Chapter 21 - Rodion
Dr. Jackson arrived at two o'clock, carrying a worn medical bag and wearing the same sensible shoes I remembered from childhood.
I met her at the elevator, struck by how little she'd changed. A bit more gray in her hair, a few more lines around her eyes, but the same warm steadiness that had made her a fixture in our family for three decades.
"Rodion." She embraced me briefly, then pulled back to study my face. "You look tired."
"I'm fine."
"That's what your mother always said. Right before she collapsed from exhaustion." She patted my cheek with the casual authority of a woman who'd known me since birth. "You should sleep more."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"That's what your father said, too. Look how that turned out." But she was smiling as she said it. "Now, where's this wife of yours? I've been curious ever since Yegor called."
I led her to the living room, where Keira was waiting on the couch. She stood when we entered, and I saw the nervousness in her posture—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clasped in front of her.
"Dr. Jackson, this is Keira. Keira, Dr. Jackson."
"Please, call me Helen." Dr. Jackson crossed the room and took Keira's hands in hers. "It's lovely to meet you. I understand congratulations are in order."
Keira glanced at me, then back at the doctor. "Thank you. I'm still getting used to the idea."
"Most mothers are, especially the first time. Don't worry—that's perfectly normal." She released Keira's hands and turned to survey the room. "Now, shall we find somewhere more private for the examination? I assume you have a guest room we can use?"
"I set one up down the hall," I said. "Everything you might need."
"Excellent. Lead the way."
I started toward the hallway, then realized Keira wasn't following. She was standing by the couch, her arms wrapped around herself, looking suddenly uncertain.
"Keira?"
"I just—" She stopped, shook her head. "Sorry. I'm fine."
She wasn't fine. I could see it in the set of her jaw, the brightness of her eyes. This was real for her now—not just a test, not just a word, but a doctor and an examination and all the weight that came with it.
I crossed back to her and took her hand. "I'll be right there with you. The whole time."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." I squeezed her fingers. "Unless you'd rather I wait outside."
She was quiet for a moment, something shifting in her expression. "No. Stay. Please."
"Then let's go."
***
The guest room had been transformed into a makeshift examination space—clean sheets on the bed, a chair pulled to the side, towels and supplies laid out on the dresser. Dr. Jackson surveyed my work with an approving nod.
"Very thorough. You always were the organized one."
"I learned from the best."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." She set her bag on the dresser and began pulling out equipment.
"Now, Keira, I'm going to ask you some questions about your medical history, and then we'll do a quick physical examination.
Nothing invasive—just checking your vitals, palpating your abdomen, making sure everything is progressing normally. Is that all right?"
Keira nodded, her grip on my hand tightening slightly. "Yes. That's fine."
"Excellent. And Rodion, you're welcome to stay for all of it, or step out for any part you'd prefer not to witness. This is about whatever makes Keira most comfortable."
"He stays," Keira said before I could respond. "I want him here."
Something warm spread through my chest at those words. Such a small thing—wanting me present for a doctor's appointment—but it felt like more. Like trust. Like the beginning of something I didn't have a name for yet.
Dr. Jackson asked her questions. Medical history, family history, when her last period had been, when she thought conception had occurred. Keira answered as best she could, her voice steady even when the questions touched on difficult territory.
"Any history of pregnancy complications in your family? Miscarriages, difficult births?"
"I don't know." Keira's voice was flat. "My mother died when I was young. I don't have anyone to ask."
Dr. Jackson's expression softened. "I'm sorry. We'll proceed carefully, monitor everything closely. Many women have perfectly healthy pregnancies without knowing their family history."
She guided Keira to lie down on the bed, and I moved to sit in the chair beside her. Her hand found mine again, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the room.
"Just relax," Dr. Jackson said, pressing gently on Keira's abdomen. "Tell me if anything is uncomfortable."
I watched the examination in silence, my eyes moving between the doctor's practiced hands and Keira's face. She was trying to stay calm, but I could see the tension around her eyes, the slight furrow between her brows.
"Based on what you've told me, you're still very early," Dr. Jackson said. "Too early to hear a heartbeat, but everything I'm feeling is consistent with a normal pregnancy."
"Normal?" The word came out rough. I hadn't meant to speak.
Dr. Jackson looked at me with understanding. "Normal. Her vitals are strong, her abdomen feels exactly as it should at this stage. I'll take some blood for testing, but I don't anticipate any problems."
I exhaled slowly, not realizing until that moment how much tension I'd been holding. Five to six weeks. A cluster of cells smaller than a grape, already changing everything.
"When can we hear the heartbeat?" I asked.
"Around eight weeks, sometimes a bit later. I'll bring a doppler on my next visit." She helped Keira sit up, her movements gentle. "For now, the most important things are rest, nutrition, and avoiding unnecessary stress."
Keira laughed at that—a sharp, surprised sound. "Avoiding stress. Right."
"I know it's not easy, given the circumstances." Dr. Jackson's eyes moved to me, then back to Keira. "But your body knows what to do. Your job is to support it as best you can. Prenatal vitamins, regular meals, sleep when you can get it."
"And if I can't?" Keira asked. "Get sleep, I mean. I've been having trouble."
"That's common in early pregnancy. Your hormones are shifting, your body is adjusting." She pulled a bottle from her bag and handed it to Keira. "These are safe to take during pregnancy. They'll help with the nausea, too."
Keira took the bottle, turning it over in her hands. "Thank you."
"I'll come back in two weeks for a follow-up.
Call me before then if anything concerns you—bleeding, severe pain, anything that doesn't feel right.
" Dr. Jackson began packing her equipment.
"And try not to worry too much. I've been doing this for a long time.
Everything I'm seeing tells me this is a healthy pregnancy. "
I walked Dr. Jackson to the elevator while Keira stayed behind to rest.
"She's scared," Dr. Jackson said as we waited. "That's normal. But there's something else there too. Something deeper."
"She's been through a lot."
"I gathered." She fixed me with a look I remembered from childhood—the one that said she saw more than I wanted her to. "You care about her."
"Yes."
"That's good. She's going to need someone in her corner." The elevator arrived, and she stepped inside, then turned back to face me. "Your mother would be proud of you, Rodion. Not for the business or the power—she never cared about those things. But for this. For choosing something real."
The doors closed before I could respond.
I stood there for a long moment, her words echoing in my head. Choosing something real. Was that what I'd done? It hadn't felt like a choice at the time—more like gravity, pulling me toward Keira with a force I couldn't resist.
But maybe that was what choice looked like, when it mattered. Not a calculated decision, but a surrender to something stronger than calculation.
***
I found Keira in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, the bottle of vitamins still clutched in her hands.
"Hey." I sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. "How are you feeling?"
"Strange." She set the bottle on the nightstand. "It's more real now. Before it was just a test, just a word. Now someone's examined me and confirmed it and given me vitamins. There's actually a baby in there."
"There is." I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers together. "Does that scare you?"
"Yes."
"Me too."
She looked at me, surprise flickering in her expression. "What scares you about it?"
"Everything." I stared at our joined hands, trying to find words for feelings I didn't fully understand. "I never thought I'd have children. Never planned for it. The life I live—the things I've done—I didn't think I'd be here."
"And now?"
"Now I'm terrified I'll fail. That I'll be like my father—present but absent, providing everything except what actually matters." I shook my head. "I don't know how to be a father. I'm not sure I know how to be anything except what I've always been."
"What you've always been isn't all you are." Her voice was soft. "I've seen other parts of you. The man who cooks dinner and talks about poetry and holds me when I can't sleep. That man would be a good father."
"You sound very certain."
"I'm a psychologist. Reading people is my job."
I smiled despite myself. "And what does your professional assessment tell you?"
"That you're more than you think you are. That you've spent so long playing a role, you've forgotten there's something underneath it." She squeezed my hand. "I see what's underneath. I've seen it since the first session."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to hold the weight of being seen so clearly by someone I hadn't even known existed two months ago.
"I should let you rest," I said finally. "Doctor's orders."
"Stay. Just for a while."
So I stayed. We lay on the bed together, not sleeping, just existing in the same space. Her head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist, the afternoon light painting patterns on the ceiling.
***
Later, after she'd fallen into a light doze, I slipped out to check on business.
Yegor was waiting in the study with updates—surveillance reports, personnel movements, the usual flow of information that kept the operation running. I listened with half my attention, the other half still back in the bedroom with Keira.
"The operation against Cormac," Yegor said. "We should finalize the timeline."
"Tomorrow. I want everything in place by tomorrow."
He nodded, unsurprised. "I'll have the teams ready."
After he left, I stood at the window and watched the city. Somewhere out there, Cormac O'Shea was plotting his next move. The Petrovics were waiting, watching, planning something I couldn't see yet. Threats circled like sharks, drawn by the blood in the water.
But here, in this penthouse, something else was growing. Something small and fragile and entirely unexpected.
A baby. A family. A future I'd never let myself imagine.
I thought about what Dr. Jackson had said. Your mother would be proud. I didn't know if that was true. My mother had wanted us to be happy, to find something beyond the violence and the power games. She'd died before she could see what we became.
But maybe Keira was right. Maybe what I'd always been wasn't all I was. Maybe there was still time to become something else.
***
That evening, Keira had a video session with one of her patients. I gave her privacy, retreating to the study to review the plans for tomorrow's operation. But I could hear the murmur of her voice through the walls—calm, professional, the therapist I'd first met in that office weeks ago.
She emerged an hour later, looking tired but more settled than she had after the examination.
"How was it?" I asked.
"Good. Julia is making progress." She sat on the arm of my chair, her hand finding my shoulder. "She said something interesting. About building a life instead of just surviving one."
"What did you tell her?"
"That hope is what keeps us moving forward. Even when it might hurt." She was quiet for a moment. "I think I was talking to myself as much as to her."
"Is that allowed? Therapists giving themselves advice?"
"It's frowned upon. But sometimes unavoidable." She smiled, a small thing that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've spent so long protecting myself from hope. Building walls to keep it out. And now here I am—pregnant, married, hoping for things I don't know how to name."
"You don't have to name them yet."
"I know. But I want to. That's the scary part." She looked at me, and I saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden. "I'm starting to want things, Rodion. Real things. A future. A family. All of it."
"Is that so bad?"
"It is when you're used to wanting nothing. When wanting nothing is how you survive."
I understood that better than she knew. I'd spent years wanting nothing except the next deal, the next victory, the next proof that I was strong enough to survive this life. Wanting more than that had always seemed like weakness.
Now I wasn't so sure.
"Maybe surviving isn't enough anymore," I said. "Maybe we both deserve more than that."
She stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she leaned down and kissed me—soft, slow, a question and an answer wrapped together.
When she pulled back, her eyes were bright. "Come to bed. It's late."
"I should finish reviewing these plans."
"The plans will be there tomorrow." She stood, holding out her hand. "Tonight, I want you with me."
I looked at the papers spread across my desk. The blueprints, the personnel lists, the careful strategies that might mean the difference between life and death. All of it important. All of it urgent.
None of it as important as the woman standing in front of me.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go to bed."
We lay in the darkness, her body curved against mine, her breathing slow and even. She'd fallen asleep quickly, exhausted by the day's emotions, but I stayed awake, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling.
Tomorrow I would finalize the plans. The day after, I would kill Cormac O'Shea. And then—maybe—we could start building the life she'd talked about. The one that was more than just survival.
I pressed my hand against her stomach, still flat beneath my palm. Five to six weeks. Too early to feel anything, but I imagined I could sense it anyway—the tiny cluster of cells that would become our child.
Our child.
The words still felt foreign. Impossible. But lying here in the dark, with Keira's warmth against me and her heartbeat keeping time with mine, they also felt like the truest thing I'd ever known.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift, holding onto her like an anchor in a storm.