Sofia
Two weeks of quiet.
I don't trust it.
In my world, quiet means one of two things: either the threat has been neutralized and you can exhale, or the threat has gone underground and is building toward something worse.
The second option is more common. I've lived long enough in the Baranov empire to know that calm is rarely good. I will not get complacent again.
Yuri is still out there.
But for two weeks, nothing has happened.
No one has taken a shot at me. No board meetings I wasn't told about. Sergei's security rotation has been reinforced. Nelson is my constant companion. The only time he’s not with me is when I’m physically in the bathroom or in bed with Sergei.
I barely even notice him there anymore. He’s a shadow that talks back.
“Coffee,” I say to Nelson as we cross campus.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
I order my usual and wait while the barista makes it. Nelson orders something complicated that involves oat milk and three different syrups. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“What?” he says defensively. “I like what I like.”
“I’m not judging.” I am absolutely judging, and I will tease him relentlessly.
The barista hands me my drink, and I take a grateful sip. The chocolatey goodness hits my tongue and for a moment, everything is perfect. Then my stomach lurches.
I freeze mid-sip. Like not breathing might stop what I feel coming.
I swallow carefully, willing my body to cooperate. The nausea builds like a wave. I set the coffee down on the counter with shaking hands.
“Sofia?” Nelson is immediately alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. “Be back in a second.”
The wave crests. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m throwing up in the first stall. My hands grip the porcelain as my body betrays me. Again.
This is the third time this week.
I rinse my mouth and avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t want to see what I already know is there—the confirmation I’ve been avoiding.
When I walk back out, Nelson is waiting with my coffee in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
“Here,” he says, offering me the water. “You look pale.”
“It’s probably just something I ate. That breakfast burrito was sketchy.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You should see a doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I’m fine. And don’t you dare report this to Sergei. It’s healthy for a marriage to have a little mystery.”
We walk back to the car in silence. I can feel Nelson watching me. Assessing. He’s too observant for his own good. He opens the back door of the SUV. I climb in, getting into the seat behind the driver while he sits in the one beside me.
The guard in the passenger seat turns to look at us. “You two could offer to get us something,” he mutters.
“Drive,” Nelson orders.
I sip the water and stare out the window.
I think about the three pregnancy tests hidden in the back of the guest room closet. Three of them, purchased last week when my period was five days late. Nelson had been with me, of course, but I’d managed to slip them into my basket without him noticing. Or he was pretending he hadn’t seen.
I haven’t taken them.
I refuse to take them.
Because if I take them, it becomes real. And I’m not ready for it to be real.
I know it’s obviously a possibility. With men trying to kill me every time I turn around, I haven’t made time to go to the doctor to get on birth control. It was never an issue before because I wasn’t having sex. And then I was married and having all the sex.
Now, my period is twelve days late.
And I’m throwing up.
My breasts are tender.
Fuck. Did that man knock me up? Why does that make me want to smile? If I’m feeling all these symptoms, that would mean I got pregnant almost immediately. Could a virgin get pregnant after her first time?
Obviously.
I’m spiraling. I need to focus.
“Nelson, any word on Yuri?”
He glances at me. The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. The passenger stiffens. Their reactions are telling.
“Nothing concrete,” Nelson answers casually. “He’s been quiet.”
“Too quiet,” the passenger grunts.
I’d learn their names, but there has literally been a small army on my security detail. They’re constantly changing. I know Nelson and he knows them. That’s enough for me.
Nelson has become something close to a friend over the past few weeks.
Maybe my only friend besides Sergei, which is a depressing thought.
But he’s easy to talk to. He doesn’t judge.
And he’s seen me at my worst—covered in blood, terrified, vulnerable—and he’s never treated me differently because of it.
“You guys have been weird lately,” I say.
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Kirill won’t make eye contact with me. The guards practically bow when I walk past. Even you’ve been acting strange.”
Nelson is quiet for a long moment. “You should talk to your husband.”
“About what?”
“About why everyone’s being weird.”
I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. “That’s not helpful, Nelson.”
“I’m not the one who should be having this conversation with you.”
“So there is a conversation to be had.”
“Talk to Sergei,” he says again.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
But I don’t want to talk to Sergei. Because talking to Sergei means admitting that something is wrong. And I’m not ready to admit that yet.
The nausea has subsided by the time we pull up to the brownstone. Nelson leads me past the two guards at the door.
The house is quiet. Sergei is probably in his office. He’s always in his office lately, dealing with whatever fallout comes from running a criminal empire while simultaneously hunting a man who wants me dead.
I should go see him.
I should tell him about the nausea and the late period and the tests I bought but haven’t taken.
“Want me to make you something to eat?” Nelson asks.
I smile. “Go eat. I’m going to do some homework.”
He grins. “Thanks.”
Lately, I’ve been using the guest room on the third floor as my study room. In a house crawling with men, it’s hard to find any true privacy. If I’m on the ground floor, there’s always activity. Men coming in and out. Second floor isn’t as bad, but I can still hear the conversations below.
I let myself into the guest room and head for the desk. My eyes drift to the bathroom. Do I want to know? Do I tell Sergei? What will he do?
I wish I had someone to talk to. My mother. Tori. Someone without a penis. Someone who would tell me how to be pregnant. I feel alone. I’ve been feeling it for weeks, but I can’t talk to Sergei about it. He wouldn’t understand.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to study for my finals. Part of me wonders if the whole college thing is a waste of time. It’s not like I have to interview for the role of pakhan of my father’s evil empire. No one is going to check my degrees.
And do I really want to start my next semester with a huge pregnant belly. I won’t be able to run as fast or protect myself as well. I don’t know if Sergei will let me out of the house if I’m carrying his heir.
If I’m right and I am pregnant, I would be delivering somewhere around the Christmas break. So, the timing isn’t horrible, but am I going to do my last semester with an infant at home.
“Stop. You’re spiraling.”
If I’m not pregnant, I’ll get on the pill. If I am pregnant…
I go into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Will it keep Sergei out if he wants in, no. But he has respected my privacy.
I open the linen closet and move the towels. The tests are right where I left them. I pull out all three and stare at the packaging.
Three chances to confirm what I already know.
My hands shake as I open the first box.
This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I can handle this. I’ve killed a man. I’ve faced down assassins and board members and my own cousin who wants me dead. I can take a pregnancy test.
I follow the instructions. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. Read the results.
Simple.
I set the test on the counter and force myself to walk away. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and think of the many ways my life will change if I see two pink lines.
When I finally look at the test, there they are. Two pink lines staring back at me.
Positive.
My vision blurs. I blink and realize I’m crying.
I take the second test. Same result.
The third test. Same result.
Three tests. Three positive results.
I’m pregnant.
I slide down to the bathroom floor and pull my knees to my chest. I don’t know if they’re happy tears or terrified tears or some combination of both.
I’m pregnant with Sergei Sokolov’s child.
The man I married for protection. The man who has somehow become the most important person in my life.
I’m carrying his baby.
Our baby.
I don’t know how long I sit there on the bathroom floor before I hear the bedroom door open.
“Sofia?” Sergei’s voice carries through the bathroom door. “Are you in there?”
I quickly wipe my face and shove the pregnancy tests back into their boxes. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Are you alright?”
No. I’m not alright. I’m pregnant and terrified and I don’t know what to do.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
I stand on shaky legs and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to consider pregnancy. Motherhood. I know my life. I know the challenges. I know what I went through losing my own mother. I didn’t want to make my own child go through that pain.
I splash cold water on my face and take a deep breath.
Sergei is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looks exhausted. Defeated.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He looks up at me. “We found Yuri.”
My stomach drops. “Where?”
“He’s gone underground. But we have a location. Kirill is putting together a team.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Tonight. It’s happening tonight.
“You’re going?”
He nods.
Fear grips me. I should tell him. Maybe he’ll stay and let his men handle things.
“I’ll be back late,” he says. His lips brush over mine. “Rest. You look tired. I won’t wake you when I come in.”
I almost tell him.
And then he’s gone.