Chapter 23 – Valeria
The mansion feels unusually lively that afternoon.
Several of the women connected to the Rusnak family have gathered in one of the sitting rooms, filling the space with soft laughter, conversation, and easy familiarity that feels almost foreign here now.
They’re here for me.
I know that much.
A distraction. To cheer me up.
An attempt to pull me out of the weight that has settled over everything since the poisoning. Since the raids. Since the constant reminder that nothing about our lives is safe anymore.
I sit between Ellie and Sofia, trying—actually trying—to enjoy it.
Sienna is in the middle of a story, her hands moving as she talks, her expression animated, making it impossible not to pay attention. Vivian listens with quiet amusement, occasionally adding something that makes the others laugh even harder.
I find myself smiling.
Timofey is out raiding Anton’s hideout, and I’m worried out of my mind. That’s why he organized this hangout yesterday, because he doesn’t want me to stress. But how can I not stress when he’s out there literally in the middle of a war and I can’t help?
The women’s laughter drags me back to the moment again.
For a moment, I let myself lean into it—the sound of voices, the warmth of the room, the normalcy of something as simple as women sitting together and talking about things that don’t revolve around survival.
“How are you feeling?” Sofia asks, nudging me. She’s not a Rusnak wife, but Timofey knows how much her presence means to me. And he’s not wrong. I’m grateful she’s here.
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing it off lightly.
Ellie snorts beside me. “You always say that.”
I glance at her. “Because I am.”
“Mm,” she hums, unconvinced. “You look like you’ve been planning a war all morning.”
I can’t help it—I laugh.
“She has,” Sofia says calmly, reaching for her tea. “She’s been waiting for Timofey all day.”
Ellie takes my arm and leans her head on my shoulder. “Trust me, we’ve all been there.”
I smile, shaking my head slightly.
Across the room, Vivian’s voice rises just enough to draw everyone’s attention. She’s already in the middle of a story, eyes bright with mischief as she gestures with her glass.
“I’m telling you,” she says, laughing, “that night was a disaster waiting to happen, and no one saw it coming.”
Someone groans. “Oh no…which one?”
“The winter gathering a year ago,” Vivian replies. “The one at the old estate—before they renovated it.”
A few of the women immediately react, laughter bubbling up like they already know where this is going.
“Yes!” Ellie lifts her head slightly. “The chandelier incident!”
“That was a full-blown catastrophe,” Vivian says, pointing at her.
I lean forward slightly, intrigued despite myself.
“What happened?” I ask.
Vivian grins at me. She settles back, eyes gleaming. “So,” she begins, “everything was perfect. Formal dinner, everyone dressed like they were about to attend a royal ceremony. Crystal glasses, live music, the whole thing.”
She pauses for effect.
“And then one of the men—who will remain nameless to protect his dignity—got drunk and decided it would be a brilliant idea to give a toast while black-out drunk.”
“Oh my goodness.” Raelyn covers her face with her hand, and I have a distinct feeling the man in question is Konstantin.
Sofia sighs softly. “It’s always a man.”
“Always,” Vivian agrees. “He climbs onto a chair to make some dramatic toast, right? Talking about loyalty and legacy. Mind you, we were also all drunk, not to the same degree, obviously, but we weren’t sober at all. It was wild. One of those times when there was no war. Just peace.”
We all exchange potent glances, and then Vivian grins again.
“And just as he raises his glass,” Vivian continues, barely holding her own laughter now, “his elbow hits the chain holding the chandelier.”
Ellie gasps dramatically. “It was so scary at the time—”
“Yes,” Vivian says, pointing again. “The entire thing starts swaying. Everyone freezes. And instead of getting down like a normal person, he panics and tries to steady it.”
That’s it. The room loses it.
“He made it worse, didn’t he?” I say, already laughing.
“Much worse,” Vivian confirms. “Because the next thing we know—” she claps her hands once—“the chandelier crashes straight onto the table.”
The room erupts.
“Glass everywhere. Food ruined. People screaming,” she continues through laughter. “And this man just stands there. Laughing his head off.”
Ellie is clutching her stomach now. “Stop, I can’t—”
“You have to tell me who it is,” I laugh. “I can’t let this slide.”
Vivian opens her mouth, ready to expose him.
But a guard steps into the room. He walks straight to me, composed and professional, but there’s urgency in the way he leans down slightly.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
Just for a second.
I hope Timofey is okay.
“Timofey is waiting for you in the office,” he says quietly.
Relief hits first.
Then something sharper.
I’m already on my feet before I fully process it.
“I—sorry,” I say quickly to the women, though I don’t really stop to explain.
I don’t wait.
I leave the room, moving fast down the hallway, my pulse picking up with every step.
I push the office door open without knocking.
Timofey is inside, just shrugging off his jacket, tension still sitting in the lines of his shoulders like he hasn’t fully stepped out of whatever he just walked through.
I don’t think.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him. Tight. Immediate. Like I need to confirm he’s actually here.
For a fraction of a second, he stills.
Then his arms come around me just as firmly.
One hand settles at my back, the other lifting to the back of my head, pulling me closer as he presses a kiss into my hair.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, low and steady.
I close my eyes against his chest, breathing him in, grounding myself in the solid weight of him. “I’m glad.”
A quiet laugh leaves him, soft against my hair.
“I told you not to worry,” he says. “It’ll take more than Anton to bring me down.”
I roll my eyes slightly, even as I stay close to him. “Of course you’d say that.” I pull back just enough to look at him. “How did it go?”
His expression shifts immediately
“We hit two of the locations,” he says evenly. “They were active. Recently used. Enough to confirm Anton’s network is already operating here. The second location gave us all the information we need. Anton isn’t here yet.”
I frown. “He’s not in the city yet?”
My stomach tightens.
“He’s still in Moscow,” Timofey continues. “Finalizing whatever he’s planning. According to the men we captured…” his gaze darkens slightly, “he’ll be here in two days.”
I feel it instantly, that cold tension slipping back under my skin.
Two days.
My body stiffens before I can stop it.
His arms tighten around me immediately, like he feels it without needing to see it.
“Are you scared?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “No.”
But the word isn’t as strong as I want it to be.
I hesitate, then rest my hand lightly against my stomach.
“We have a baby to protect now,” I add, softer. “It makes me…nervous.”
Something shifts in his expression at that.
Something deeper.
“I understand,” he says, voice low. “But listen to me.”
His hand comes up, brushing lightly over my cheek, turning my face fully toward him.
“I told you before,” he continues, gaze locked onto mine. “I would lay my life down for you, but it won’t get to that.”
There’s no hesitation in his voice.
“By the time this ends,” he adds, quieter now, “it’ll be you, me, and our child.” His thumb brushes gently under my eye. “I’ll protect you. Both of you.”
The words hit deeper than I expected.
Deeper than I’m ready for.
My throat tightens, emotion rising too fast for me to contain it.
I turn away slightly, blinking hard as tears sting my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself before they fall.
I don’t even get the chance to step out of his arms.
The office door opens.
A guard steps in. Something in his eyes makes my stomach drop before he even speaks. He approaches us carefully, holding out a small envelope.
“Sir. This was just delivered through the external gate.”
My gaze drops to it. My name is scribbled on top. And everything inside me goes cold. I know that handwriting. I’ve seen it before.
Too many times.
My fingers twitch slightly at my side.
“It’s Anton,” I say quietly. “That’s his handwriting.”
The room tightens around us.
Timofey doesn’t hesitate.
He takes the envelope from the guard with calm, controlled precision. He nods once.
Then opens it.
The sound of the paper tearing feels too loud in the silence.
My chest tightens as his eyes drop to the contents.
I watch him.
Not the letter.
Him.
Waiting for something to change in his expression.
Waiting to see how bad it is.
But nothing changes. There’s no reaction at all. That alone tells me everything.
My gaze drops slowly to the paper in his hand.
I reach for it before I can stop myself.
Timofey doesn’t resist. He lets me take it.
My fingers tighten slightly as I read.
A short message.
Congratulations on your pregnancy.
I wish you good health—for both you and the child you carry.
Take these next two days and enjoy them.
Because when I arrive, you should prepare to die. You and your child.
Silence fills the room again.
He didn’t need more words.
For a moment, something cold presses against my chest. It’s fear, threatening to rise.
That’s what he wants.
I inhale slowly. Then again.
By the time I look up, my expression is steady.
I won’t give him that.
Not now.
Not ever again.