Chapter 19
Celia
T he constant hum of electronics fills the compound’s main room where I spend most of my waking hours now. Three laptops sit open on the long table, their screens glowing with spreadsheets, encrypted files, and browser windows filled with government databases wo which Leonid somehow gained access.
I lean back in my chair and rub my temples, trying to ease the headache that’s been building behind my eyes for the past hour. It reminds me of Gemma’s solution of two ibuprofen and a shot of tequila to fix a headache, filling me with nostalgia and longing for simpler times for a moment.
“Find anything useful in the Miami field office records?” Leonid asks without looking up from his own screen. His fingers move across the keyboard with surprising speed for someone with hands that look like they could crush concrete.
I scroll through another list of agent assignments and cross-references.
“Agent Torres has been involved in at least twelve major drug trafficking cases over the past two years, but half of them ended with plea bargains or evidence mysteriously disappearing.” I highlight the relevant entries and save them to our growing file.
“Either he’s the unluckiest agent in Florida, or he’s actively sabotaging prosecutions. ”
“Unlucky agents don’t drive sixty-thousand-dollar cars on government salaries,” Yefrem says from across the room where he’s been studying financial records spread across a second table. “Add him to the list of confirmed targets.”
The list has grown longer each day. What started as Marcus Lang and a few suspected partners has expanded into a network of fifteen confirmed corrupt agents across multiple field offices, with connections reaching into the highest levels of federal law enforcement.
Every name we add makes our situation more dangerous, but it also makes our evidence more valuable.
I save the Torres file and stretch my arms above my head, noting the stiffness in my shoulders from hunching over the laptop for hours.
The compound offers safety and security, but the isolation is starting to wear on me.
The only people I see are Yefrem, Leonid, and occasionally, one of the security personnel who brings supplies or status reports.
A wave of nausea hits me without warning. I press my hand to my mouth and try to breathe through it, hoping it will pass like it has the past few mornings. Instead, it intensifies, and I have to rush to the bathroom down the hall.
I make it just in time, retching into the toilet while my stomach cramps painfully. When the spasms finally stop, I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth with shaking hands. This is the fourth time this week, and it’s getting harder to pretend everything is normal.
“Celia?” Yefrem’s voice comes from outside the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”
I flush the toilet and splash cold water on my face before opening the door. He’s standing in the hallway with a concerned expression that makes guilt twist in my chest alongside the lingering nausea.
“I’m fine. Just feeling a little sick.” I try to walk past him back to the main room, but he catches my arm gently.
“You’ve been sick every morning this week. Maybe we should have someone look at you.”
The suggestion makes panic flutter in my chest. A doctor would know immediately what’s wrong with me, and I’m not ready for that conversation yet. I’m not ready for any of the conversations that would follow.
“It’s just stress,” I say, pulling away from his grip. “With everything that’s happened, my body is probably just trying to process the trauma.”
Yefrem doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push the issue. “If it continues, we’re getting you medical attention whether you want it or not.”
I nod and return to my seat at the laptop, hoping he can’t see how my hands are trembling slightly.
Leonid glances up from his screen with a questioning look, but I shake my head and focus on the financial records in front of me.
Sometime in the past weeks, he’s started to soften to me and is no longer overtly disapproving of me being here.
Dare I think he might actually have started to like me?
He seems to in the way he shows concern and takes care of me just as he does Yefrem.
The morning sickness, because that’s what I’m increasingly certain it is, has been accompanied by other symptoms I’ve been trying to ignore.
My breasts are tender, my sense of smell has become hypersensitive, and I’m exhausted even after sleeping ten hours.
All signs point to one terrifying possibility that I haven’t been able to bring myself to fully acknowledge.
I try to focus on the work, but my mind keeps drifting to calculations.
Our night together was a little more than three weeks ago.
I haven’t had a period since before then, but with all the stress and upheaval, I convinced myself it was just my body responding to trauma.
Now, with the morning nausea getting worse instead of better, denial is becoming impossible.
“Leonid,” I say quietly when Yefrem steps outside to check the perimeter security. “Can I ask you something?”
He looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised in question.
I glance toward the door to make sure Yefrem is really gone, then lean forward conspiratorially. “If someone needed to go to town for something personal, something private, would that be possible?”
His expression becomes guarded. “What kind of something?”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “The kind of something that comes in a small box from a pharmacy and gives you answers you’re not sure you want.”
Understanding dawns on his face, followed by something that might be sympathy. He closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, studying me carefully. “How sure are you?” he asks.
“Sure enough that I need to know for certain.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “But I can’t ask Yefrem. Not yet. Not until I know what I’m dealing with.”
Leonid nods slowly. “There’s a town about forty minutes from here. Small enough that strangers don’t attract attention but big enough that they have what you need.” He stands and reaches for his jacket. “I’ll go now, before Yefrem gets back from his security check.”
Relief floods through me so intensely that I have to blink back tears. “Thank you. I know this isn’t exactly part of your job description.”
“My job is keeping both of you safe,” he says simply. “That includes keeping you healthy and sane.”
After he leaves, I try to return to the financial records, but concentration is impossible.
My mind keeps spinning through scenarios, imagining conversations I might have to have, and futures for which I never planned.
Motherhood was a fuzzy future concept, and I had never imagined the man who might father that possible child.
Had I, it wouldn’t have been a bratva pakhan .
The possibility of being pregnant terrifies me, but underneath the fear is something else that feels dangerously close to hope.
I’ve always wanted children someday, just not under these circumstances. Not while living in hiding from corrupt federal agents and organized crime families. Not with a man whose world is filled with violence and danger, when our own future is so uncertain.
Still, as I sit alone in the quiet compound, surrounded by evidence of corruption that could destroy lives and topple governments, I realize that bringing new life into this chaos might be exactly what I need.
It would give me a reason to fight harder, to demand a better outcome, and to refuse to accept that running and hiding is our only option.
The sound of Yefrem’s boots on the porch makes me quickly minimize the browser window I’d been staring at without reading. He enters with a slight frown, scanning the room.
“Where’s Leonid?”
“Supply run,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. “He said we were running low on a few things.”
Yefrem nods and settles back at his table of documents. “How are you feeling? Better?”
“A little.” I force myself to focus on the laptop screen, pretending to study agent assignment records while my mind races through possibilities and fears.
An hour later, Leonid returns with a discreet pharmacy bag that he sets on the table beside my laptop without comment. Yefrem doesn’t even look up from his papers, too absorbed in tracing financial connections between corrupt agents and their criminal partners.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, clutching the small box that will determine the course of the rest of my life.
I can’t wait any longer to know now that it’s here.
My hands shake as I read the instructions, which I read three times, though I suspect it’s simple enough I could wing it and still get it to work.
The test is straightforward. I just pee on a stick and wait three minutes for results.
Three minutes to find out if everything changes.
I follow the instructions and set the test on the bathroom counter, then pace the small space while I wait. The three minutes feel like three hours. I check my phone obsessively, watching the seconds tick by with agonizing slowness.
When the timer finally goes off, I take a deep breath and look at the test.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
I sink onto the closed toilet seat and stare at the plastic stick in my hands. Two clear, unmistakable pink lines that confirm what my body has been trying to tell me for at least a week. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Yefrem’s child.
The reality is like a smack to the face.
Everything has changed in the span of three minutes.
The stakes of our situation have just escalated beyond anything I could have imagined.
It’s not just about Yefrem and me anymore, or even about bringing down a corrupt network of federal agents.
Now, there’s a life growing inside me, an innocent child who will inherit whatever world we create or destroy.
Tears start flowing before I realize I’m crying. They’re not tears of joy or sadness exactly, but something more complex—fear mixed with wonder, and terror combined with fierce protectiveness for this tiny life that’s barely begun.
I wrap the test in tissue and hide it in my pocket, then splash cold water on my face until the redness around my eyes fades. When I return to the main room, both Yefrem and Leonid look up questioningly.
“Everything all right?” asks Yefrem.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. Leonid’s gaze meet mine across the room, and I give him the smallest nod.
He understands immediately and returns to his laptop without comment.
I should probably tell Yefrem before Leonid, but somehow, it’s easier with Leonid, because he isn’t as personally involved.
For the rest of the afternoon, I go through the motions of research and analysis while my mind spins through the consequences of what I’ve learned.
Every decision we make now affects not just our safety, but the safety of my unborn child.
Every risk we take becomes magnified by the responsibility I now carry.
As evening approaches, and we prepare dinner, I watch Yefrem moving around the kitchen with efficient competence.
He’s gentle when he hands me a glass of water, mindful of my recent nausea without understanding its true cause.
Part of me wants to tell him immediately, to share this earth-shaking news and face whatever comes next together.
I hold back because another part of me knows that once I tell him, everything will change between us. He’ll become even more protective, more cautious, and possibly less willing to take the risks necessary to bring down Lang’s network. The pregnancy will become another factor in every decision.
I need time to process this myself before I can help him process it. I need to understand how I feel about being tied to Yefrem in this most fundamental way before I can gauge his reaction to the same news.
That night, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, I place my hand on my still-flat stomach and try to imagine the life growing there.
It’s too early for movement or visible changes, but knowing makes everything feel different.
My body is no longer just mine. My future is no longer just about my own survival and happiness.
The child I’m carrying will grow up in whatever world we create. If we succeed in exposing the corruption and disappearing into new identities, our baby will have a chance at a normal life. If we fail, if we’re caught or killed, our child will inherit danger and uncertainty.
The responsibility is overwhelming, but it also brings clarity. I know with absolute certainty that I want to keep this baby and want to build a life with Yefrem that includes the family we’ve accidentally created, but that means fighting harder than ever to ensure we have a future worth living.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell Yefrem, and we’ll figure out how to adjust our plans to account for this new reality.
Tonight, I hold the secret close and let myself imagine what it might feel like to be truly free—not just from the corruption network that threatens us, but free to love completely, to build something permanent, and to create a life together that’s worth protecting without looking over our shoulders or mired in violence.
The stakes have never been higher, but for the first time since this nightmare began, I have a reason to fight for that’s entirely my own.
Not one thrust upon me, or a situation from which I can’t escape, but a true, personal stake in this situation, and as protective instincts stir to life, I suddenly almost feel sorry for the people who are trying to destroy us.
We won’t allow that to happen when we have something so valuable to protect.