Chapter 26
AURORA
The numbers don't add up.
I've been staring at Axel's financial records for three hours now, cross-referencing transactions against shell company accounts, and something is wrong. Very wrong.
"You're frowning," Viktor observes from across the office. He's been helping me navigate Axel's more complex financial structures, teaching me the ins and outs of money laundering on a scale I never imagined.
"Because something's off." I turn my laptop toward him. "Look at this. Every month for the past six months, there's been a transfer. Always the same amount. Always to this account number."
Viktor leans in, studies the screen. His expression darkens.
"That's not one of ours."
"I know. I've checked every shell company, every legitimate business, every offshore account. This doesn't match anything in the system."
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand. Every month. That's over a million dollars total."
"Fuck." He pulls out his phone. "Boss needs to see this."
Axel arrives ten minutes later, looking exhausted. He's been running on maybe three hours of sleep since the attack two nights ago. The stitches in his side are still fresh, and I can see the pain in the way he moves.
But his eyes are sharp when he looks at my screen.
"Show me."
I walk him through what I found. The pattern of transfers. The unknown account. The total amount missing.
"Someone's been siphoning money from your organization for six months," I conclude. "And they've been good at hiding it. If I wasn't cross-referencing everything, I never would have noticed."
"Who has access to make transfers like this?" Axel asks Viktor.
"You. Me. Sergei handles some of the smaller accounts." Viktor's face is grim. "But this kind of transfer would require your authorization codes."
"Unless someone stole them."
"Or someone you gave them to is using them without permission."
The implication hangs in the air. Someone in Axel's inner circle is stealing from him.
"Can you trace the account?" Axel asks me.
"I'm trying. It's routed through at least four different banks in three countries. Whoever set this up knew what they were doing."
"Keep digging. I want to know who, what, and why." He turns to Viktor. "Pull the records on everyone who's had access to my office in the past six months. Security footage, entry logs, everything."
"On it."
They leave, and I'm alone with the numbers again. I dive deeper, following the money trail through layers of obfuscation. It's like solving a puzzle, and despite the severity of the situation, I find myself getting absorbed in the work.
This is what I'm good at. Finding patterns. Following money. Uncovering secrets hidden in spreadsheets.
I'm so focused that I don't hear my phone ring the first time. Or the second. On the third call, I finally notice.
Unknown number.
I almost don't answer. But something makes me pick up.
"Hello?"
Silence. Then a voice I haven't heard in three weeks.
"Aurora."
My father.
My heart stops. I clutch the phone so hard my knuckles go white.
"Dad."
More silence. I can hear him breathing, hear the tension in that simple sound.
"Are you safe?" he asks finally.
The question catches me off guard. Not how are you? Not I'm sorry. Just are you safe.
"Yes. I'm safe."
"Good."
Another pause. I don't know what to say. Don't know if I should apologize or demand an apology or just hang up.
"The people who attacked Santego's estate," he says. "That wasn't me."
"I didn't think it was."
"I want you to know that. I'm angry. Furious. But I wouldn't put you in danger."
"Thank you for telling me."
"I hear you're working with him. Using your skills."
"Yes. He values my mind, not just..." I stop.
"Not just what?"
"Not just the fact that I'm carrying his child."
Dad makes a sound that might be a bitter laugh. "He should. You're brilliant. Always have been."
The compliment makes my throat tight.
"Dad, I..."
"I'm not ready to forgive you. Or him. But I needed to know you're alive. That you're being treated well."
"I am. He's... he's good to me."
"He better be. Because if he's not, alliance or no alliance, I'll kill him myself."
"I know."
Another long silence.
"Take care of yourself, Aurora. And the baby."
"I will. You too."
He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I sit there holding the phone, tears streaming down my face. It's not forgiveness. It's not reconciliation. But it's something. The first crack in the wall between us.
He still cares. Even if he can't say it. Even if he's still too angry to see me.
He cares.
I'm still crying when Axel returns an hour later. He sees my face and immediately crosses to me.
"What happened? Are you hurt?"
"My father called."
Understanding dawns. He pulls me into his arms, and I cling to him.
"What did he say?"
"He asked if I was safe. Said the attack wasn't him. Told me to take care of myself and the baby." The words come out between sobs. "It's not much, but it's more than I expected."
"It's something. A start."
"I miss him, Axel. I know I shouldn't. I know he said terrible things. But he's my father, and I miss him."
"Of course you do. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."
We stand there for a long time, him holding me while I cry out weeks of pain and loss. When I finally pull back, my eyes are swollen, and my nose is running.
"I'm a mess," I mutter.
"You're perfect."
"Liar."
"Truth teller." He wipes my tears with his thumbs. "Have you eaten today?"
"I don't remember."
"That's a no. Come on. Margareta made soup."
"I need to finish tracing this account..."
"It can wait an hour. You need food."
He's right. I've been so absorbed in the work that I forgot to eat. Again.
We have soup in the kitchen, just the two of us. It's quiet, comfortable. He tells me about the interrogations and what he learned from the captured attackers. I tell him about the financial trail I'm following.
"You're good at this," he observes. "Better than anyone I've had before."
"It's just numbers."
"It's more than that. You see patterns. Connections. You think like a criminal while having the skills of a forensic accountant. That's rare."
"Are you saying I'm wasted on the legitimate side of things?"
"I'm saying you'd be incredible at anything you chose to do."
The compliment settles warm in my chest.
After dinner, I go back to the spreadsheets. Axel works beside me, handling other business, but we're together. It's become our routine. Working in comfortable silence, occasionally bouncing ideas off each other.
Around eleven PM, he closes his laptop with a sigh.
"I need to stop. My brain's fried."
"Mine too." I save my work. "Any progress on your end?"
"Some. Viktor's narrowing down the suspects. We'll know more tomorrow."
"And the person who ordered the attack?"
His expression hardens. "That's being handled."
I know better than to ask for details. There are parts of his world I'm still not ready to see.
We head upstairs together. I'm exhausted, emotionally drained from my father's call and hours of intense focus. All I want is sleep.
But when we reach the bedroom, Axel stops.
"I need a shower. Get the blood and stress off me."
"Okay."
I change into pajamas while he's in the bathroom. I can hear the water running, imagine him under the spray, letting the heat work on his aching muscles and the wound in his side.
When he emerges twenty minutes later, he looks slightly better but still exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes. The stitches in his side are angry and red.
"Come here," I say, patting the bed.
He crosses to me, and I expect him to lie down. Instead, he kneels on the floor in front of me.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, and suddenly he's at eye level with my stomach. He wraps his arms around my waist, rests his head gently against where our baby is growing.
"Axel?"
"Just let me stay like this for a minute."
His voice is muffled against my stomach, rough with exhaustion and something else. Something vulnerable.
I thread my fingers through his damp hair, and he makes a sound deep in his chest. Almost a groan.
"That feels good," he murmurs.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Don't stop."
I keep going, gently massaging his scalp, running my fingers through the silver strands. He melts into the touch, his whole body relaxing.
"I could stay here forever," he says quietly. "Just like this. You, me, and the baby. Nothing else matters."
My heart clenches. "Long day?"
"Long week. Long month." His arms tighten slightly around my waist. "I'm so tired, Aurora. Tired of fighting. Tired of watching for threats. Tired of being afraid I'm going to lose you."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You don't know that. Tonight proved it. If I hadn't moved you to my room, if you'd still been in the south wing when they planted those explosives..." He doesn't finish.
"But I wasn't. I'm here. We're both here."
"For now. But someone tried to kill you. Tried to kill our baby. And I still don't know who's behind all of this."
I keep stroking his hair, feeling the tension in his shoulders. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
"What if I don't? What if I can't protect you?"
"Then we'll figure it out together. But Axel, you can't carry all of this alone. You're going to break under the weight."
"I'm already breaking." The admission is so quiet I almost miss it. "I'm terrified every second. That someone will get through my defenses. That I'll make a mistake. That I'll fail you."
"You haven't failed me. You saved me that night at the club. You got me out of the engagement to Leo. You've given me purpose and partnership and..." I stop, the words I really want to say catching in my throat.
I love you.
But I can't say it. Not when he's this vulnerable, this exhausted. It would feel like taking advantage.
"And what?" he asks, looking up at me.
"And a chance at happiness. Real happiness, not just survival."
Something shifts in his expression. He stands, cradling my face in his hands.
"You make me want things I never thought I could have. A family. Peace. A future that's more than just violence and power."
"You can have those things."
"Can I? Can a man like me really have a normal life?"
"Maybe not normal. But real. Genuine." I cover his hands with mine. "I believe that. I have to believe that."
He kisses me. Soft, almost reverent. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I don't deserve you."
"Good thing it's not about deserving. It's about choosing."
"And you choose me? Even knowing what I am?"
"I choose you. Every day. Even when you're being controlling and overprotective and making decisions without asking me."
He almost smiles. "I'm working on that."
"I know. And I'm working on not being reckless."
"We're a work in progress."
"The best things usually are."
He climbs into bed beside me, and I curl into his side, careful of his stitches. His arm comes around me, holding me close.
"Tell me something good," he says. "Something hopeful."
"The baby's the size of a lemon now. I looked it up. Tiny fingers and toes. A heartbeat we could hear if we had the right equipment."
"A lemon. That’s … specific."
"Pregnancy apps are very specific. Next week it'll be a different fruit."
"What fruit?"
"I don't know. I'll have to check."
"Will you tell me? When you find out?"
"Of course."
He's quiet for a moment. "I want to go to the appointments. See the ultrasounds. Hear the heartbeat."
"We haven't scheduled any yet. I've been too busy with everything else."
"We should. I'll have Margareta find the best obstetrician in the city. Someone who makes house calls if you're not comfortable going to an office."
"Okay. We'll do that."
"And we should start thinking about names."
"Already?"
"Why not? We have time to decide, but we can start considering options."
"Do you have any preferences?"
"Nothing that ends in 'Jr.' I don't want the baby saddled with expectations because of my name."
"Fair enough. What about family names?"
"My mother's name was Isabella.” He pauses. "For a girl, maybe. If you like them."
"It’s beautiful. What if it's a boy?"
"I don't know. Something strong. Classic." He runs his hand over my hair. "What about you? Any family names you want to honor?"
"My mother was Catherine. We could use that, or a variation." I think about it. "Katherine. Kate. Cate."
"I like Katherine."
"Me too."
We lie there in the dark, talking about names and the future and all the small details that make this real. Not just a crisis we're managing, but a life we're building.
And somewhere in the conversation, between discussing nursery colors and parenting philosophies, I realize the truth.
I'm in love with him.
Not just attracted. Not just connected by circumstance. Actually, completely in love.
The realization should terrify me. Should send me running. Because loving someone in this world, in this life, is dangerous. It gives your enemies a target. It makes you vulnerable.
But I can't run. Don't want to run.
I love him. With all his flaws and violence and overprotective tendencies. I love the man who kneels at my feet and rests his head on my stomach. Who promises to take me to see the Northern Lights. Who values my mind as much as my body.
I love him.
But I don't say it. Not tonight. Not when we're both so exhausted and raw.
Instead, I hold him close and let him fall asleep in my arms, his breathing evening out as the tension finally leaves his body.
And I make a promise to myself. When this is over, when the threats are gone and we're safe, I'll tell him.
I'll tell him everything.
But for now, this is enough.