Chapter 43 Sophia
SOPHIA
The cramping starts again as I sit at the small desk in my room, my laptop open to yet another website about witness protection programs.
I press my hand against my lower abdomen, willing the pain to subside.
It’s been happening more frequently over the past few weeks, sharp little reminders that something isn’t right with this pregnancy.
I should tell Mikhail. I know I should.
But every time I open my mouth to say the words, I see the fear that already lives in his green eyes whenever he looks at me.
The way his jaw tightens when I wince.
The protective hand that automatically moves to my stomach as if he can shield our baby through sheer force of will.
He’s already drowning in guilt and responsibility.
I won’t add to that burden.
The cramp intensifies, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
After a moment, it passes, leaving me breathless and shaking.
I close the laptop quickly as I hear footsteps in the hallway.
Elena appears in the doorway with a tray of tea and crackers, her blue eyes immediately finding mine with concern.
“How bad is it today?” she asks quietly, setting the tray down and closing the door behind her.
“Manageable.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Elena crosses her arms, her petite frame somehow managing to look intimidating. “Mrs. Artyomov, you need to tell him. These symptoms are getting worse.”
“I can’t.” I reach for the tea with trembling hands. “He’s already dealing with so much. The power struggles, the threats, trying to go legitimate while keeping everyone safe. If he knew how bad this was getting, he’d lose his mind.”
“He’s going to lose more than his mind if something happens to you or the baby.” Elena sits in the chair across from me, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve watched you double over in pain when you think no one is looking. This isn’t just morning sickness or normal pregnancy discomfort.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back furiously.
I’ve been crying over everything lately.
Yesterday I sobbed for twenty minutes because I couldn’t find my favorite sweater.
The day before, I broke down watching a commercial about puppies.
I don’t know if it’s the hormones or the fear that’s been building inside me like a tidal wave.
“What if I’m not strong enough for this?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “What if bringing a child into Mikhail’s world is the most selfish thing I could do?”
Elena’s expression softens. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. You’ve survived things that would have broken most people.”
“But is that enough?” I set down the tea, my hands shaking too badly to hold the cup. “I’ve been researching safe houses, Elena. New identities. Places where Mikhail and I could disappear with the baby and start over completely.”
“Does he know?”
I shake my head. “He’d never agree to it. Too many people depend on him. His men, their families, all the legitimate businesses. He can’t just walk away.”
“So you’re planning to leave him?” Elena’s voice is carefully neutral.
“I don’t know.” The admission makes my chest ache. “I love him so much it terrifies me. But I’m bringing a child into a world where people get kidnapped and tortured. Where bullets fly and bodies drop. What kind of mother does that make me?”
Another cramp hits, stronger this time, and I gasp. Elena is at my side immediately, her hand on my shoulder.
“That’s it,” she says firmly. “I’m calling the doctor.”
“No.” I grab her wrist. “Please. Just give me a few more days. I have an appointment scheduled for next week. If things aren’t better by then, I’ll tell Mikhail everything. I promise.”
Elena studies my face for a long moment, then sighs. “Three days. That’s all I’m giving you. If you’re not better in three days, I’m telling him myself.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand gratefully.
After Elena leaves, I return to my research, only this time I go to Mikhail’s office.
The sunlight is better there, the room more open and airy.
The websites blur together as I read about witness protection, about how to disappear completely, about starting over in a new country with a new name.
Part of me knows it’s futile.
Mikhail would find me.
He has resources and connections that span the globe.
But the other part, the terrified part that’s growing stronger every day, needs to know there’s an escape route if everything falls apart.
The afternoon drags by in a haze of pain and fear.
I try to eat the crackers Elena brought, but my stomach rebels.
I manage a few sips of tea before another wave of cramping forces me to lie down on the leather couch in Mikhail’s office.
I must doze off because I wake to the sound of Mikhail’s voice in the hallway.
My heart leaps, a mixture of relief and anxiety flooding through me.
I sit up too quickly, and the room spins.
“Sophia?” Mikhail appears in the doorway, his blonde hair slightly disheveled, his green eyes immediately scanning me with concern. “What are you doing in here? You should be resting in bed.”
“I was just working on some things.” I gesture vaguely at the closed laptop. “Lost track of time.”
He crosses to me in three long strides, his hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. “You look pale. Are you feeling all right?”
“Just tired.” Another lie. They’re coming so easily now. “How was your day?”
“Complicated.” He sits beside me, and I lean into his warmth instinctively. “But nothing I can’t handle. The question is, how are you really feeling?”
For a moment, I consider telling him everything. But then I see the exhaustion etched into his features, the tension in his shoulders, and I can’t do it.
“I’m fine,” I say instead. “The baby and I are both fine.”
He studies my face, and I know he doesn’t entirely believe me. But he doesn’t push, just pulls me closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you,” he murmurs against my skin. “Both of you.”
“I love you too.” The words are true, even if everything else I’m saying is a lie.
That night, I lie awake long after Mikhail falls asleep, his arm draped protectively across my waist. I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing through scenarios and possibilities.
What if the pregnancy complications get worse?
What if I lose the baby? What if something happens to Mikhail and I’m left alone to raise our child in this violent world?
The questions spiral endlessly, feeding the fear that’s been growing inside me.
By the time dawn breaks, I haven’t slept at all.
The next two days pass in a blur of hidden pain and forced smiles.
I avoid Mikhail as much as possible, claiming I need rest.
Elena checks on me constantly, her concern growing with each passing hour.
The cramping intensifies, and I start spotting blood.
Not much, just enough to terrify me.
On the third day, I wake to find Mikhail already gone.
A note on his pillow says he had an early meeting and will be back by dinner.
Relief and disappointment war in my chest.
I need space to deal with this, but I also desperately want him here.
I force myself out of bed and dress in loose, comfortable clothes.
The compound feels suffocating today, the walls pressing in on me.
I need air.
I need to think.
The garden behind the mansion is my favorite place on the property.
Mikhail had it designed with high walls and security cameras, but it still feels like a small piece of freedom.
I make my way there slowly, one hand pressed against my lower back where a dull ache has settled.
The morning sun is warm on my face as I walk among the roses and lavender.
For a moment, I can almost pretend this is a normal life.
That I’m just a pregnant woman enjoying her garden, not the wife of a mafia boss living in constant fear.
The cramp hits without warning, so intense it drives me to my knees. I gasp, my hands clutching my stomach as pain radiates through my entire body.
This is different from before.
Sharper.
More urgent.
I try to stand, to call for help, but my legs won’t support me.
The world tilts sickeningly, and I feel something warm and wet between my thighs.
When I look down, I see blood seeping through my pants.
No. No, no, no.
“Help,” I try to shout, but it comes out as a whisper. “Someone help me.”
The pain intensifies, and I curl into myself on the garden path. Tears stream down my face as I press my hands against my stomach, as if I can somehow hold our baby inside through sheer desperation.
“Please,” I sob to no one and everyone. “Please don’t take my baby. Please.”
The last thing I see before darkness claims me is the blue sky above, cloudless and indifferent to my terror.
And the last thought that crosses my mind is a prayer that Mikhail will forgive me for not telling him sooner.