Chapter 37 Sophia
SOPHIA
I stand at the window of our bedroom, my hand resting on the slight swell of my stomach that’s just beginning to show.
Three months pregnant, and already I can feel how everything has changed.
Not just my body, but the entire dynamic between Mikhail and me.
He sits at his desk across the room, his blonde hair catching the afternoon light as he reviews documents.
Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches as he reads. He’s been like this for days, ever since the confrontation with Torrino ended.
“We need to talk,” I say, turning to face him.
His green eyes lift to meet mine, and I see the wariness there. He knows what’s coming. We’ve been dancing around this conversation since he told me he was going back to his old ways.
“About what?” His voice is carefully neutral.
“About our child.” I move closer, my hand still protective over my belly. “About the world we’re bringing them into.”
Mikhail sets down his pen and leans back in his chair. “I’m doing this to protect you. To protect our baby.”
“By becoming the monster again?” The words come out sharper than I intend. “By surrounding our child with violence and death?”
“By making sure no one dares to threaten our family.” He stands and crosses to me, his hands gentle as they cover mine on my stomach.
I want to pull away, but the warmth of his touch, the genuine concern in his eyes, keeps me rooted in place. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” His voice is firm, final. “I’ve spent weeks thinking about this. The only way to keep you safe, to keep our baby safe, is to be stronger than everyone else. More feared. More powerful.”
“So our child grows up watching their father kill people? Learning that violence is the answer to every problem?” My voice breaks despite my attempt to stay strong. “That’s not the life I want for them.”
Mikhail’s hands tighten on mine. “It’s the life that will keep them alive.”
I step back, breaking the contact. “I can’t do this, Mikhail. I can’t watch you disappear into that darkness again. I won’t raise our child in a world where every day could be their last because of who their father is.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or pain. “What are you saying?”
I don’t answer directly.
Can’t bring myself to say the words that have been forming in my mind for days.
Instead, I turn back to the window, my arms wrapped around myself. “I’m saying I need to think about what’s best for our baby.”
The silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. I hear him move behind me, feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches away.
“You’re thinking about leaving.” It’s not a question.
“I’m thinking about our child’s future.” I force myself to meet his gaze in the window’s reflection. “And whether that future includes watching their father become the very thing he once fought against.”
His jaw clenches, and I see the war playing out behind his eyes. The man who loves me versus the pakhan who knows only one way to protect what’s his.
“I love you,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I love you and our child more than anything in this world. But I can’t be weak. Not now. Not when there are still enemies out there who would use that weakness against us.”
“Loving me isn’t weakness.” I turn to face him fully. “Choosing a different path isn’t weakness. It’s strength, Mikhail. Real strength.”
He reaches for me, his hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. “I’m trying, Sophia. I’m trying to find a balance. But you have to understand that my world doesn’t allow for half measures. Either I’m the pakhan, or I’m nothing. And if I’m nothing, I can’t protect you.”
I lean into his touch despite my frustration. “Then maybe we need to leave. Go somewhere far away where no one knows us. Start over completely.”
“They’ll find us.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “Men like Torrino, like the families who still have grudges against me, they have long memories and longer reaches. Running won’t save us. It’ll just make us easier targets.”
The truth of his words settles over me like a weight.
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
But I also can’t accept that violence is our only option.
“I need some air,” I say, pulling away from him. “I need to think.”
He doesn’t try to stop me as I leave the room, though I feel his eyes on me until I turn the corner.
I find Melinda in the guest room, reading a book on the window seat. She looks up when I enter, and her expression immediately shifts to concern.
“What’s wrong?” She sets the book aside and pats the cushion beside her.
I sink down next to her, and suddenly the tears I’ve been holding back start to fall. “I don’t know what to do, Mel. I don’t know how to save him from himself.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Tell me everything.”
So I do. I tell her about Mikhail’s insistence on returning to his old ways, about my fear for our child’s future, about the impossible choice I’m facing.
She listens without interrupting, her presence a comfort I desperately need.
“Do you love him?” she asks when I finally fall silent.
“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. “God help me, I love him so much it terrifies me.”
“And does he love you?”
“Yes.” I wipe at my tears. “But I don’t know if love is enough when the world he lives in demands so much violence.”
Melinda is quiet for a moment. “You know what I think? I think you’re both right and both wrong.”
I pull back to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“Mikhail’s right that he can’t just walk away from his world. Too many people depend on him, and his enemies won’t let him retire peacefully.” She takes my hand. “But you’re right that he can’t keep solving every problem with violence. Not if he wants to be the kind of father your child deserves.”
“So what do I do?”
“You find a middle ground.” She squeezes my hand. “You help him see that being strong doesn’t always mean being brutal. That protecting his family can mean being smart and strategic instead of just feared.”
“He won’t listen to me. He thinks I’m naive about his world.”
“Then make him listen.” Melinda’s voice is firm. “You’ve proven yourself over and over. Use that. Show him you can be his partner in this, not just someone he needs to protect.”
Her words spark something in me. Hope, maybe. Or determination. “You really think I can change his mind?”
“I think if anyone can reach him, it’s you.
” She smiles. “You’ve already changed him more than he probably realizes.
The man who kidnapped you would never have shown mercy to Marco.
He would never have tried to go legitimate in the first place.
You’ve made him want to be better, Sophia.
Now you just need to help him figure out how. ”
I hug her tightly, grateful for her presence in my life. “Thank you. For everything. For staying here, for listening, for not judging me for loving a man who’s done terrible things.”
“That’s what best friends are for.” She pulls back and wipes a tear from my cheek. “Now go talk to your husband. Really talk to him. Make him understand what’s at stake.”
I nod, feeling more centered than I have in days. But as I stand, a sharp pain lances through my abdomen, making me gasp.
“Sophia?” Melinda’s voice is sharp with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I press my hand to my stomach, feeling another cramp. “It hurts.”
The pain intensifies, and I double over. Melinda catches me, her arm around my waist as she helps me to the bed.
“I’m calling Mikhail,” she says, already reaching for her phone.
“No, wait.” I try to breathe through the pain. “It’s probably nothing. Just stress.”
But even as I say it, I feel something warm and wet between my legs. When I look down, I see blood seeping through my pants.
“Mikhail!” Melinda’s scream echoes through the mansion. “Mikhail!”
The pain is getting worse, radiating through my entire body.
I curl into myself, terrified for my baby, for the tiny life growing inside me that suddenly feels so fragile.
Mikhail bursts through the door, his face going white when he sees me. “What happened?”
“She’s bleeding.” Melinda’s voice is steady despite the fear in her eyes. “We need to get her to the doctor.”
He scoops me into his arms without hesitation, and I cling to him as another wave of pain crashes over me.
“Hold on,” he murmurs against my hair. “Just hold on, moya lyubov. I’ve got you.”
As he carries me toward the door, all thoughts of our argument, of leaving, of the future we were fighting about, fade away.
All that matters is the life inside me and the desperate hope that it’s not too late.
The last thing I see before the pain overwhelms me is Mikhail’s face, his green eyes filled with a terror I’ve never seen before.
And I realize that no matter what happens between us, no matter what choices we make about his world and our place in it, we’re bound together now by something stronger than love or fear.
We’re bound by the tiny heartbeat that might be fading even as he races me toward help.