29. Veronica
29
VERONICA
I can’t stop glancing at the pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink, its plastic casing gleaming mockingly under the dim light.
It’s probably for the best that he went off to deal with business. Gave me a chance to find out for sure one way or another.
My mind spins with questions I don’t want to face. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not?
“Come on, Veronica,” I mutter to myself, gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s just science. Pee on a stick, wait, get an answer. Easy.”
Except it’s not. I run my hands through my hair, tugging lightly at the roots. What if Maxim doesn’t want this? What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him? Or worse, what if he decides this is the perfect excuse to push me away for good?
He didn’t promise me a family, just a bookstore. Sure, we talked baby names, but that was only to fool Victor.
I glance at the test again, willing the seconds to pass faster. The waiting is unbearable.
Men like Maxim don’t do love, not really.
And then I see it. Two pink lines.
The world spins. I grab the counter to steady myself, staring at the test like it’s a mirage. Positive. Pregnant.
A shaky laugh bubbles out of me, though I’m not sure if it’s from joy or panic. “Holy shit.”
I sink onto the closed toilet lid, holding the test in my trembling hand. I’m pregnant. With Maxim’s baby.
A thousand emotions crash into me at once. There’s a flutter of warmth in my chest—a feeling I don’t quite recognize. Hope? Maybe. But then the doubts creep in, as they always do.
How will he react? Will he see this as a blessing or a burden? Will he even want this child? A life so small, so innocent, in a world as dark and ruthless as his?
I think about how he looked at me when I was injured. But I also think about the walls he keeps around himself, the way he talks about duty and sacrifice like love is some kind of liability.
I have to tell him. He deserves to know.
But the idea of it terrifies me.
I stand, clutching the test like a lifeline. “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’ve faced far worse than this.”
With a deep breath, I put the test in the trash and splash cold water on my face. It’s not just about me anymore. Whatever happens, I have to be strong. For the baby. For myself.
For a moment, I let myself picture it—telling Maxim, seeing his face light up, feeling his arms around me as he promises to protect us both.
And then I picture the other possibility—cold detachment, a reminder that our time together has an expiration date, and this wasn’t part of the deal.
I square my shoulders, gripping the edge of the sink again.
I have to tell him.
Except I can’t find him. He’s not in his office or the library, and I check every other usual spot. Anxiety prickles at the edges of my thoughts.
Where is he?
As I near the east wing, I hear something—a faint, muffled sound. I stop, straining to listen. It's a voice, ragged and pained, barely audible through the thick walls.
Curiosity and unease propel me forward. My footsteps are cautious as I follow the sound to a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. It’s slightly ajar, just enough to let a sliver of dim light spill into the corridor.
My heart pounds as I step closer, the sounds growing clearer. A man’s voice, screaming. Pleading. And then, cold as ice, Maxim’s voice cuts through.
“He deserves it.”
Then Dmitri. “It’s been hours. He’s got no teeth left. I’m not sure he knows what’s going on anymore. Just kill him and be done with it.”
I peer through the crack in the door, my breath catching in my throat at the sight before me.
The room is dark, lit only by a single overhead bulb that casts harsh shadows. Maxim stands in the center, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands covered in blood.
His face is a mask of icy control, his eyes fixed on the man slumped in the chair before him.
The man is bruised and bloodied, his shirt torn and soaked with sweat. He’s groaning, head lolling from side to side.
I smell burnt flesh, the same smell I remember all too well. My hand goes to my arm, feeling the scar Marco gave me.
Maxim picks up a knife from the table beside him, its blade gleaming ominously under the light. “Then I guess it’s time to say goodbye.” His tone is devoid of emotion.
I press a hand to my mouth, stifling a gasp. My stomach churns as Maxim grips the man’s head.
The man screams as the knife digs into his throat, the sound tearing through the room and through me. I want to look away, to run, but my feet are frozen to the floor.
I’ve seen glimpses of Maxim’s darker side before, but this is something else entirely. This isn’t the man who held me in his arms and whispered that I was safe. This is someone utterly ruthless.
The light in the man’s eyes fades away. The silence is unbearable, stretching taut like a rubber band about to snap.
I step back, my foot catching on the edge of the carpet, and a small gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
Maxim’s head snaps up, his icy gaze locking onto the doorway. For a moment, his expression falters, a flicker of something softer breaking through the mask.
“Veronica,” he says. “This door was supposed to be locked.
I turn and walk away, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
I don’t look back.
Tears sting my eyes as I retreat to my room, my mind racing. The man I just saw is nothing like the one I thought I was falling for. How could someone so brutal ever be the kind of father my child deserves?
I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around myself, staring blankly at the wall.
The memory of what I saw in that room plays on an endless loop in my mind—his cold detachment, the blood on his hands, the man’s screams. The smell of burning. Maxim burned him just like Marco burned me. They’re the same.
“Veronica,” Maxim’s voice is low. I look up. He’s in the doorway.
He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. The dim light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across his face, making him look both dangerous and tired.
I don’t move. My throat is tight, but I force the words out. “What do you want?”
He exhales, his jaw tightening as he takes a step closer. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Who was he?” My voice wavers, but I hold my ground.
“One of Lombardi’s trusted lieutenants. Killed three of ours in a bomb attack today. Took out their families with them. Pets too. He knows the interior of Lombardi’s place. Gave us all the intel we need.”
I shake my head, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “You’re a monster.”
“Get real.” His expression hardens, and for a moment, I think he might turn and leave. Instead, he steps closer, his voice a growl. “This is how I protect the people I care about, Veronica. This is how I survive. You think cake and tea would get the truth out of a man like that?”
I look up at him, my chest aching with a mix of anger and sorrow. “Is that what you tell yourself? That the ends justify the means?”
His jaw clenches, and he looks away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had to make these kinds of choices.”
“You’re right,” I say quietly, standing up. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice. “I don’t understand. And I don’t want to. You and Marco are the same.” I show him the burn on my arm. “There’s getting intel and then there’s sadism.”
We’re standing so close now, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. For the first time, he looks lost.
“I have a meeting with my father in the morning,” he says, his voice quieter. “To finalize the handover. This time tomorrow, I’ll be Pakhan.”
He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “The bookstore is yours. I’ve cleared your bills, bought you a place to live. You’ll have everything you need.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why are you pretending you’re dead inside? You killed a man and you act like it was nothing. I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“Of course I killed him,” he snaps, his mask of control slipping for a moment. “I’ll kill anyone who threatens your safety.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “I can’t unsee it, Maxim. What you did to him, the way you looked while you did it. And now I’m supposed to pretend it doesn’t matter? That I can just close my eyes and forget it?”
“This is who I’ve always been, Veronica. It’s how I survive. It’s how I protect you.”
I flinch, the words hitting harder than they should. “Protect me? By torturing people? By becoming someone I don’t recognize? Do you even hear yourself?”
He steps closer, the intensity in his expression pulling me in even when I want to push him away. “You think I want to be this way?” he growls, his voice rough. “You think I enjoy it? Everything I’ve done, every choice I’ve made, has been to survive. To keep the people I care about safe. I’m not a good man, Veronica. I’ve never pretended to be one.”
“So the massages and the movies, what were they? Encouraging me to get back in the pool? Was that you being a monster or are you full of shit?”
“It’s better if we end things here,” he says. “You want someone I can’t be. I tried to warn you and Dmitri, tried to tell him to pick someone else. This isn’t my fault.”
I stare at him, my heart breaking even as my temper flares. “You don’t get to decide where I belong, Maxim. And don’t you dare tell me you can't change.”
“It’s for your own good,” he says, his tone final.
Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let him see me break.
“You’re right,” I say softly, each word feeling like a knife in my chest. “We can’t be together. But only because you don’t think you can change. You’re choosing this—” I gesture toward him, toward the weight of his world. “—over us.”
When he speaks again, his voice is steady but distant. “If I had a choice, I’d choose you. Every time. But this life, it doesn’t allow for choices like that. Sometimes you have no choice but to act. To kill. Either you can accept that or you can’t. My father warned me there were risks marrying a civilian. I should have listened.”
“What about Dmitri? He married a civilian. That seems to have worked out, right?”
“He retired when he married Elena. I can’t do that. I have an empire to run, people who will rely on me.” He reaches out a hand. “If you want this to work, you have to accept that bad things take place.”
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “Tomorrow, when you get everything you’ve been working for—the power, the money, the control—that’s what will matter to you. Not me. Not us. I can tell. I’ve seen that look in Marco’s eyes. It’s not about love, it never was. You just don’t want anyone else to have me.”
He doesn’t deny it. “The books you ordered for the store will be delivered tomorrow,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “You’ll have everything you need to start fresh.”
He walks out like Mom did, without once looking back my way. Once the door is closed, I let myself cry. It feels like I’ll never stop.