Chapter 19 - Rodion
Something was wrong with Keira.
I'd noticed it over the past few days—small things, easy to dismiss individually but forming a pattern I couldn't ignore.
The way she pushed food around her plate at breakfast without actually eating.
The pallor of her skin in the morning light.
The exhaustion that seemed to hit her earlier each evening, sending her to bed before ten when she used to stay up reading until midnight.
"I'm fine," she said whenever I asked. "Just tired. The sessions take a lot out of me."
I didn't believe her. But I didn't push either. She'd tell me when she was ready.
In the meantime, I had other problems to deal with.
Kirill had returned to Boston three days ago.
He had his own territory to run, his own operations to manage, and he couldn't babysit me forever—his words, delivered in that flat tone that made it impossible to tell if he was joking.
But we stayed in constant contact, and when my phone rang that morning with his name on the screen, I knew it wasn't a social call.
"Cormac?" I asked by way of greeting.
"Getting desperate." I could hear the tap of keys in the background—Kirill never stopped working. "His attempts to rally support have mostly failed. The families in Philadelphia want nothing to do with him. Boston told him to go to hell. Even his own people are starting to question his leadership."
"That should be good news."
"It would be, if desperation didn't make people dangerous." A pause in the typing. "A cornered animal is more likely to attack than a confident one. Cormac knows his position is crumbling. That makes him unpredictable."
"And the Petrovics?"
"Still quiet. No communications, no movement, nothing." Another pause, longer this time. "That concerns me more than Cormac, honestly. Silence from them means they're planning something significant. Something they don't want us to see coming."
I moved to the window, staring out at the city without really seeing it. Two threats, both circling, both waiting for the right moment to strike. And in the middle of it all, Keira—the woman they wanted, the woman I'd kill to protect.
"We need to move first," I said. "Before they do."
"Agreed. I've been discussing strategy with Demyan. He thinks we should take out Cormac first—cut off the Petrovics' access point before they can use it."
Demyan had been supportive of my marriage to Keira—more supportive than I'd expected, given the complications it created. But he was also pragmatic. He understood that threats needed to be eliminated, not just contained.
"What's the plan?"
"Cormac's been using a building in Queens as his base of operations. Security is minimal—he can't afford better. A surgical strike, well-timed, could end this chapter permanently."
"Casualties?"
"Cormac and whoever's with him. Minimal collateral if we do it right." I heard him shift, could picture him leaning back in his chair with that cold, calculating expression. "Demyan's offered to send Gleb with additional men. Between your people and his, we'd have more than enough firepower."
"When?"
"Soon. Within the week, if possible. The longer we wait, the more time they have to move first."
I considered it. A coordinated strike, backed by Chicago's resources, targeting the weaker of our two enemies. It was a smart strategy—exactly what I'd expect from Kirill and Demyan working together.
"Do it," I said. "Whatever resources you need, coordinate with Gleb. I want this finished."
"I'll start making arrangements." There was a pause, and when Kirill spoke again, his voice was marginally less cold. "How is she? Your wife?"
The question surprised me. Kirill rarely asked about personal matters.
"She's... adjusting. The video sessions have helped. She needs to feel useful."
"That's not what I meant." I could almost hear him weighing his next words. "Demyan mentioned you sounded distracted on your last call. And when I was there, she seemed... unwell. Pale. Fatigued."
"I've noticed."
"And?"
"And she says she's fine. I'm giving her space to tell me when she's ready."
"Sometimes people need to be pushed." A beat of silence. "Find out what's wrong, Rodion. Before it becomes a problem we can't control."
He ended the call without saying goodbye—classic Kirill—and I stood alone in the study, his words echoing in my head.
An unknown variable. A liability. He wasn't wrong—whatever was going on with Keira, I needed to understand it.
Not just for tactical reasons, but because I cared about her.
Because seeing her struggle and not knowing why was driving me insane.
I found her in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. She looked up when I entered, and something in her expression made my chest tighten.
"Hey." I sat beside her, close but not touching. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Thanks. That's very reassuring."
"Keira." I reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. "Talk to me. Please. Whatever's going on, you don't have to handle it alone."
She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on our joined hands. I watched her struggle with something—some internal debate I couldn't see—and waited.
"I need to tell you something," she said finally.
"Okay."
"And I need you to not panic."
"That's not a promising start."
She almost smiled. Almost. "I know. I'm sorry. I just..." She took a deep breath. "I've been feeling off. Tired, nauseous, just... wrong. I thought it was stress. The situation, the sessions, everything that's been happening."
"That would make sense."
"It would. Except..." She pulled her hand from mine and pressed it against her stomach. "I'm late. My period. I'm never late."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Late. Never late. The implications crashed through my brain in a cascade of realizations.
"How late?"
"A week. Almost two."
"Have you..."
"I took a test this morning. While you were on the phone with Kirill." She finally looked at me, and her eyes were bright with tears she was fighting to hold back. "It was positive."
Positive.
The word hung in the air between us, impossibly heavy. I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at her while my brain tried to process what she was telling me.
A baby. Keira was pregnant. With my child.
"Rodion?" Her voice was small, uncertain. "Say something. Please."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My mind was a hurricane of emotions I couldn't untangle—fear, wonder, protectiveness, something that might have been joy if it wasn't so tangled up with terror.
A baby. In the middle of a war. With enemies circling, waiting to strike. The timing couldn't possibly be worse.
But beneath the fear, something else was rising. Something warm and fierce and utterly unexpected.
"You're pregnant," I finally managed.
"Yes."
"With my baby."
"That's generally how it works." A ghost of her usual sharpness, buried under layers of anxiety.
"Keira." I took her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes were wide, scared, searching mine for a reaction she couldn't predict. "This is... I don't..."
"I know the timing is terrible. I know it complicates everything. I know—"
I kissed her. Cut off her words with my mouth, poured everything I couldn't say into the contact. When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"I'm not upset," I said. "I'm... I don't know what I am. Terrified. Overwhelmed. But not upset."
"Really?"
"Really." I pressed my forehead against hers. "A baby, Keira. Our baby. I never thought..." I stopped, swallowed hard. "I never thought I'd have this. Any of this. And now..."
"Now we have to figure out how to keep it safe." Her voice was steadier now, the therapist in her reasserting control. "The timing is dangerous. If Cormac or the Petrovics find out I'm pregnant—"
"They won't find out. No one will know except us. Not until the threat is neutralized."
"And then?"
"And then we figure it out. Together." I pulled back to look at her. "Whatever comes, we face it as a family. That's what this is now. A family."
She stared at me for a long moment, and I watched the fear in her eyes slowly give way to something else. Not quite hope—she was too guarded for that. But something close.
"A family," she repeated quietly.
"You, me, and whoever this turns out to be." I pressed my hand against her stomach, still flat beneath my palm. "The three of us."
She laughed, a watery sound that was half sob. "This is insane. All of this. The marriage, the situation, now a baby. None of it makes any sense."
"Since when has anything about us made sense?"
"Fair point."
I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. I could feel her trembling—or maybe that was me. Maybe it was both of us, two people clinging to each other while the ground shifted beneath our feet.
"We'll figure it out," I said against her hair. "I promise. Whatever it takes, whatever we have to do—we'll figure it out."
"You keep making promises you might not be able to keep."
"Then I'll die trying to keep them."