Chapter 21Elena
21
Elena
T he smell of antiseptic hits me as I push through the hospital doors, my stomach immediately protesting. I swallow hard against the wave of nausea that’s become my unwelcome morning companion. Four days of this, and I’m already tired of feeling like I might throw up at any moment.
I check my watch, and it’s still fifteen minutes before my shift starts. Plenty of time to collect myself in the locker room before rounds. The hallway stretches before me, seeming twice as long as usual. I pass the nurses’ station, offering a weak smile to the charge nurse, who waves at me. My hand instinctively moves to my abdomen, then drops away quickly. No need to broadcast what’s happening before I’ve even told the father.
The father. Damir. My husband.
The word still feels strange, even after four months of marriage. What had started as a business arrangement has evolved into something real. Something that terrifies me in its intensity.
The locker room is mercifully empty when I arrive, except for Liv, who’s changing into her scrubs. Her dark curls are pulled back in a neat ponytail, and she looks annoyingly fresh and alert. “You look like death warmed over,” she says, eyeing me as I slump onto the bench.
“Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.” I open my locker, the metal door creaking loudly in the quiet room.
“Morning sickness?” she asks, lowering her voice even though we’re alone.
I nod, pulling out my scrubs. “It’s getting worse. I nearly threw up in the car on the way here.”
“Did your security detail notice?”
“No. Fydor was too busy scanning for threats, and Lev was driving. Valeriya is off today, taking care of her sick mother again.” I change quickly, the familiar routine requiring little thought. “I can’t keep this secret much longer. Not from Damir, and not from work.”
“So you haven’t told him yet?” Liv sits beside me, looking concerned.
I shake my head, pulling my phone from my bag. “No. I keep trying to find the right moment, but...”
“But what? Elena, it’s been four days since you took the test.”
I unlock my phone and pull up the photos, handing it to her. “Look.”
Liv scrolls through the images of three different pregnancy tests, all positive. “Wow. No ambiguity there.”
“I know.” I take the phone back, staring at the evidence of my new reality. “I’m pregnant with a bratva pakhan’s baby, Liv. This wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“Your ‘arrangement’ went out the window the first time you slept with him,” Liv points out. “Which, if I recall correctly, was the night of your wedding.”
My cheeks warm at the memory. “That was supposed to be a fringe benefit thing.”
“And yet...” Liv gestures vaguely at my midsection.
“I know, I know.” I close my eyes, leaning back against the lockers. “I’m just not sure how he’ll react. Will this be a complication for him? Or a blessing? Or will he see it as something that strengthens our cover story?”
“Is that what you’re worried about? That he’ll see your baby as a business asset?” Liv’s voice sharpens.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” I open my eyes, meeting her gaze. “Sometimes, I look at him and see this dangerous man, who orders executions and runs a criminal empire. Other times...” I trail off, remembering Damir cooking breakfast, telling me about his childhood, and the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m sleeping.
“Other times you see the man you’re falling in love with,” she finishes for me.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Liv stands, straightening her scrubs. “The fact that you’re so afraid to tell him might mean you care more about his reaction than you want to admit.”
I start to protest, but the locker room door swings open as more staff arrive for the morning shift. I close my mouth, tucking away my phone.
“Think about it,” whispers Liv, squeezing my shoulder before heading out. “And eat something bland. Crackers helped my sister with morning sickness.”
I nod, promising to meet her for lunch if our schedules align. As I finish getting ready, Liv’s words echo in my mind. Am I falling in love with Damir? The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.
“Clarke, what’s the patient’s potassium level?” asks Dr. Patel, her gaze fixed on the chart in her hands.
I blink, trying to focus on the numbers in front of me. We’re halfway through rounds, and my concentration keeps slipping. “Um, 3.8,” I answer, scanning the lab values.
Dr. Patel looks up, brow wrinkled. “Look again.”
I check the numbers more carefully this time. “Sorry, 5.4.”
“That’s a critical value, Clarke. The patient needs intervention immediately.” Dr. Patel’s voice is sharp with disappointment. “Order IV calcium gluconate and insulin with glucose. Now.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Shame washes over me as I hurry to place the orders. This isn’t like me. I’m always meticulous and always prepared. I never miss critical lab values. The rest of rounds passes in a blur of self-recrimination.
When we finally finish, Dr. Patel pulls me aside. “Is everything all right, Clarke? You’re not usually this distracted.”
“I’m fine, Dr. Patel. Just didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not entirely a lie. Between the nausea and my racing thoughts about the pregnancy, sleep has been elusive.
She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Get some rest tonight. I need you sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
As she walks away, I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. This pregnancy is already affecting my work. I need to tell Damir soon, before my performance suffers further or someone else notices the changes in me.
The rest of my shift drags on, each hour marked by waves of nausea that I fight to control. By the time I’m scheduled to leave, fatigue weighs on me like a physical burden. I change back into my street clothes and slip on the necklace, grateful that my shift is finally over.
I pull out my phone to text my driver that I’m ready earlier than expected. Valeriya is off again today, and Lev didn’t follow me around like she would. I didn’t think much of it until now when he’s not around as I look for him. Instead, I text Fydor, figuring maybe they’re together.
Finishing up now, Fydor. Ready whenever you are.
The response comes quickly: We’re stuck in the garage. One idiot rammed another, blocking access to and from the garage until the tow truck arrives. Alternate arrangements en route . ETA TBD. Please wait inside the hospital for safety.
I groan, slumping against the wall. The thought of waiting in the crowded hospital lobby for who knows how long makes my stomach turn. Between the noise, the smells, and the constant movement, it’s the last place I want to be right now.
Understood.
I make my way to the lobby, finding a seat near the entrance. The space is packed with people—patients waiting to be discharged, visitors coming and going, and staff changing shifts. The conglomeration of voices, ringing phones, and overhead announcements assaults my senses.
Twenty minutes later, my nausea has intensified. The smell of someone’s takeout food wafts over from nearby, and my stomach lurches dangerously. I need air.
I stand up, grabbing my bag and heading for the exit. Just a few minutes outside. Just enough to clear my head and settle my stomach.
The automatic doors slide open, and I step out into the cool evening air. The temperature has dropped since morning, and a light breeze carries the scent of approaching rain. I take deep breaths, moving away from the entrance to a quieter spot near a small garden area.
The nausea recedes slightly while I focus on my breathing. In and out. Slow and steady. The tension in my shoulders begins to ease. I should go back inside. Damir would be furious if he knew I was outside alone, even on hospital grounds. His security protocols are strict for a reason, but the thought of returning to that crowded, noisy lobby makes my stomach clench again.
Just five more minutes of peace and fresh air before I go back in.
I sit on a bench, watching as hospital staff come and go through the parking lot. My hand rests on my still-flat abdomen, and for the first time since seeing those positive tests, I allow myself to really imagine the future—a baby with Damir’s blue eyes and my dark hair, making a family I never expected to have.
The image brings an unexpected lump to my throat. I want this baby. I want this life with Damir, complicated and dangerous as it might be. The realization settles over me with surprising clarity that I need to tell him tonight. Whatever his reaction, he deserves to know.
A drop of rain lands on my cheek, pulling me from my thoughts. The sky has darkened considerably in the short time I’ve been outside. I stand, preparing to head back into the hospital when movement at the edge of the parking lot catches my eye.
A figure stands partially concealed by a large SUV, watching the hospital entrance. Something about their posture—tense, alert, and purposeful—catches my attention. I take a step back toward the hospital doors, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. The security protocols Damir insists on don’t seem excessive but necessary now.
I turn to head back inside when a strong hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me backward. The threat doesn’t come from the suspicious SUV. I idly note that driver getting in their vehicle and driving off a second later.
The grip is intentionally bruising, returning my attention where it belongs. I go rigid with shock as I’m pulled against a solid chest.
“Mrs. Antonova,” hisses a male voice near my ear. “You’re coming with me.”
I don’t recognize the voice. I open my mouth to scream, drawing in a deep breath. The crack of a gunshot splits the air before any sound leaves my throat.
The hand on my arm suddenly goes slack. The man’s body crumples behind me, hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. I spin around, my heart slamming against my ribs. Blood pools beneath the man’s head, spreading across the concrete in a dark, viscous puddle. A perfect hole marks the center of his forehead, and his eyes are open in permanent surprise.
My gaze lifts from the body to see Damir standing twenty yards away near a black SUV that wasn’t there moments before. His arm is extended, gun still aimed at where the man had stood. His face is carved from stone, eyes cold and deadly.
Anton emerges from the passenger side of the vehicle, his own weapon drawn. He scans the parking lot, speaking rapidly into a communication device clipped to his jacket.
“Perimeter secure. Target neutralized. Get the cleanup crew here now. Hospital security will be responding to the gunshot.”
I stand frozen, unable to move as Damir strides toward me. His expression shifts between murderous rage and profound relief. He holsters his weapon beneath his tailored suit jacket with practiced efficiency.
“Are you hurt?” Damir’s gaze rakes over me, searching for injuries.
I shake my head, still unable to form words. My brain struggles to process what just happened. The man. The gunshot. The blood spreading across the pavement.
He reaches me in four long strides, pulling me against him. His hands move over my shoulders and down my arms, checking for himself that I’m unharmed. His touch is clinical and thorough.
“What were you thinking?” His voice is low, controlled, but I hear the fury underneath. “Where is your security detail?”
“Stuck in the garage. I needed air. The lobby was crowded and I felt sick?—”
“You left a safe spot because you felt sick?” Damir’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You could have been killed, Elena.”
Before I can respond, the hospital’s security team bursts through the emergency exit doors, weapons drawn. Two men in suits—Damir’s men—intercept them immediately, flashing credentials. “Private security contractors,” explains one smoothly. “We responded to an attempted kidnapping of Dr. Antonova. The situation is contained.”
The hospital security guards look uncertain, eyeing the body on the ground.
“We’ve already contacted the proper authorities,” says Damir’s man. “They’ll be here shortly to process the scene.”
I watch in stunned silence as Damir’s team takes complete control of the situation. The hospital security guards lower their weapons, deferring to the men who speak with such authority.
Damir shrugs out of his coat—a beautiful charcoal wool that probably costs more than a month of my old rent—and wraps it around my shoulders. The fabric carries his scent of expensive cologne, cedar, and a trace of coffee. It envelops me like a shield.
“Come,” he says, his hand at the small of my back guiding me toward the SUV. “We’re leaving.”
I glance back at the body. “Shouldn’t I give a statement? The police?—”
“My team will handle everything.” His tone leaves no room for argument as he moves his hand from my back to my abdomen, resting there protectively while he guides me forward.
The gesture makes me freeze mid-step. His large hand splays across my still-flat stomach, warm and possessive. Does he know? How could he possibly know?
I look up at his face, searching for some indication, but his expression reveals nothing when he opens the SUV door for me.
“Get in,” he says, his voice gentler now. “You’re safe.”
I slide into the backseat, Damir following close behind me. Anton takes the front passenger seat while a driver I don’t recognize starts the engine. The interior is warm and smells of leather. Tinted windows shield us from view as we pull away from the hospital.
“Who was he?” I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.
“One of Nikolai’s men,” says Anton, turning in his seat to face us. “We’ve been tracking him for three days. He’s been watching the hospital.”
“You knew someone was watching me?” I turn to Damir, anger flaring. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“We increased your security detail,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily?” I gesture toward the hospital receding behind us. “That man just tried to kidnap me.”
“And now he’s dead.” Damir’s voice is matter-of-fact. “The threat has been eliminated.”
“Until the next one,” I mutter, pulling his coat tighter around me. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and cold.
His jaw tightens. “There will always be threats. This is my world and why I have protocols in place—protocols you chose to ignore today.”
Guilt and fear twist in my stomach. He’s right. I knew better than to go outside alone, even on hospital grounds. I’d been careless, distracted by my pregnancy and the question of how to tell him. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Something in my tone must alert him because his expression softens slightly. He reaches for my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?” he asks, studying my face.
“I’m fine. Just shaken.” I hesitate, wondering if this is the moment to tell him about the baby. The words form on my tongue, but the SUV turns onto the private road leading to our penthouse. Security gates open automatically when we approach. “What happens now?” I ask.
“Now, we reevaluate our security protocols,” says Damir. “Nikolai is getting bolder. This attack was meant to draw me out, to use you as leverage against me.” Damir’s hand tightens around mine. “We need to be more careful. No more unscheduled outings. No more slipping away from your security detail.”
I nod, too exhausted to argue. The events of the day have left me drained. As we pull into the underground garage, his hand moves to my abdomen again, resting there with gentle pressure. The gesture seems too deliberate to be coincidental.
“Damir,” I start, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He meets my gaze, and his is intense and knowing. “Later,” he says softly. “When we’re alone.”
The car stops. Anton exits first, checking the garage before opening our door. Damir helps me out, his hand never leaving the small of my back as he guides me toward the private elevator. I’d planned to tell Damir tonight, but I suspect he already knows somehow. I’m more nervous that I would have been otherwise, wondering if he’s going to be angry that I didn’t tell him sooner, excited, dismayed, or some complicated blend of emotions like those that assailed me when I first found out four days ago.