32. Enemy at the Door
Enemy at the Door
Vera
Idon’t take the test.
I watch it sit on the bathroom counter for a full minute, white plastic and quiet accusation, and then I turn away from it like it can’t exist if I don’t look.
Denial is a luxury.
But so is truth.
And right now, truth would cage me.
I move quickly.
Not panicked.
Deliberate.
My medic bag sits open on the bed where I left it last night. Gauze. Antibiotics. Tools I understand. Things I can fix.
I reach into the inner pocket and slide the small bottle of prenatal vitamins inside.
Hidden.
Buried beneath everything else.
My hand lingers there for a second longer than necessary.
Because this—
Whatever this is—
Can’t become something Roman controls.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
If he knows, I become strategy again.
Not partner.
Not woman.
Liability.
Protected.
Contained.
Locked away in glass and steel where nothing touches me and I touch nothing in return.
I can’t breathe like that.
I zip the bag closed.
Decision made.
For now.
The knock at the penthouse door is wrong.
Not urgent.
Not expected.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Viktor’s voice cuts through the comm system immediately.
“Package delivery.”
Roman’s answer is sharp.
“We’re not receiving anything unverified.”
“It was left at the door,” Viktor replies. “No courier.”
Silence stretches.
Then—
“Bring it in,” Roman says.
I step into the main room just as Viktor enters, a small box in his hands.
Plain.
Unmarked.
But something about it feels… wrong.
Roman doesn’t touch it immediately.
“Scan,” he orders.
A guard steps forward with equipment.
“No electronics,” he reports. “No explosive signatures.”
Roman nods once.
“Open it.”
The lid lifts.
And the air changes.
Even before I see it.
I smell it.
Metallic.
Thick.
Blood.
My stomach twists violently.
Inside the box—
A baby blanket.
Soft.
White.
Soaked in red.
Not symbolic.
Not staged.
Real.
My breath catches.
For a second, the room tilts.
Because this isn’t just a threat.
It’s a message.
A prophecy.
Roman goes very still.
Not shocked.
Not reactive.
Worse.
Cold.
Deadly.
“Who delivered it,” he asks.
“Cameras are blank for the last thirty seconds,” Viktor says. “Looped.”
Of course they are.
This wasn’t random.
This was precise.
Roman steps closer to the box.
Studies it.
Not touching.
Assessing.
“They’re escalating,” he says quietly.
I don’t answer.
Because I can’t.
Because my body reacts before my mind does.
A wave of nausea crashes over me.
Stronger this time.
Sharper.
I stagger slightly.
Roman turns instantly.
His hand catches my arm before I hit the floor.
“Vera.”
His voice is different now.
Lower.
Controlled.
Dangerously focused.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
I’m not.
The room spins.
My stomach twists again.
My hand presses instinctively against my abdomen.
I don’t even realize I’m doing it.
But Roman does.
He sees everything.
His grip tightens slightly.
“Sit.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit.”
The command isn’t loud.
But it lands.
I sit.
Barely.
Trying to steady my breathing.
Trying to will my body back under control.
The blanket.
The blood.
The implication.
It’s too much.
Roman crouches in front of me.
His eyes lock onto mine.
Searching.
Calculating.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
Because I have no choice.
Because he won’t let me look away.
“You’re not fine,” he says quietly.
“I’m just—”
“Stop.”
The word cuts clean through my excuse.
Silence stretches.
Heavy.
Sharp.
His gaze drops briefly.
To my hand.
Still pressed against my stomach.
Then back to my face.
Understanding flickers.
Not complete.
Not confirmed.
But close.
Too close.
My pulse spikes.
“You’re hiding something,” he says.
I shake my head.
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—”
His voice drops lower.
Deadlier.
“Tell me what you’re hiding.”
The words land like a blade.
And for the first time since this started—
I don’t know if I can hold the line.