26. Fia
FIA
Sunlight streams through the trees, blinding me. I wink open an eye in bed. I must have fallen asleep at some point, fuck knows when.
The memory of last night comes flooding back, splitting my heart open all over again as I grieve my husband. The vicious cycle of finding him, falling in love with him, just to lose him all over again will kill me in the end, and this morning, I know I’m on my deathbed.
He said this would be over by sunrise, but the house is still silent. I rise from the bed, peering out of the window. A guard moves through the trees like a raven, gun at his hip, eyes searching for trouble.
Love is a curse that is impossible to break, even when you hate the man. I suppose this is how my mother felt toward my father every time he hit her. The love outweighed the pain.
I change clothes, having fallen asleep in the ones from yesterday, and fix my appearance quickly in the mirror, yanking a brush through my hair, washing my face with cold water to give myself a well needed reality check.
The reflection in the mirror still resembles an exhausted woman who is losing the will to live.
I’m only here because the twins need me. I’m the vessel keeping them alive.
I head downstairs, holding onto the banister as the world breaks around me, remembering Emil’s explosive reaction from last night.
My head is split into two. One side of my brain feels flattered about the kidnapping and forced marriage, since it shows he cares, that I’m finally special enough for someone to want to do those things.
The opposing, more rational side of my brain counteracts the fuzzy feeling with fear, telling me to get the fuck away.
The past three years of my life have been a battle between emotions and rationality. If I run away, will Emil find me and kidnap me all over again, the cycle beginning anew?
My gut clenches with another realization. He could be dead.
I land into the kitchen with a thud, gasping when I read the time on the wall. 8 a.m. is the middle of the morning for Emil, since he enjoys waking up at the crack of dawn.
I rush outside, the two guards stationed there turning right my way. “Where is he?”
“We haven’t received any news yet, Fia. Please remain inside.”
Being given orders by Emil’s minions leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Regardless if my husband is paying these men, they are not in control and do not have a say in where I should go.
I grind my jaw, loitering in the doorway as I weigh up my options. Staying here will drive me insane if I continue looking out of the window, waiting for Emil to return.
The sun is only rising higher in the sky, spreading light across the forest. If I stay here, I’ll remain stuck in tomorrow, grieving my husband.
And then when he finally returns, I’ll fling my arms around him, emotions taking precedence over rationality after being stuck in his house, with nothing else to do but think about how much I miss him.
I have to get out of here before the vicious cycle begins anew, forever trapping me in its cage.
And I’m the one holding the lock and key.
I’m in charge of my own destiny as well as my children’s.
Bringing the twins up in a dangerous Bratva world, surrounded by enemies and an emotionally reckless mother, will damage them beyond compare.
Now is the time to get the fuck out of here, putting this Emil nonsense behind me for good.
I take a deep breath and charge outside, beeping to the front gates, my legs spinning under me, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Fia!” shout the guards, stones crunching as they race after me.
Although I had a head start, they soon catch up. The sky is more likely to change color than an exhausted pregnant woman is likely to outrun a team of trained guards. I make it as far as the gate, curling my hands around the steel, shaking the foundations, begging for a miracle.
“Fia, you need to get back?—”
I knee the guard in the balls, hoisting myself up onto the gate, preparing to climb over. The three remaining guards reach out and grab me, but I boot another in the face, climbing higher, pouring all of the strength I have into making it over this fence.
“Fia!” shout the other remaining two, guns at the ready.
I look down the end of the gun, the black hole more terrifying than the gaping darkness in Luka’s eyes yesterday. But I swallow my fear. These men won’t shoot me.
I climb to the top of the fence, clutching onto the steel. I scramble over to the other side, sucking in a deep breath before launching myself over the other side.
Being five months pregnant throws a few spanners in the works.
One of the babies starts kicking, making this situation feel even more impossible.
But I focus on what matters most in this world, the babies, their safety, living a life where nobody can hurt us, and launch myself over the gate, thankfully landing on both feet.
I turn around, locking eyes with the guards. The fear written across their faces should encourage me to think twice about this situation, but overthinking is what keeps me trapped in the cycle.
I turn around and refuse to look back, walking to the bus stop for what could be the last time ever.
Sadness deflates my heart as I take in my surroundings, the little birds hopping across branches, the rich smells of pine wood permeating the air; the peaceful sounds of nature.
Living out here was fun while it lasted, but happiness and peace can never exist in isolation. Something always has to give.
I flag the bus down when it arrives, paying for a ticket and dumping myself in the back.
A harsh weight digs into my chest as I stare out of the window, trees flying past. After staring for a while, the forest blurs into Emil’s face, memories of us together playing through my mind of us in bed, dancing at the gala.
The profound look on his face that night told me that I was all he had time for.
People were begging for his attention all night, entrepreneurs fishing for conversations, women attempting to make eye contact, but the way he looked at me made it felt like I was everything he needed, that no external force could change how he felt about me.
Revisiting that night causes my heart to split in multiple directions, my heart strings being tested to their limits as the bus travels further away from his house.
By the time I land in the city, my legs feel like jelly, like I’m walking on a boat deck. The ground feels unstable, my knees threatening to buckle at any given moment.
Horns blare, vehicles shooting down the road. The city never changes, always staying the same, but I look up at the sky and instantly feel broken.
The sun fights through the clouds for the first time in weeks. Things are changing, spring right around the corner. I pass pedestrians on the sidewalk wearing T-shirts instead of thick coats, their umbrellas stored away in their purses, sunglasses covering their eyes.
I want the rain back. I want to run into the Four Seasons, check into a room and stumble out of the bathroom, stark naked, seeing Emil kill someone.
I squint, begging for the thoughts to disappear. I push them aside, shoving them into a container, sealing the lid extra tight so that the rational side of my brain can switch on and show me the way.
My intuition tells me to continue walking down this street. I follow that internal GPS, feeling like a robot as I walk aimlessly down the sidewalk, surrounded by people who have agency over their life. I had that too for a time.
I used to wake up at 6 a.m. sharp, headed straight to a workout class and took my lattes with only one espresso shot. I wore the sleek blouses, the pants to match and the kitten heels. My feet used to clop powerfully against the concrete too as I rushed to the office every morning.
But I stumbled upon those shipping reports on my desk, and it changed everything. I never told my boss, my coworkers. The same internal GPS that is guiding me now, also told me to keep my lips sealed about the case at the dockyard.
Because I always strived to go above and beyond. Helping clients was fun and games for a while until my brain craved something more, something real and dangerous with high-stakes and consequences. Perhaps I protected my peace so hard that things turned boring.
I take a right at the end of the street, crossing with the pedestrians when the light tells me to.
After walking another block, trusting the GPS to show me the way, I stall suddenly in my tracks, gasping.
“No social awareness whatsoever,” mutters the woman behind me, making a point of swerving past me, shooting me daggers.
I’m too in my head to apologize, to give anyone the time of day, as I blink repeatedly, staring at the road in front of me. Cars shoot past, driving over the same bit of road I was almost run over on.
The fog in my head clears, causing me to stumble into the building. I catch my breath, palm against the wall as I recount staring down at the shipping report before it was ripped.
I look up and see Luka staring directly at me. The cars move around us, the sounds of the engines disappearing, replaced by a thick silence.
Luka’s eyes are cruel, his mouth warping into something mean as he brings his hands together, clapping, congratulating me on my hard work.
This is the first time we’re facing each other after I found out he was leaking information.
I found out the truth a while ago, but speaking the truth aloud, telling Emil, is what concerns me. He lashes out without warning. He could accuse me of lying, perhaps even shoot the messenger.
And Luka knows this, hence the smile.
Anger consumes me, flooding my head with adrenaline. Emil has always trusted Luka. They have been friends for years, partners in the Bratva, and the bastard stands here on the other side of the road showing his face without shame.
My entire blood supply drains to my chest where I feel a ball of fire burning, ready to burst. This ends today. I face my fear and tell Emil the truth.
I set my eyes on Luka.
The smile on his face suggests he’s reading my anger.
I take a deep breath, waiting for the cars to pass so I can cross the road and get the fuck away from this city. Emil’s house is my only safety net, the one place in this world that feels real in a world full of deception and masks.
I wait for the traffic lights to flick red, ensure the road is clear before stepping out to cross.
My life flashes before my eyes before I can even take my next breath, a black car appearing out of nowhere. The masked driver acknowledges me but makes no attempt to stop, beelining straight for me, everything turning black.
I gasp, the sound of passing cars fading back into existence. Keeping my palm on the wall, I glance across the street, locking eyes with a few confused pedestrians, no sign of Luka.
My heart tremors, the emotional side of my brain tuning back in, reminding me that Emil could be dead. The lack of notifications on my phone screen is starting to become a concern. If Emil was home safe, my phone would be buzzing constantly with calls from him.
The skin around my hips prickles, yearning for Emil’s arms to cradle me there, to pick me up and take me home. I never really had that until I met him.
I blink myself back to reality. The future is all I have left, so I put my best foot forward and cross the road where I was hit, pushing through the anxiety, the memories of the past, stumbling straight into a coffee shop when I make it to the other side of the street for a double espresso latte.
Seattle is a city that never sleeps, things always moving, the momentum never broken. I always wanted my life to be fast paced. When you’re busy rushing from A to B, you have no time to spare to overthink, which is what I’m doing now, drinking coffee alone, weighing up my options.
Moving in with Chloe would be an incredibly big ask. I need to find an apartment to move into for when the twins arrive.
Guilt hits me out of nowhere as I’m flicking through my phone, overwhelmed by all the things I need to have ready for when I give birth. My birth plan information is with Emil.
As far as I’m aware, he’s involved in the birth. A visit to the hospital is needed so I can update my plan and deliver my babies alone without my husband disrupting everything, tempting me to fall back into his arms.
I rake my hair away from my face, caffeine doing nothing but adding to the stress of this all. I need diapers, outfits; a stable roof over my head in a safe area of the city.
I medicate my stress with caffeine, sipping until the mug is empty. I tilt the mug on the saucer, analyzing the grains of coffee left at the bottom like a hopeless fortune teller.
Snapping out of it, I slip my phone, giving Chloe a ring, tapping my hand on my thigh, impatiently waiting for her to answer.
“Oh my god,” I heave as soon as she answers. “I was worried something had happened.”
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re in the city.”
“Luka was hit. He was behind everything,” I say, catching my breath. “I need to meet you. My head is scrambled.”
“Fia,” stutters Chloe. “Now isn’t the best time. Perhaps we can do this later. If you’re back in the city for good?—”
I end the call abruptly, shoving my phone into my pocket, heading straight to Chloe’s apartment.
‘Later’ is too late with Alexander and Luka roaming around the city. What if they bring Chloe into their shit as a way to get to me or Emil? I saw the way Luka’s face turned when he admitted the truth. He’ll do anything to sit on the throne and claim victory.
I take a short subway ride over to Chloe’s apartment block, rushing through the lobby. For the time being, at least until Emil gives me a signal that the drama is over, we should go into lockdown. I’ll assess the rest of my life once the crisis is over.
For now, I must prevent it from getting worse.
I shove my emotions back into that container, sealing the lid even tighter than before. My heart hammers as I knock at the door, praying that Chloe is home. Thursdays are her day off. She should be home.
Relief spreads through me as the door cracks open, but the air around me becomes toxic when Luka appears in the doorway.