24. Roman #2
She nods, and I step into pace with her, but we barely make it to the nurses’ station when my phone begins to ring. “You know what?” she bites out before I can speak. “I think you should get that. It could be more important.”
I see the pain in her eyes, but ignoring the call won’t erase it. I shouldn’t have abruptly ended the moment in her bedroom and deprived her of an explanation.
I’ll find an excuse.
My phone’s screen flashes with a number I never expected to see. Igor Sokolov.
“Hello, old friend,” he greets.
“What do you want?”
“Relax,” he chuckles. “Can’t a man check in on an ally? We are friends now, aren’t we?”
Never.
I cut through the pleasantries. “Do you know where Marco is?”
There’s a pause. I hear a faint rustle on his end like he’s leaning back, savoring the moment.
“Hmm. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Or maybe I’ve got a lead so solid, you’ll want to kiss my damn feet when you find him.
But I’m not in the business of giving away gifts, Roman, like I know you’ll never give me a handout. So I’m thinking we make a trade.”
My gaze flicks ahead, and I see Isabella’s silhouette disappear into a corner.
I’ll catch up.
My voice hardens. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Isabella Ricci.”
For a moment, it’s as if I didn’t hear correctly. As if the words didn’t register—because surely, Igor didn’t just say that. The last time we met, I made it crystal clear that Isabella isn’t a bargaining chip. That she belongs to me. I know I should’ve left a permanent reminder.
“I’m going to assume you just misspoke,” I say quietly, dangerously. “Because if you didn’t?—”
“I didn’t,” Igor cuts in, smooth as ever.
“I know she’s pregnant, Roman. And I know the child is yours.
Which only makes her worth more to me. Come on now,” he drawls.
“Which do you want more? The woman or Marco? You can get some other woman to give you a child. I doubt the daughter of a runaway coward would win you any favors.”
My teeth grind hard as my blood roars in my ears. If he said these words in front of me, I would slit his throat from ear to ear.
“Stay away from Isabella,” I warn. “If you come anywhere close to her, you’ll be lucky if I let you go with half a life.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, and I’m reaching for the end call button when I hear him whisper, “Too late.”
What the fuck did he just say?
“I’m here,” he says. “At the hospital. You didn’t think I would sit back and let you call the shots, did you? I already figured you were going to say no, so I decided to take her myself.”
Isabella! The phone falls to the ground as I break into a run, pushing past people as I scan the hospital corners frantically. I left her alone. I shouldn’t have answered the call.
Fuck. I drag my fingers through my hair and over my face, cursing under my breath. The hospital is too large to cover the first floor alone when she might’ve entered the elevator.
I need backup. I reach for my phone blindly before remembering I dropped it.
God. I need something. Anything. After running back to grab my phone, I step in front of a doctor. “My wife,” I say. “My wife walked into this hospital. She’s pregnant, and she needs to see a doctor. What floor?”
“Your wife?” he repeats with a frown. “Why don’t you come with me first? I’m sure we can?—”
“No,” I snap, slapping his hand off as it reaches for my arm. “I need to find my wife, and you’re going to give me an answer, or I swear I’ll burn this hospital to the ground.”
His eyes widen in alarm and I catch them dart in the direction of a nurse passing by.
“Don’t,” I say, barely keeping my voice calm. “Don’t do that. You might think I’m someone suspicious, but I promise you that if anything happens to my wife, you’ll regret not pointing me in the right direction for as long as you breathe.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “The second floor. The department is on the second floor.”
“Good.” I nod, already moving. I take off down the corridor, my footsteps echoing. The elevator doors begin to slide shut just as I reach them—I shove my hand between them, barely catching the edge. They jolt open again.
I punch the button for the second floor, chest heaving, pulse pounding in my ears. When the doors slide open, I enter a waiting room thick with the smell of antiseptic and soft murmurs. Dozens of women, some visibly pregnant, some holding clipboards, glance up. But not her. No sign of Isabella.
Then I see it—a door halfway down the hall, marked on the frosted glass with “Obstetrics & Gynecology—Exam 3.”
My hand closes around the handle, and I shove it open without knocking.
She’s there. Sitting on the exam table, back rigid, hands curled around the edge of the paper sheet. Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide.
The doctor looks up, startled. “Who are you?”
She’s safe. She’s safe. The words ring repeatedly in my head, echoing over the sound of my heart pounding and my choppy breathing.
“Who are?—
“He’s my husband,” Isabella responds. “My husband.”
The doctor clears her throat. “Oh. Okay. I wasn’t aware we were expecting you, Mr. Volkov. You look…well, you can have a seat while we conduct the exam.”
“What happened to you?” Isabella asks as we walk out of the office. I remain close by her side, scanning the area. While we were still in the exam room, Leo messaged me that he’d arrived, alongside Sergei.
They’ve searched the entire hospital perimeter without any sign of Igor, but I’m not about to let down my guard—even if it turns out that he was bluffing. Once I’m sure she’s safe at home, I’ll pay him a visit. And have a casket, or better yet, a cremation service, ready beforehand.
“Roman?” Isabella taps my arm. I jolt, not caught off guard but tense. “Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
“But I do,” she argues. “It was the phone call, wasn’t it? My father? Did he reach out to you?”
“No,” I say tightly, my muscles still tense and my eyes on alert as we step out of the elevator onto the busy ground floor of the building. “It’s something I can handle. Don’t worry.”
She sighs. “Sure. It’s not like my contribution ever mattered anyway. I’m still Marco Ricci’s daughter to you, and you’ve got what you?—”
I swing on her so fast the words die on her tongue. “Don’t.” The word feels like sandpaper on my lips. “Don’t you dare cheapen yourself, Isabella. You’re not just his daughter. I made that clear the second I made you my wife.”
“So I’m just your wife, then?” she retorts. “If you think that makes it any better, then the answer is no.”
Not just my wife. Mine. God—mine, in the way that I’ve become hers. But I understand what she means. “I doubt anyone could lay claim on you, printsessa,” I say with a small smile. “You’re the most stubborn, strong-willed person I’ve ever met. I’m barely holding on to you at this point.”
Her mouth twitches in a smile, and she tries to conceal it and fails. “You’ve gotten better at being coy, Roman Volkov. I don’t know whether to be impressed or wary.”
I take her hand in mine, holding it securely. “Let’s go home.”
As we walk closer to the doors, my phone vibrates. I can guess that it’s a text from Leo, but I ignore it. I made that mistake the first time—putting something else in front of my wife.
Not anymore.
We’re only a few steps from the exit, and I see Leo crossing the drop-off area. Then, we hear the sound of sirens and stretchers being rolled in. I pull Isabella to the side, tucking her close and out of the way. Doctors rush to the scene, and everything descends into rushed chaos.
“Sometimes I think I’ll get a call, and that’ll be you,” she whispers beside me as instructions are shouted and nurses hurry in all directions.
I turn, and her eyes are sad, brimming with fear.
“Isabella, I?—”
The sound of a gun clicking, faint but distinct, makes my blood run cold. “Isabella,” I whisper, reaching subtly into my waistband for my weapon. “I need you to leave. Okay? Walk out of the doors without turning around.”
“Wh—”
“No.” I shake my head as she tries to turn to assess the danger I’ve already marked. “Just go. Tell Leo I said Igor slipped through. Tell him to take you home. Sergei will know what to do.”
Her bottom lip trembles as she protests quietly, but I squeeze her hand firmly, my composure steady. “Go. Iyubov moya .”
She nods, and I let her go, watching as she takes tentative steps ahead. I keep my eyes trained, looking for any potential threats around her. I don’t breathe, not until she gets out. Then I turn and tuck into a corner with the chaos as cover.
I see Igor.
Bastard. He grins. I wait for his move while my hand remains nestled on my gun—half concealed. He tucks his gun away and walks toward me.
“How did you know?” he asks.
“You just signed your death warrant, Igor Smirnov,” I growl.
He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re not going to shoot me in a hospital, are you? Meanwhile, I have people outside who, on my command, are ready to kill your wife and your loyal dog.”
Isabella. Leo.
Fuck. Fuck! He was a diversion.
“Just give me the woman, Roman. And I’ll let him go. Maybe I’ll even give you your child after she gives birth. Who knows?”
“You’re a dead man, Igor,” I repeat as my jaw grinds so hard it almost turns to dust, and my fist curls till my knuckles turn white.
Igor clicks his tongue. “Not when I have the upper hand.” He looks at his watch. “You have a minute to decide, Roman. Or they all go boom.”
I could shoot him.
At this close range, I could put a bullet between his eyes without hesitation. But I don’t know what orders he has—and I could be putting the lives of innocents in danger.
So, I do the only thing that comes to mind. I turn and run through the doors that swing wildly into the parking lot. Leo is standing by the car, but Isabella’s nowhere to be found.
“Leo!” I yell. “Where’s Isabella?!”
He starts to speak when I hear the sound of a gun safety going off. I spin, my gun in my hand, but before I can fire, another gun goes off. Igor falls to the ground with a thud. And behind him?—
Isabella.
Holding a gun.