Chapter 20
GABBY
I’m back in Sasha’s car, Chicago blurring past. I’m still in a total daze from the news.
Twins.
I rest my forehead against the cool window of the SUV, trying to breathe. My hand hasn’t left the envelope in my lap, the one holding the sonogram printout of my babies.
Sasha’s been driving in silence the whole time. His jaw is set, his eyes locked ahead. The way he’s gripping the steering wheel is almost comical in its intensity.
“I don’t think you’ve blinked in ten minutes,” I say.
His mouth curves. It’s not enough to really consider it a smile, but it’s the closest he’s come since we left the hospital. “I’m focused.”
Part of me wants to pry his head open and see what’s inside. We haven’t even talked about what life is going to be like with one baby, let alone two. Are we going to be together? Or is he thinking more along the lines of an arrangement of sorts?
What if it’s all too much for him? The idea makes my blood run cold. What if he decides he doesn’t want to deal with any baby mama drama and tosses me out on my ass? The man’s a billionaire. That means he has more than enough power to cut me a check and tell me never to talk to him again.
My stomach tenses. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in in my life. And it doesn’t help that the stoic Russian next to me doesn’t feel the need to ease my worries.
We’re soon back home. Sasha’s home. As far as the law is concerned, I’m just a guest.
I watch as he hangs up his coat, then comes over for mine.
He slides it off my shoulders carefully, as if one wrong motion might set me off.
He drapes the coat over a chair and heads to the bar, preparing himself a small drink.
It’s early evening, a little before his usual cocktail hour.
Once he has his drink, he steps over the floor-to-ceiling windows and looks out.
He stands there just staring, not saying a word.
I’m not sure what to do with myself. Feeling awkward, I head into the kitchen and put on a kettle, pacing as it heats. What’s going through Sasha’s mind?
Mug of tea in hand, I head back to the living room. The fire’s crackling in the fireplace, the world outside is gray. A small sprinkling of snow falls from the clouds. Sasha’s still at the windows looking out, his reflection overlapping the city lights.
“Sit.” The word is quiet, but an order.
And I’m not in the mood for orders. “No. I’m not going to just sit. You’re going to talk.”
He turns around slowly, an eyebrow raised. I sense it’s kind of an instinctual thing. No one talks to Sasha Orlov like that. No one but me, apparently.
“Talk about what?” he asks.
“I want to know about you and Peter and Johan. I want to know why there’s such bad blood, why Peter would rather see you dead than merged with his son’s company.”
At first, he doesn’t speak. He finally takes a sip of his drink, long and slow, then he lets his hand fall to his side.
“I told you that Bratvas are essentially collections of clans, united under one name. And they have roots in the old country. My father and Peter brought those clans to Chicago from Russia. We made the connections, built the networks. But Peter… Peter was stubborn, didn’t want to submit to my father.
He wanted his own thing. My father knew what this meant—war now, or war down the line. He chose down the line.”
Sasha sips again. “Perhaps he made the wrong decision. It doesn’t matter now.”
“So it was one of those ‘pool of gasoline waiting for a match’ kind of situations?”
“Precisely. And what a match it was. Peter had a mistress. Well, many mistresses. But this one was his favorite. Her name was Louisa.” A strange look forms on his face as he says the name.
I’m not really sure what it means, but he goes on.
“One day, Louisa decided she wanted out. Not knowing what else to do, Louisa came to my father, hoping for protection. He obliged her, helped her disappear.”
“Disappear?”
He nods. “You see, there was another piece to all of this—Louisa was pregnant.”
Sasha opens his mouth to continue but hesitates. Instead, he finishes his drink, then goes over to his bar to make another. I listen to the tinkling of ice in his glass, the soft glug of the whiskey being poured.
He turns from the bar, speaking once more.
“My father helped Louisa escape. Whether or not my father knew Peter would find out about this is hard to say. Whatever my father had in mind, this ignited the falling-out. Peter viewed Louisa as his property, and in Peter’s eyes, my father stole something that belonged to him. Just like that, the war began.”
“What about Johan?”
“Born into all of this,” he says. “I’ve known him since he was a boy.
Brilliant as they come. Peter always fantasized about using his son’s talents to make the Bratva stronger, crafting his son into the perfect heir.
But Johan was too smart for that. He realized quickly that the old ways were nothing more than a quick path to a jail cell or a grave—the same conclusion I came to, which is why I made the offer.
If anyone can turn this war into business, and end it for good, it’s him. ”
The tone of his voice surprises me a little. It’s not cold or calculating—it’s almost admiring.
“You actually respect Johan,” I say.
“I do,” Sasha admits. “He wants out. Same way I did. We were both born into it, which we had no control over. But we do have control over whether or not we end it.”
I sip my tea, letting the warmth calm the chill in my blood. The explanation puts his relationship with Johan in a new light—two men born from bloodlines they didn’t choose, trying to build something new, something better.
He slips his phone out of his pocket and quickly checks it. “He texted me tonight.”
“He did?”
Sasha nods. “Yes. He’s still considering the merger.
End of quarter—that’s the deadline. If he signs before then, AngelCorp absorbs Dandelion.
And since Dandelion represents just about all of Morozov’s legitimate assets, that means I’ll own Morozov.
I can fold everything into legitimacy. No more war. ”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He wants to. My worry is what Peter might do… to dissuade him. But there’s a damn good chance Peter has found out already and is gunning for you, because taking you out would be the most low-key way to derail the merger.”
A shiver runs up my spine, knowing I’m in the crosshairs.
“So you’re betting everything on the son of your father’s rival.”
“I’m betting on the only man who hates the old ways as much as I do.”
His words are steady, but I can sense the exhaustion, the weariness behind them. He’s carried this for a long time. I have to admit he’s right—there’s no way I could know what it’s like to be him.
I study him as he sips his drink and looks away, paying special attention to the lines around his eyes, the way he keeps his voice calm, even when it seems like everything around him is in utter chaos.
“So this is all about peace,” I say.
He almost smiles. “Peace and… more than a little money.”
The clock on the wall ticks faintly, marking seconds that feel strangely heavy. His gaze drifts towards the window, the clouds parting for a moment, and golden hour light cutting faint lines across his face.
“When I received news of the shooting… I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I could’ve.” His voice tightens. “And I can’t live knowing it could happen again.”
Something in the way he says it undoes me. I glance down at the cooling mug of tea in my hands. My tremor from before is back, and I’m not sure why.
“You can’t protect me from everything, Sasha.”
He steps closer. Just the little bit of nearness makes my breath catch. His expression is grave, serious. “I can try.”
Silence folds around us, thick as smoke. He stops just in front of me, his free hand raised.
“Tell me to go, and I will. If you want, I’ll send you wherever in the world you want to go. You can be away from all of this. Just say the word. You want to be alone—that’s what you can have.”
I don’t say the word. Instead, I put down my tea and reach for his wrist, circling my fingers around it. His skin is warm, his pulse thrumming. The sonograms sit nearby on the coffee table.
“I don’t want to go,” I say. “But I am scared.”
His eyes flash with something like relief and desire and fear all mixed into one. “That makes two of us.” He sets down his drink before taking my chin in his hand. He tilts my head up, looking into my eyes.
“Gabriella—”
But in that moment, he decides words just won’t do. He stops speaking and leans in. His lips find mine, and as soon as we touch, the tension I’ve been carrying melts off me in an instant. I moan softly, his hands finding my hips, holding me in place, grounding me.
I breathe him in, the scent of wool and smoke and skin, the warmth of him seeping through the space between us until there’s no space left at all. His hand moves to the back of my neck, steady and anchoring.
The kiss deepens. My hands find his shoulders, then the sharp line of his jaw, then the back of his neck where his own tension lives. His lips shudder against mine.
There’s just need. Need and the relief of being alive and close. He tilts his head, the kiss becoming rougher, urgent, his thumb tracing the curve of my neck. I taste the faint edge of salt from my own tears and don’t give a damn.
He whispers my name, the sound low and rough. I answer with another kiss, deeper this time. His tongue drags across mine, his taste delicious. I moan again, feeling myself growing wetter by the second.
No man has ever made me feel this way. Not even close.
And that’s what’s so goddamn scary.
I untuck his shirt, sliding my hands underneath it and up along the hard planes of his torso. He’s solid as stone, but warm. I touch him as we kiss, savoring the sensation of his muscles flexing and tensing, his heart beating against my palms.
He takes his lips from mine, pressing his forehead to my own. “This isn’t what I meant to do,” he says. “But I couldn’t help myself.”
I grin. “Then stop.”
Neither of us does. His lips move to the edge of my throat, the sensitive spot just below my jaw where my pulse beats. I gasp at the sensation of his lips there, tingles breaking out all over my body, my nipples hardening.
He pulls back one more time, just far enough to look at me. His eyes are almost gentle in a way I’ve never seen before. But still dark. Still endless.
“You tell me if I go too far. I know it’s been a long day.”
“You won’t.”
The words come out softer than I intend, but they’re true. He knows just how to hold me, just how to kiss me.
His mouth traces mine, back to the hollow beneath my ear, until the world blurs again and there’s nothing but his lips and his touch and the solidness of his cock pressing against me.
“You don’t know what you do to me.”
I allow myself a small smile as I rest my fingertips on his dick through his slacks. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
He grins back. “No, you don’t. Let me show you.”
The space between us vanishes completely as his mouth claims mine again