Chapter 36
SASHA
It’s goddamn hard to focus with Gabriella seated next to me, looking as good as she does. We’d taken the cakes to go, but she and I both know there’s only one dessert she and I are interested in.
The cakes can wait.
The fact of the matter is there’s something else on my mind, something far less fun than what I want to do to her when we’re back at my place.
I’m thinking about telling her the truth.
I’d come so goddamn close the other night, but I hadn’t been able to do it. Peter’s name claws up my throat, like a living thing trying to get out and make itself known.
Peter is your father.
Those four words would change everything.
Everything.
I’m a man who takes pride in my ability to plan, to plot. But even I have not the slightest idea what will happen when she learns the truth.
It’s right there on the edge of my tongue, ready to leap off. I even form the words: Gabriella, there’s something else I need to tell you, something you won’t like.
“You alright over there?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. “You look like you’re plotting an assassination or something.”
I clear my throat. “Gabriella, there’s something else—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. Headlights explode through the window—too bright, too close—a black blur of an SUV charging like a bull from the nearby alley. No horn, no hesitation. Gabriella lets out a shriek, and I gun the engine, barely missing the intended T-bone.
The car slams into our rear fender, metal shrieking as my car spins, tires howling against wet asphalt. I wrench the wheel, my other arm shooting out in front of Gabriella, pinning her to the seat and holding her in place.
Mercifully, we don’t hit a full spin. The SUV is in the middle of the road now, its massive form jutting across multiple lanes. The car’s windows are blacked-out—no chance of seeing inside.
“Sasha…” Gabriella’s chest rises and falls quickly, her eyes wide.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I think so.”
With a fluid motion, I reach forward and flick open the glove compartment, a silver Baretta waiting for me. I grab the gun, flick off the safety, and put my hand on the driver’s-side door handle.
In the rearview mirror, I watch the SUV.
It lingers in the road, engine rumbling.
A gash is cut through the front-side fender from the impact, but the car is otherwise in good shape.
My eyes stay fixed on the SUV, my body tense, ready for a squad of goons to pour out at any moment. I’m outgunned, but I don’t care.
To my surprise, the SUV slowly, carefully pulls a three-point turn into the opposite-side lane. Once in position, it moves slowly forward, away from us, down to the end of the block. Then it turns. The driver even makes sure to use the turn signal.
After a moment, I pull the car back onto the road.
“Need to get out of here before the cops show up,” I say out loud, more to myself than to her.
Thankfully, the block is a low-traffic area. Only a few other cars were on the road during the accident, and they didn’t seem too eager to stick around.
The safety on my pistol clicks softly, and I tuck it between my leg and the seat.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
Gabriella nods once, then twice. “I… Yeah. Yeah. I want to go home.”
“Call Bogdan,” I say to the car’s speaker.
Bogdan picks up on the second ring. In all the years we’ve worked together, I don’t think he’s ever let it ring three times.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Another attempt,” I say.
“Blyad,” he curses. “You both okay?”
“Yes. Call the doctor, have her meet us at the apartment. I want Gabriella examined ASAP.”
She opens her mouth, likely to tell me she’s fine and doesn’t need to be checked out. But not a word comes out. No doubt she’s learned by now that when it comes to her health and safety, I always get my way.
“Got it. Get home safe, Pakhan. We can discuss when you’re here.”
I end the call, turning my attention to Gabriella. I grab her hand—it’s shaking mildly. I try to stop it with a squeeze.
“Tell me how you feel.”
“Not great,” she says.
“We’ll be home soon.”
After a silent ten minutes, we arrive at the tower. One elevator ride up and the doors part, spilling us into the secure hush of the penthouse. For now, we’re safe. Gabby’s glued to my side, her hand still trembling in mine.
Our private doctor—Dr. Elena Voss—is already waiting in the living room, sonogram machine positioned near the leather sectional. Bogdan is seated at the kitchen bar. He nods to me as we step into the penthouse but stays in his seat. He knows the time to talk will be later.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Elena,” I say.
She nods. Elena’s dressed in jeans and a John Hopkins sweatshirt.
She’s in her early fifties, trim and professional.
“You hire a doctor who lives in the same building, this is the kind of service you get,” she says with a small smile.
Not to mention that for as much as I’m paying her to be on retainer, she’d better move heaven and earth to be here within minutes when called.
I take a seat on the couch, my eyes on Dr. Voss as she gets to work. I watch her ask Gabriella a few questions about what happened.
“You can be honest,” I say. “Discretion is part of her job description.”
Gabriella nods, then fills the good doctor in while Voss preps the sonogram. Voss slicks the wand, guiding Gabriella onto the couch, helping her pull her dress up enough to expose her midsection. My heart races, and it takes all I have to stay cool and calm and composed.
Heartbeats. That familiar double-whooshing of the twins. My relief is incalculable.
“All’s well, I’m happy to report,” Dr. Voss says as she cleans off the wand and slips it back into its place. “But you were right to check. Let’s keep the stress levels low as much as possible. Rest and fluids.”
“Thank you,” I say, stepping over to help her to the elevator.
“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to double-check,” she says as the doors open. “But I’m comfortable giving her a clean bill of health. Keep the chaos light with her, if you can.”
“I’ll do my best.” I help her guide the machine into the elevator, the doors shutting moments later.
“I think I want to just go to bed,” Gabriella says. She eases off the couch. “That was draining.”
I hurry to her side, placing one hand on her shoulder, the other on the small of her back. There’s an unmistakable tension in her body, but that’s to be expected after the night we just had. I have the deep urge to walk with her, to pull her into my bed and hold her until she falls asleep.
However, I get the impression that’s not what she wants. It’s solitude she craves. I watch her ascend the stairs and vanish around the corner to my room. When the door shuts, I turn to Bogdan.
“Brazen move,” he says, “even for Peter. I assume that’s who was behind this little stunt?”
I nod. “Peter or Ruth—and a move by Ruth, at this point, is a move by Peter.”
“You think they were trying to kill you?”
I shake my head on my way over to the bar. “No. An assassination would’ve taken a different shape—pincer attack with two cars, men with automatic weapons.” I prepare a vodka neat. “I would’ve gone down shooting.”
Bogdan glances away, gives the matter some thought.
“He’s getting bold.”
I sip the vodka, letting it linger on my palate for a long moment before swallowing.
“He’s sending a message. He thinks he can get to us whenever he wants.”
“Then war is on the horizon.”
“That’s the assumption I’m playing by. Here’s what I imagine: he launches a decapitation strike before the merger is official.
Takes me out, you too, if he can. The Bratva will be in disarray, the council will be desperate not to jeopardize their bottom line.
They’ll take whatever terms Peter offers just to avoid pain. ”
“And Johan will come crawling back to Papa,” Bogdan finishes.
“That’s the long and short if it.”
“Makes me wonder why he didn’t just pull it off tonight?”
It’s a good question. The answer occurs to me: “Because he doesn’t want to simply take Gabriella and me out. He wants revenge, and revenge is only satisfying if you’re there to dish it out.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“The plan is that we gather the lieutenants in the morning, prepare a war footing. Take one of the guest rooms here; you and I are going to strategize first thing.”
He hops off his stool. “In that case, I’ll get to bed.”
I raise my glass to Bogdan as he strides out of the room.
The first thing I realize as soon as I’m alone is that I hate being alone. It’s strange. Typically, I prefer solitude. It’s when I can think, when I can plan. But now, for reasons I don’t quite understand, it’s intolerable.
Then it hits me; I want her. Not just in the general sense, though I do want her in that way. But I want her here, at my side, in my arms. I don’t want to be apart from her, not even for a moment.
I take my eyes from the city before me, casting a glance at the stairs Gabriella ascended only moments ago. She’s up there right now. I could go see her. But I know that’s not what she wants.
No doubt she’s scared. What she’s been through is too much to ask of anyone, let alone a woman pregnant with twins.
A strange feeling begins to creep through me, a vague, queasy anxiety that settles like hot lead in the pit of my stomach.
Fear.
Fear that I’ll lose her. Fear that I can’t protect her. Fear that no matter what I do to keep her safe, it won’t be enough.
I have to prove to her that I can be the man she needs.
I must.
Or I risk losing her for good.
If I already haven’t.