Chapter 32
CLARA
“Stay close.”
Dmitri’s rumble is a command more than a request, and I’m too worn out and shaken to argue.
We’ve pulled into an underground garage I don’t recognize, in a part of the city I rarely, if ever, visit. I haven’t even asked what we’re doing here, because it’s impossible not to know.
The slamming car doors echo in the concrete silence. Dmitri is at my side in an instant, one hand heavy at the small of my back, the other on his holstered firearm. He leads me to an elevator that opens with the flash of a key card, revealing sleek, golden luxuriousness.
But to me, it feels like a cage, gilded and inescapable, as it lifts us to our destination.
For the first time, I notice how rough Dmitri looks.
His cuts and scrapes are still raw and red.
He’s discarded his suit jacket, dirty and torn, but even the shirt beneath, which was once crisp and white, is smudged with dirt, blood, and the same black dust that smudges his cheek and mine. His eyes are more cold gray than blue.
Not that I look much better. My dress is ripped, my cheek has a bruise on it, my head aches from where it hit the wall, and the circles under my eyes are so dark, it looks like I painted them on with makeup.
Like Dmitri’s penthouse, this elevator opens directly into the entryway of the top-floor suite.
A large man in a dark suit waits outside the door. I haven’t seen him before, but I sense the danger and menace that radiates from him. It sends a shiver down my spine. Dmitri guides me through the door after the man opens it for us with a stiff nod to Dmitri.
The place is stunning—minimalist design, panoramic windows overlooking the glittering city, art too abstract to mean anything.
It’s about as warm and welcoming as an ice chip in the middle of winter.
“You will stay here—no calls, no deliveries, no texts, no visitors. Smirnov men are outside this door, in the parking garage, on the roof, and on the floors above and below, as well as in the lobby. If you need anything, speak to them.”
There is too much information being shot at me rapid fire to understand, too much for my exhausted and traumatized brain to keep up with and process.
“I’m keeping you safe, Clara. So for right now, you stay here and you do not leave until I’ve finished this.”
Finished this. The words send another chill down my spine, even as Dmitri walks me to the bedroom dominated by a massive bed, dark wood furniture, and dark walls.
He turns and looks at me, really looks at me for the first time since before the bomb went off. His eyes are molten steel, a ruthless danger within them. I can’t help but flinch when he reaches out, his thumb brushing away a smudge from my cheek.
“I need you to see the doctor.”
“You’re going to let me go out to see her?”
“No, not her, not there. Here. A doctor who won’t say anything to anyone.”
Not an OB, but a doctor who takes care of people who can’t go to the hospital, wounds that shouldn’t be seen by people who will report it.
The kind of care that leaves no trace or police reports.
The type of doctor who knows how to check for head trauma, internal bleeding, and treat a bullet or knife wound in silence.
“I’m fine.” My voice is raspy, and I almost don’t recognize it. “The baby is fine. We’re both fine. I don’t need to see anyone.”
“I’m not taking any chances. The doctor is already waiting.”
With his hand firmly on my lower back, his tone of voice and set expression, I know there is no arguing with Dmitri right now.
The doctor, a man named Azarov, is quick and mostly silent and exhibits a disturbing lack of facial expressions. He gives me a mechanical order to lie on the bed in heavily accented English and works with the efficiency—and warmth—of a machine. His hands are so cold, I jerk each time he touches me.
He checks my vitals, listens to the baby’s heartbeat, and confirms that the blast didn’t leave any lasting damage.
The wave of dizzying relief at the news doesn’t quite wash away the feeling of violation from the cold Dr. Azarov.
I’m grateful when he mutters a few words in Russian to Dmitri and leaves.
“He’ll be back tomorrow to check on you again,” Dmitri translates as the emotionless doctor slips from the room.
I would love to use the smart-ass part of my brain. But I’m too exhausted, my head fuzzy, as a headache throbs behind my eyes. I lean back against the pillows and close my eyes, trying to push away the cold fear that I can’t seem to shake.
The floor creaks, and I open my eyes to find Dmitri staring at me. But it’s not with the eyes of the man who held my hand at dinner, who held me on the drive here, murmuring soft words that everything would be okay, that I was safe with him.
No, Dmitri is already shedding the last remnants of that man in favor of the pakhan of the Smirnov Bratva. When he turns without another word and starts for the door, I know where it leads. Not just out of the room, but to a path stained with blood, death, and revenge.
“Dmitri.” I push myself out of the bed and go after him. “Dmitri, wait.”
He stops and turns to me. His expression softens slightly before the mask of iron slips back into place. “There are things that need my attention.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” I step closer, my bare feet sinking into the carpet. “I know exactly where you’re going and what you’re going to do. Don’t pacify me.”
The hard look in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Andrey must be taken care of. The bomb was a declaration of war, Clara, aimed at the future of my family. He crossed a line, and this time, I’m going to deal with it the way I should have dealt with it before.”
I grab his arm, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his bicep. “Don’t. You know that’s exactly what he wants, what he’s waiting for you to do. If you—” my voice cracks, the events of the night way too overwhelming. “Don’t go. Please don’t go after him. I don’t want to lose you.”
Dmitri pulls his arm from my grasp, though gently, and keeps my hand captive in his.
The ice in his eyes thaws slightly. “I have to go, moya lyubimaya. Andrey tried to kill us. He tried to kill the woman I love and take the life of my child again. I promised to keep you safe. And if I do not do this now, Andrey will come back again and again and again until he’s achieved his goal.
Next time, it will be a car bomb, or a sniper, or a bioweapon, or a fire.
He will not stop until every part of my world is fire and ash, and that includes you. I cannot let that happen.”
His voice rises as he talks, the chips of ice in his eyes turning to burning fires.
“Then we leave!” I cry, panic and desperation twisting inside my chest. “We go somewhere else. Anywhere else. We disappear. We become ghosts, other people, Dmitri. We have resources—you have resources—and we can have a life with this baby, where no one knows your name, and no one can reach us.”
Fire and ice now stare back at me. “You know I cannot. There is nowhere to run where Andrey will not find us. And if I run now, I lose everything. The entire organization will collapse, leaving a power vacuum, and every snake in the area will slither in to take my place. Everything will be in danger, Clara, and more people will die in the resulting war. It’s what Andrey wants—he wants me to watch him destroy everything I own and love.
I am safer here, on my throne, and you are safest when I’m strong. There is no choice.”
I slip one hand out of his grasp and put it to the curve of my belly, starting to round and become visible. “We’re having a baby. A life. Our life. This baby needs a father who is alive, Dmitri.”
The words hit him. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his jaw tightens. For a fraction of a second, the pakhan recedes. His eyes drift closed, and for a moment, I think I’ve reached him, that he’ll make a different choice.
But then he opens his eyes, the frozen fire harder and colder than before.
“It is because of the baby that I’m doing this. Our child will not know fear because its father was too weak to extinguish his enemies. This baby will be protected by an empire, not hiding in the middle of nowhere under a fake name. Not running. The spilling of Andrey’s blood ensures our peace.”
He lifts my chin with one finger, forcing me to look up into the brutal resolve that has replaced all tenderness and humanity.
“I will not rest, Clara. Not until Andrey is gone forever. I cannot. My oath, my life, and now your lives, depend on it. I will not lose another person I love.”
The last is not just a promise, but an oath, to be followed until it is done or until Dmitri is dead.
When he releases me, I feel a shock from the broken contact, suddenly cold as he walks to the door.
But he stops at the threshold and turns back one last time.
There is a deep, profound sadness in his expression, but it’s secondary to the cold, hard edge that burns with revenge, death, and darkness.
He knows the cost of this moment and the fracture it creates between us.
“I will call you when it is over,” he promises. “Do not open the door to anyone but Pavel or me.”
And then he leaves.
The click as the door latches echoes too loudly, and I listen to his footsteps fade away to somewhere I can’t follow. I want to run after him, to demand he stay, but I can’t seem to move. Instead, I remain in this sterile cage of gold while the darkness embraces and swallows Dmitri.
It takes a while before I move, following his footsteps into the main room that feels so vast and empty now. The city is a million tiny shards of light that spread out below me. I press my forehead against the freezing glass, the pressure a physical counterpoint to the raging chaos inside.
It’s not long before the tears come, hot and unstoppable, streaming down my face.
I don’t try to stop them; there is no audience, no need for a lawyer’s composure.
The city lights blur into streaks, swirling together until they’re indistinguishable from each other.
I am alone and pregnant, abandoned to the consequences of falling for a man I was never meant to find and now don’t want to live without.
I know that everything Dmitri does, the thoughtful, passionate, complex, dangerous, brutal man that he is, is rooted in his fierce, absolute need to keep our child and me safe.
He is going out to hunt down the man who tried to kill us, who most likely killed his wife and child, risking his life for ours.
He’s in ruthless pakhan mode, the side of him that can pull the trigger of his gun without flinching and without remorse.
The side that leaves me alone to go out and kill someone, not only to keep us safe, but because that’s who he is.
It is the world he not only comes from, but exists within, to continue his rule, even if it soaks his hands in blood.
I sink to the floor slowly, resting my back against the cool glass and bringing my legs up as much as is comfortable.
Guards surround me, layers of steel and concrete, vast wealth and security systems, yet I feel utterly alone.
There is no one in the world—not even Dmitri—who understands the impossible knot in my heart.
The fear for the baby is a tight band around my chest. I place my hand over my belly protectively. Will they grow up to be like him? Will they want that power, or will they run from it? Will it drag this sweet soul into the darkness, or will we find some kind of grey area we can all live in?
When I close my eyes, I can see Dmitri’s face, the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw, the fierce, icy blue of his eyes, the curve of his lips.
I know that I love him. It’s the undeniable truth.
And that means I’m terrified. Terrified he won’t come back, terrified that he will. Terrified of how far he will fall into the darkness as he hunts Andrey. Terrified that the price of our safety is his soul or his life.
I hug my knees as close as I can, the cold of the marble floor and the window seeping into my bones. I can’t do anything or go anywhere, can’t help or be by Dmitri’s side. Instead, I have to wait here in this gilded cage, as the night stretches out, vast, silent, and dark.