrial buildings with broken windows, weeds growing through cracked pavement, the kind of place where bad things happen. But as we pull up to what I assumed would be an abandoned building, I realize I was wrong.
There are trucks parked outside, men moving boxes, the hum of actual business activity. This isn't some derelict hideout. It's a functioning operation.
"Stay close to me," Konstantin murmurs as we get out of the car. "Do exactly what I say, when I say it."
I nod, my mouth suddenly dry. Around us, I can see Konstantin's men moving into position with silent efficiency. They melt into shadows, disappear behind vehicles, and become invisible threats surrounding the building.
Konstantin straightens his jacket, and despite the bandage beneath his shirt, he looks every inch the powerful Mafia boss.
There's something magnetic about the way he carries himself, the quiet confidence that radiates from him even when he's injured.
My body responds to it involuntarily, heat spreading through me even in this terrifying situation.
We walk through the main entrance like we own the place. The activity inside stops immediately. Men freeze with boxes in their hands, conversations die mid-sentence, and I can practically feel the tension ratchet up to dangerous levels.
"I want to speak to Dimitri," Konstantin announces, his voice carrying easily through the warehouse space.
A man emerges from an office in the back, a tall guy with graying hair and the kind of face that's seen too much violence. "Mikhailov. You have some balls showing up here."
"I have a proposition for you." Konstantin's voice is conversational, almost friendly, but I can hear the steel underneath. "Give me the men who shot at me yesterday, and we can handle this civilly."
The man laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You think you can just walk in here and make demands?"
"I'm giving you a choice," Konstantin replies calmly. "Surrender the shooters, or my men and I tear this place down with everyone in it."
The silence stretches taut as a wire. I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs, can taste copper in my mouth from biting my tongue. This is really happening. This is the world I've married into.
"Go to hell, Mikhailov."
The gunfire erupts so suddenly, I don't have time to scream. Konstantin shoves me behind a concrete pillar as bullets fly, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. I press myself against the cold concrete, my hands over my ears, watching in horror as men fall.
It's over in minutes, but it feels like hours. When the shooting stops, the silence is almost worse than the noise. I can hear groaning, someone crying, the drip of something I don't want to identify.
Konstantin appears beside me, checking me for injuries with hands that shake slightly. "Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, unable to speak. He helps me to my feet, and that's when I see the aftermath. Bodies scattered across the warehouse floor, blood pooling on concrete, men who were alive and breathing just minutes ago now still and broken.
My stomach lurches violently. I barely make it to a corner before I'm retching, my body rejecting the horror of what I've witnessed. The violence, the casual way life was snuffed out, the reality of what Konstantin's world truly looks like—it's too much.
But even as I'm sick, even as my hands shake and my mind reels, I understand something else. These men shot at Konstantin. They tried to kill him. And in this world, in his world, there are consequences for that.
When I finally stop heaving, Konstantin is there with a handkerchief, his touch gentle as he wipes my face.
The drive home is silent. I sit with my head against the window, listening to nothing but the sound of tires on asphalt and my own ragged breathing.
Back at the house, I go straight to our bathroom and lock the door. I need a moment to process, to think, to figure out what this all means. But as I'm washing my hands, I remember something I'd forgotten about—the pregnancy test I bought days ago but never used.
My period is late. Has been for over a week now. With everything that's happened, I'd pushed it to the back of my mind, but now…
With trembling hands, I open the package and follow the instructions. Three minutes. I have to wait three minutes.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the little plastic stick, my mind completely blank. After everything that's happened today, after witnessing death and violence and the brutal reality of my new life, this feels surreal.
The timer on my phone goes off.
I look down at the test and my heart stops. Two pink lines.
Positive.