Chapter 22Damir
22
Damir
T he private elevator to the penthouse ascends in tense silence. Elena’s hands still shake, the blood of her would-be kidnapper visible on her shoes. I maintain physical contact with her, my hand firmly on her lower back, but my expression remains cold, controlled fury. The metallic scent of blood mingles with Elena’s perfume in the confined space. My thumb traces small circles against the fabric of my coat that she wears in a gesture of reassurance that contradicts the storm brewing inside me.
Inside the penthouse, I direct my security team to sweep the entire floor again before dismissing them.
“Every corner. Every vent. Every possible entry point,” I tell Anton, my voice low and precise. “I want triple the usual surveillance tonight.”
Anton nods once, sharply. “You got it.”
They disperse throughout the apartment, their movements efficient and practiced. The soft beep of their communication devices punctuates the silence as they report clear zones to each other. Elena stands near the entrance, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the blood on her shoes.
When Anton returns with confirmation that the penthouse is secure, I dismiss the team with a nod. The door closes behind them with a soft click that echoes in the quiet space.
I cross to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as it flows from the crystal decanter. The familiar ritual does nothing to calm the rage simmering beneath my skin. I don’t drink it, instead setting it down with precise control as I turn to face Elena.
“You waited outside despite explicit instructions not to.” My voice is eerily calm, at odds with the fury coursing through me. “You positioned yourself in a vulnerable location. You ignored established protocols.”
Elena’s eyes widen slightly as she parts her lips to respond, but I continue before she can speak.
“Every security measure I’ve put in place—every guard, every camera, every protocol—exists for a reason.” I step closer to her, my gaze never leaving hers. “Tonight proved that.”
She takes a step back, her shoulder blades pressing against the wall. “Damir, I?—”
“What were you thinking, running into the night with my child inside you?”
Her sharp intake of breath confirms what her eyes already reveal—shock that I know. The color drains from her face as her fingers instinctively move to her stomach. “How did you?—?”
“The receipt for the pregnancy test in your desk.” I move toward her slowly, deliberately. “I found it two days ago.”
Her eyes widen. “You went through my things?”
“I gave you time,” I say, ignoring her accusation. “I set a deadline for confronting you. You had one day left.”
Elena’s gaze drops to the floor. “I was going to tell you.”
I again ignore her words and press on. “That changed when you were nearly kidnapped tonight.” I stop directly in front of her, close enough to see the striations of brown in her eyes. “We need to have everything clear, known, and plan ahead now. No time for secrets.”
The penthouse is silent except for the soft hum of the heating system and Elena’s uneven breathing. Outside, the city lights twinkle against the night sky, oblivious to the tension inside these walls.
“Why did you wait?” I ask, my voice softer now but no less intense. “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
She pushes away from the wall, moving past me toward the living room. The distance she puts between us is calculated and clearly defensive. “I needed time to process it myself,” she says finally, her back to me. “This wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“Our arrangement.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “Is that what this is to you still? An arrangement?”
She turns to face me, her expression a complex mixture of emotions I can’t fully decipher. “What else would you call it?”
I approach her slowly, my steps measured. When I reach her, I place my hand on her still-flat stomach with a possessiveness that’s both threatening and protective. The warmth of her body radiates through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Mine,” I say, the word a declaration and a promise.
Elena doesn’t pull away, but I feel the tension in her body.
“There will be new security measures effective immediately,” I tell her, my hand still resting on her stomach. “You will no longer work late shifts.”
“Damir—”
“Your hospital routes will change daily.”
“You can’t just?—”
“You’ll undergo defensive driving training in case you need to escape a threat.”
Elena steps back, breaking the contact between us. “This is ridiculous. I’m a doctor. I have responsibilities and patients who depend on me. You can’t dictate my entire life because of one incident.”
“One incident?” My voice remains calm, but ice creeps into my tone. “One incident that could have cost you your life. That kidnapper wouldn’t have cared if you were pregnant. You and he—or she—could be dead by now if they had succeeded.”
She flinches and goes paler. “I understand you’re concerned, but?—”
“Nikolai now has two targets instead of one.”
The words hang in the air between us. Elena’s protest dies on her lips as the reality of our situation crystallizes for her. Her pregnancy raises the stakes for everyone involved. She touches her stomach in a protective gesture she might not even be aware of making. “You think he knows?”
“It doesn’t matter if he knows now. He will eventually.” I move to the window, looking out at the city below. “And when he does, he’ll use it against me. Against us.” I turn back to Elena. “Now, tell me. Why didn’t you reveal the pregnancy when you first found out?”
She sinks onto the couch, her shoulders slumping. I watch as a litany of emotions cross her face—fear, uncertainty, and doubt—before she settles on what to say. “I was rattled. Processing it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were careful.”
“Not always. Not careful enough, it seems.”
She looks up at me, vulnerability in her eyes. “I needed to figure out what I wanted before I told you.”
I move to sit beside her, not touching her yet, giving her space. “And what do you want?”
“I want the baby,” she says without hesitation, surprising me with her certainty. “Do you?”
I study her face, searching for any sign of doubt or manipulation. Finding none, I reach out and place my hand on her stomach again. “Mine,” I say the word softer this time before cupping her cheek gently. “Mine.”
My tone is possessive but tender, a claim and a vow wrapped into one word. She searches my expression, clearly looking for something I’m not sure I know how to give. “Do you believe I don’t want it and you?”
She shakes her head slightly. “No, I don’t really believe that.”
The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, and she leans into my touch. The simple gesture of trust sends a surge of protectiveness through me that’s almost painful in its intensity.
“I should have told you sooner,” she admits. “I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything changing.” She looks down at her hands. “This makes it real, Damir. Permanent. No more pretending this is just an arrangement with an expiration date.”
I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “It stopped being just an arrangement that first night in my bedroom.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks at the memory. “Maybe for you.”
“For both of us,” I correct her. “You’re not that good an actress, Elena.”
She tries to look away, but I hold her gaze. “When did you find out?” I already know but am compelled to ask anyway.
“Four days ago. I denied the signs for a few days before that though. The nausea, the fatigue... I thought it was stress at first.”
“Four days.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “You kept this from me for four days.”
“I was going to tell you tonight,” she says quickly. “I had decided on that while I was in the parking lot, before....”
I stand, needing distance to control the anger threatening to resurface. “Four days of you walking around unprotected, vulnerable.”
“I wasn’t unprotected. Your people?—”
“Weren’t enough tonight, were they?” I turn to face her. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did...”
The image of what could have happened flashes through my mind as I see Elena dragged into a van, taken to Nikolai, and used as leverage against me. Ultimately disposed of once he’d used her to hurt me.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I didn’t think?—”
“That’s the problem. You didn’t think.” I grit my teeth. “This isn’t about just you anymore.”
She stands, crossing the distance between us. “I know that now.”
“Do you?” I search her face. “Do you understand what’s at stake?”
“Our child,” she says simply.
The words hit me with unexpected force. Our child. Not my child, not her child. Ours . A life we created together, a permanent connection between us that can never be severed. “Yes,” I say, my voice rough. “Our child.”
Elena reaches for my hand, placing it back on her stomach. “I want this baby, Damir, and I want you to want it too.”
“I do.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and she blinks them away quickly. “I was afraid you’d see it as a complication. An inconvenience.”
“Never.” I pull her closer, one hand still on her stomach, the other at the small of her back. “This child is part of me and part of you. It will never be an inconvenience.”
She relaxes against me, resting her head on my chest. I feel her pulse beating slightly faster than normal, matching the rhythm of my own. “We’ll need to make changes,” I say, my voice softer now. “Not just security, but to living arrangements, schedules, and plans for the future.”
“I know.” She looks up at me. “But can we talk about that tomorrow? Tonight has been...”
“Overwhelming,” I finish for her. “Yes, we can discuss details tomorrow.”
I lead her to the couch, sitting beside her. “How are you feeling?” I ask, studying her face for signs of distress or discomfort.
“Physically? Fine, mostly. The morning sickness is pretty much always there but mostly low grade for now.” She offers a small smile. “Emotionally? I’m still processing everything.”
“The pregnancy or the kidnapping attempt?”
“Both.” She slumps back against the cushions. “It’s a lot to take in.”
I nod, understanding her need for space to process. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”
“No, not yet. I was going to make an appointment after I told you.” She glances at me. “I wanted us to go together.”
The simple statement catches me off guard. Us. Together. As if we’re a normal couple expecting a child, not a mafia leader and his arranged wife navigating a dangerous world. “I’d like that,” I say, almost surprising myself with the sincerity of the words.
Elena’s expression softens. “Really?”
“Yes.” I take her hand, running my thumb over her knuckles. “I want to be involved in every aspect of this pregnancy, Elena. Every appointment, every decision, and every milestone.”
“Even the midnight cravings and mood swings?” she asks with a hint of humor in her voice.
“Even those.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Especially those.”
She laughs softly, the sound easing some of the tension from the room. “You might regret saying that in a few months.”
“I won’t.” My tone leaves no room for doubt.
She studies my face, her expression turning serious again. “This really does change everything, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“That this complicates our arrangement. That it traps you here with me.” I hold her gaze. “That it forces you to stay when you might have chosen to leave.”
She doesn’t deny it, which I appreciate. Elena has never been one to lie to spare my feelings. “The thought crossed my mind. Not because I want to leave, but because I want any choice I make to be mine, not forced by circumstances.”
“Your choices are still your own.” I release her hand. “This pregnancy doesn’t change that.”
She looks skeptical. “Doesn’t it? You just listed all the new security measures, the changes to my work schedule, and the restrictions on my movement.”
“Those are necessary precautions, not chains.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Your safety, and our child’s safety, is non-negotiable, but that doesn’t mean you’re trapped.”
“What does it mean then?”
I consider my words carefully. “It means we adapt. We find ways to keep you safe while respecting your independence. It won’t be easy, but we’ll figure it out.”
Elena’s expression softens slightly. “I hope so.” She seems satisfied with my answer for now. “I need to shower,” she says, glancing down at her blood-stained shoes. “And burn these.”
I stand, offering her my hand. “I’ll have one of the staff dispose of them properly.”
She takes my hand, allowing me to pull her to her feet. “Thank you.”
As she moves toward the bedroom, I call after her. “Elena?”
She turns, a question in her eyes.
“No more secrets,” I say, my voice firm. “Not between us. Not anymore.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “No more secrets.”
I watch her disappear into the bedroom, the door closing softly behind her. The sound of the shower starts a moment later, the running water washing away the physical evidence of tonight’s violence.
I return to the bar and pick up my untouched whiskey, swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass. The events of the night replay in my mind—the call from Fydor about the SUV being blocked and needing an alternate ride for my wife, the race to the hospital, and the sight of Elena struggling against her attacker.
The glass shatters in my grip, whiskey and blood mixing as shards of crystal embed themselves in my palm. I barely notice the pain, too consumed by the image of what could have happened if I’d arrived even seconds later.
I clean the cut methodically, wrapping a towel around my hand to stem the bleeding. The physical pain is nothing compared to the cold dread that had seized me when I realized Elena was in danger. Elena and our unborn child.
Our child. The reality of those words is still sinking in, reshaping my world in ways I never anticipated. I’ve never considered fatherhood, having never thought myself capable of that kind of responsibility. My own father sold me to the Bratva when I was eight—hardly a model of paternal devotion. Yet despite my inexperience, I’ll do far better than he did, because failing my child or Elena is not an option.