Chapter 47 Ivy
IVY
Idon't understand why I blurted out that I’m pregnant with such force, especially when my ‘risen from the dead’ father is standing nearby.
Apparently, my mind couldn't handle that revelation and jumped on any excuse to deflect.
The pregnancy announcement hangs in the air like a live grenade, and I immediately want to take it back.
Konstantin's green eyes widen, his mouth dropping slightly open.
The powerful Mafia boss who never loses control looks completely stunned, and for a moment, I see the man beneath the facade.
Heat floods my cheeks as I realize what I've just admitted, but before he can say anything, I whip my head toward my father.
"You're alive. How?" I have to clear my throat to continue, my voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.
My father who I mourned for eleven years moves with the same quiet grace I remember from my childhood.
He grabs a chair from the corner and pulls it closer to the bed.
His face, older now with lines around his eyes and silver threading through his dark hair, carries the weight of years I thought he was gone.
"Maybe you should rest before we talk, little star," he says, using the pet name that makes my heart clench. His voice is exactly as I remember it, deep and warm with that slight Russian accent he never quite lost.
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend, but I'm done with secrets and lies. "I won't have it. I want answers, and I want them now."
Konstantin shifts beside me, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Even in this impossible situation, my traitorous body responds to his presence. The way he's looking at me, so protective, possessive, and now with something else I can't quite identify, makes my pulse quicken.
My father sighs, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it makes my chest tight.
"I was Mafia, Ivy. High up in the organization.
When your mother found out…" He pauses, his jaw clenching.
"Trisha was livid. She'd had a bad experience with a Mafia family when she was a teenager and held a grudge ever since. "
The pieces start clicking together in my mind. Mom's strange reactions whenever anything Russian came up on the news. Her insistence that I stay away from "those people" at Otrava, even though she never explained why. The way she'd get that haunted look in her eyes sometimes.
"But once you're in the Mafia, especially as high up as I was, you can't just quit," my father continues, his voice heavy with regret. "One night, when you were just a baby, a rival soldier came to the house. He kidnapped you."
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"We got you back unharmed in just a few hours," he says quickly, but I can see the pain in his dark eyes.
"There was a lot of bloodshed, but you were safe.
That was the final straw for your mother—and for me.
I knew I had to get out, but the only way to ensure you and Trisha would be truly safe was to disappear completely. "
"So you faked your death." The words taste bitter in my mouth. Then I frown. “But you didn’t die until I was 15.”
He nods. "I kept my Mafia business private until you were fifteen. I thought… I hoped I could find another way. But when the Antonovs started making moves against our family, I knew it was time. I staged the car accident and disappeared."
Konstantin's deep voice cuts through the emotional haze. "Your father saved my life." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. "I swore a blood oath to protect his daughter should anything happen to him."
I turn to look at Konstantin, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way his jaw tics when he's emotional. "You've known this whole time?"
"I've been watching over you through Konstantin and Viktor," my father explains before Konstantin can answer. "From a distance, but always there."
Something clicks in my memory. "The wooden animals."
My father's face softens. "You remember."
"Viktor carves them.” I trail off, thinking of all the times I'd found those little carved creatures when I was young.
A bear on my windowsill after a particularly bad day at work.
A wolf tucked into my car's cup holder after I'd had a fight with Frank.
An eagle on my desk at school during finals week.
When Viktor started giving them to me, I hadn’t put two and two together. But then, I thought my father was dead. Still, I hadn’t even remembered the figurines until now.
"It was my way of letting you know you were protected, even when you didn't know it," my father says quietly.
More memories surface of coincidences that weren't coincidences at all.
The man who'd helped me when my car broke down on a deserted road late at night, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing just as quickly.
The group of drunk college guys who'd been harassing me outside a bar, suddenly backing off when a dark figure appeared in the shadows.
The job at Otrava that had seemed too good to be true, offered by someone who claimed to be a friend of my father's.
"You've been there all along," I whisper, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.
"Always, little star. Even when you couldn't see me."
Tears burn my eyes, a mixture of relief, anger, and love warring in my chest. Konstantin's thumb strokes across my knuckles, grounding me, and I'm grateful for his solid presence beside me.
"I understand why you did it," I say finally, my voice thick with emotion. "But it doesn't make it hurt less. Eleven years, Dad. Eleven years I thought you were dead."
"I know," he says, his own voice breaking slightly. "And I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll ever know."
The room falls silent as I sit with my back against the headboard. How do I even begin to process all this? A sudden thought occurs to me and I swing my gaze to Dad, my eyes wide.
“Does Mom know you’re alive?”
He shakes his head, a sadness stealing over him that surprises me. “She couldn’t know. It was for her own protection, too.”
Konstantin's voice, when he finally speaks, is carefully controlled, but I can hear the underlying tension. "Now, about this pregnancy?"