Chapter 27
Alyona
Iwake with one hand across the bed, palm-down on cold sheets; the realization startles my eyes open.
He shouldn’t be up.
He’s supposed to be resting. Michael had been so strict about it.
Bed rest, fluids, limited movement. Kazimir Baranov won’t do any of those things willingly, but still.
He was exhausted last night after a light physical therapy appointment in the living room.
Half-conscious, heavy and warm beside me.
Almost clinging to me.
The memory is soft and strange. Every time I stirred, his arm had been around my waist, his hand fisted in my shirt like he was afraid I might disappear. Once, I’d felt his face pressed into my hair, breath uneven, like he’d been dreaming something bad.
Now the space beside me is ice cold.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
What if something happened? What if he—
The bedroom door opens.
I sit up too fast, but dizzy with relief.
Kaz steps inside, already fully dressed in dark slacks and a button-down. Holster at his side.
“No,” I say firmly but can feel the shift in the room—whatever is going on, I’m not the one in charge anymore. “There’s no way you’re going back to work already.”
He looks wrong.
Not injured, exactly. The bandages are hidden under his shirt, but I can see the stiffness in the way he moves, like every step pulls at something tender.
His shoulders are tight. His jaw tighter.
There’s no sleepy softness in his eyes, no heat, no quiet affection like there’s been the last two days.
Just distance.
He doesn’t smile.
“Get up,” he says.
The words aren’t harsh, but they are clipped. Professional. Like I’m staff. Like I’m Devin. Like I’m anyone but the girl who’s been sleeping tangled around him.
Something cold trickles down my spine. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. I slide out of bed immediately, obeying without thinking, a strange, childish fear curling low in my stomach. I hate how quickly I comply. Hate how much I need him to just look at me the way he did yesterday.
He doesn’t.
He guides me down the hall with a light hand at my back, not possessive, not tender—just steering. Devin is already outside by the car, coffee in hand, eyebrows raised like she also got summoned without explanation.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
Kaz opens the back door for us.
“You’ll see,” he says.
That’s all.
The door shuts with a heavy, final sound, and Kaz gets into the passenger seat.
No one speaks. As the car pulls away from the estate, I watch him in the reflection of the glass, completely unreadable.
His face is set as if he’s going to war.
Devin’s fingertips lightly brush my hand in reassurance.
All I can think is, what did I do wrong?
The drive into Savannah unfolds in a strained, unnatural quiet that makes my skin itch.
No music fills the car; no idle conversation passes between the front seats.
Even Devin, who usually can’t go more than five minutes without cracking a joke to get a reaction out of me, sits with her hands folded tightly in her lap as though she’s afraid to move.
The only sound is the low, constant hum of the engine and the muted rush of tires over asphalt while the city slowly wakes around us.
Streetlights blink off one by one as dawn stretches pale fingers between the buildings.
Storefronts remain dark and shuttered, their windows reflecting the black SUV as it glides past. A few joggers wearing headphones are on the sidewalks, oblivious.
For a moment, I envy their small, uncomplicated mornings.
Kaz sits in the front passenger seat with his back straight and one hand braced against the dashboard as though every bump jars his injuries.
His jacket is already off on the side where the injury is.
He looks sharp and composed, and completely unreachable.
He hasn’t turned around once, hasn’t met my eyes in the rearview mirror, hasn’t offered even the smallest explanation.
The distance between us feels deliberate.
Devin leans closer and mouths, what’s going on?
I shake my head because I don’t have an answer. Not knowing makes my stomach twist tighter with every passing block.
We turn off the main road and slip into a quiet neighborhood lined with brick buildings and modest little offices.
It’s the kind of place people visit for routine appointments and paperwork.
The driver slows, then pulls into a narrow lot beside a low-rise medical complex tucked between a dentist’s office and a pediatric clinic. The signage is neat and understated.
At first, I don’t understand why we’re here.
Then my eyes catch the words printed on the frosted glass door.
Women’s Health Associates, OBGYN.
The words sink in slowly, like stones dropping through water, and my pulse hammers so hard it makes my fingertips tingle.
It’s barely seven in the morning. The place isn’t even open yet. The blinds are still half-drawn, and the CLOSED sign hangs on the door. A light glows inside and a shadow moves behind the front desk as though someone has come in early just for us.
“What is this?” Devin whispers.
Before I can respond, Kaz is already out of the car.
He circles around and opens my door himself.
Moving carefully, like every step is painful, yet still determined to handle this personally.
He offers me his hand, palm warm and steady, and I take it automatically even though my thoughts are racing.
“They’re waiting for you inside,” he says, his tone low and controlled.
“For me?” I ask, my voice unsteady.
He nods once. “Devin will go with you.”
My mind jumps to the worst plausible conclusions, stacking fears on top of each other until I can barely breathe. Does he think I cheated on him? Does he want proof of something? Is this some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking?
Panic rises fast and sharp, and before I can stop myself, I clutch the front of his jacket like I might drift away without the anchor of him.
“Kaz,” I whisper, searching his face, “what is this?”
His expression softens in a way that almost undoes me. The hard lines easing just enough to show the man underneath the armor.
“I’ll be right here,” he murmurs, guiding my hand down gently. “I’ll wait in the SUV.”
He says it like a promise, like proximity alone should make me feel safe. As I turn toward the quiet clinic with Devin at my side, my heart keeps racing as though I’m walking toward something that might change everything.
The clinic has a suspicious air of luxury to it. All clean lines and lush plants, and as soon as we walk in, we’re offered tea and even pastries. It’s warm inside, almost too warm for so early in the morning, and Devin presses a calming hand to my upper arm.
My pulse hasn’t slowed since we stepped out of the car.
Devin signs us in at the front desk while I try to catch my breath.
My voice feels lodged somewhere in my throat, thick and useless.
The woman behind the counter doesn’t look surprised to see us before opening hours, which means this has been arranged, which means Kaz planned it carefully, which means—
I don’t even know what that means.
Devin sinks into the chair next to me. “Do they need…?” I ask, but she only shakes her head, brows knit suspiciously.
“They already had all your info on file.”
“I feel like I’m about to take an exam I forgot to study for,” I whisper.
Devin snorts under her breath. “Girl, you look like you’re about to meet a firing squad.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
I glare at her, but she just bumps my shoulder gently with hers. “I’m sure the leader of the Bratva would have a better way to make you disappear and wouldn’t start in an OB office, Aly.”
My hands twist together in my lap while my brain runs in frantic circles. “Do you think he thinks I cheated?” I murmur. “Is this some kind of test? Like—like he wants proof or something? Because I haven’t even looked at another guy, but what if he thinks—”
“Aly.”
Her tone changes, sharper now.
I look up.
She’s studying me with narrowed eyes. It’s the same look she gets when she’s sizing up a rude customer or trying to figure out whether someone’s about to cause trouble.
“Answer me something,” she says quietly. “When was your last period?”
The question lands like a slap.
“What?”
“Your last period,” she repeats. “When was it?”
I open my mouth to answer automatically, then stall.
Because I don’t know.
My thoughts race, sifting through the recent chaos of moving to the estate, Devin’s accident, Kaz’s shooting, my first day at the Lennox, and the conference, all of it blending into an indistinct blur, much like paint dissolving in water.
“I…” I swallow. “I don’t remember. Maybe last month?”
“Early last month or late last month?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice thinning. “Why are you asking me that like it’s an interrogation?”
She leans closer, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Because you’ve been tired as hell lately, you’ve been nauseous, you nearly puked at that fish dinner, and you’ve been running hot like you swallowed a furnace.”
My stomach drops.
She watches my face carefully, then says it, plain and simple.
“Aly, he thinks you’re pregnant.”
I laugh.
It bursts out of me too loud and too sharp; the sound bordering on hysterical. “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “We—we barely—”
My words trail off as every memory catches up with me.
The night in his bedroom.
His hands.
The way everything spiraled out of control after that.
The rule we broke.
The second time.
The third.
Devin shakes her head. “Whatever is going on between you two, I wish I could meet a man who makes me look as blissed out as you do.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Her eyebrows climb. “You didn’t—”
“I haven’t gotten it,” I say, the realization creeping in like cold water. “My period. I haven’t gotten it.”
She stares at me.
I stare back.
We both look down at my stomach at the same time, as if something might already be visibly different.
“That’s…” I start, then stop. “That’s not possible.”
“Biologically, it is very possible,” Devin says dryly.
“I’m on birth control.”
“You also live with a man who looks at you like you’re dessert.”
“That’s not science, Devin.”
“It kind of is. Go ahead, I dare you to ask while we’re here; there’s still that point-zero-one percent chance, babe.”
I press my palms to my face. My thoughts scatter, crash into each other, splinter. Pregnant. The word feels too big and heavy to fit inside my head.
A nurse appears and calls my name.
The next forty minutes pass in a blur of forms, blood pressure cuffs, and a small exam room with crinkly paper on the table.
Devin stays glued to my side, cracking jokes under her breath about hospital gowns and threatening to steal one of the little tongue depressors as a souvenir. I cling to her voice like a life vest.
Then Dr. Shonan walks in.
She’s in her early forties, calm and composed, with kind eyes and a practiced smile that somehow doesn’t feel fake. She explains everything gently, asks questions, and orders a quick test.
I sit there, and my heart feels like it’s trying to escape from my chest.
When she returns, she closes the door behind her and gives me a look that’s both professional and warm. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations.”
The word echoes.
Congratulations.
She must be able to see the shock on my face, because she says gently: “You’re pregnant, Alyona. Very early, but definitely pregnant.”
For a second, the room tilts.
There’s something inside me.
Something his.
Something ours.
Devin grabs my hand so tightly that it almost hurts. “Holy shit,” she says, then laughs. “Oh my God, holy shit.”
I feel like I might cry. Or faint. Or both.
“I don’t know if that’s something to celebrate,” I whisper.
Dr. Shonan smiles gently. “That part is up to you.”
Later, back in the waiting room, Devin hugs me so hard my ribs protest.
“I’m freaking out,” I admit. “What if he doesn’t want this? What if he thinks it’s a liability or dangerous or—what if he wants me to get rid of it?”
She pulls back and stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Aly,” she says slowly, “that man hired me for three grand a week because someone touched me wrong.”
I blink.
“He nearly killed a guy for me,” she continues. “You think he’s gonna tell you to abort his baby?”
“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. “He’s Kazimir Baranov.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Exactly. He’s obsessed with you. Like, borderline feral. That isn’t fear, babe. That’s love, even if he doesn’t know the word for it yet.”
Love.
The idea terrifies me more than anything else.
Back outside, Devin walks briskly to the SUV, ignoring Kaz and getting into the passenger seat. He stares at her, then turns to me.
“You okay?” he asks immediately.
I nod, then shake my head.
He steps closer, concern darkening his gaze. Around us, the city is waking up. Couples chat at sidewalk tables, someone whizzes by on a bike. The driver is watching passively in the side window as Kaz tugs me close, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“What is it?”
My mouth goes dry. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
He stills.
I take his hand and press it to my stomach before I lose my nerve.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
His eyes widen.
Then he bends and kisses me, hard, desperate, and warm, like he’s been waiting for this moment without realizing it.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“I’ll do anything,” he murmurs, voice rough. “For you. For the baby. Anything.”
It’s not the first promise I’ve gotten from the Bratva leader. And he hasn’t broken any others yet. I can’t help wondering, as he presses a kiss just under my earlobe, if this is the best choice. For me, for him, and for the baby that will inherit his legacy of business and blood.