Chapter 29
TERESA
The snow comes down in thick, slow-moving drifts outside the penthouse glass walls. I curl deeper into the armchair, my knees pulled up, both hands wrapped around a glass of water. It’s just past ten, but it feels later somehow, time stretched taut by the sound of him upstairs.
I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I can hear his voice, low at first then spiking into a roar that carries down the staircase. This isn’t like him. I’ve seen him order violence without raising his tone. That calm, cool, quiet menace is what makes him so dangerous.
But tonight, something’s different. His raised voice unsettles me in a way I can’t quite name.
I take a sip of water, swallowing hard against the urge to fetch a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Just a small glass to take the edge off. But I can’t. My world has changed for good and every decision has to be made with someone else in mind now.
That must be how Vlad feels too.
A muffled thump comes from upstairs—a fist slammed against a desk?—then silence. It’s so abrupt it makes me jump. No footsteps, just a strange, suspended quiet, as if the whole penthouse is holding its breath.
I glance toward the staircase, my pulse quickening. I hate not knowing. I hate the gap between whatever’s happening up there and whatever I’m about to find out. The clock on the mantel ticks, loud in the stillness, marking off each second like a countdown to something I’m not ready for.
Slow footfalls on the stairs interrupts the ticking clock.
Vlad comes into view first, Dmitri just behind him, then three other men I’ve seen before.
All of them in tailored suits, all wearing the silver Angeloff tie.
They move as a unit, forming a loose wall as they cross the living room toward me.
I set my glass down on the side table, fingers tightening in my lap. Whatever Vlad’s about to say, I can feel in my bones it’s not going to be good.
Vlad looks furious, though not the cold, ruthless kind of anger I’ve seen before. This is red hot and blazing. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, then shuts it again.
He nods to Dmitri and heads toward the bar. The crystal clinks softly. He’s exhibiting that coiled stillness he wears when he’s one decision away from violence.
Dmitri steps forward, professional and calm. “We still don’t have a clean line on who gave the order,” he says. “But we might as well be honest. We’re pretty goddamn sure it was Volkov.”
Vlad lifts his glass, speaking one word.
“War.” He turns to face us. “If he’s bold enough to try a full-on assassination in the middle of Central Park, then he’s ready for one hell of a battle.
People will die.” His eyes hold mine. “There is no limit to the number of people I will eliminate to keep you safe.”
The men behind him don’t blink. Neither do I. My ears ring and I picture the four bodies in the snow again, red blooming out.
Vlad throws the drink back in one gulp, then sets the glass down without a sound. When he speaks again, he switches into the tone he uses for orders, not arguments. “Teresa, as we discussed, you are not to leave the penthouse.”
“I already agreed to that.”
“Not even with me,” he amends, and lifts a finger, stopping my protest. “You are responsible for two lives now.”
I feel the bristle rise anyway, the walls already closing in. “I understand.” I hate it, but I do understand.
“From this minute,” he continues, “access to the elevators are through my code only. The service stairwell doors will be bolted and the camera coverage expanded. Two at the door, two on the elevator, two on the roof at all times. Three-man coverage inside the unit. Anything delivered—no matter what it is—goes through Dmitri only. You need air, it’s on the balcony off the study with two men on the terrace below.
But not before I have the terrace fitted with bulletproof glass. ”
The lieutenants nod in silent sequence. I glance from face to face and wonder if they ever smile.
“We’ll confirm Volkov’s the one behind the attack,” Vlad says. “Meanwhile, you stay here and be ready to move.”
“Move where?” I ask. “You just said—”
“Up.” He tips his chin toward the ceiling. “There’s a helipad on the roof.”
My eyes widen. Of course there is.
“If it gets dicey,” he says, “I’ll have you evacuated to my safehouse upstate.”
“Upstate,” I echo, trying to picture it. Snow, trees, quiet. The opposite of this humming, glittering cage. “How quickly?”
Dmitri answers. “One phone call, three minutes to skids-up, twelve to clear New York City airspace.”
My throat tightens as I do the math. Three minutes to pack a life, twelve to leave behind the only city I’ve ever lived in.
“How long would I be gone?”
“As long as it takes to end this,” Vlad replies.
I stare at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he says, nothing but weary truth. “You’d stay upstate until I was one-hundred-percent certain you and the child would be safe in the city.”
The room suddenly seems too big and too small at the same time. The men shift subtly as they get ready to move. Outside, the snow thickens, the wet glass smearing the lights of the city into a watercolor. It would be beautiful if my chest didn’t feel like it was tied with wire.
“What about my doctor?” I ask. “I have to—”
“I know,” he says softly. “I’ll have Dr. Kornilov come here. Private entrance. He’s used to discretion.”
Some of the wire around my heart loosens. Just a little.
Dmitri glances at his watch. “Teams are staged,” he reports. “Roof and lobby in position. Rover ready. Perimeter clean. This penthouse is tight as a drum.”
Vlad nods. “If Volkov pushes tonight, he won’t reach this door.” Then, to me, “You will sleep in the master. I’ll take the guest room until we’re sure the building is quiet.”
Something inside tugs. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he says, and I understand he means more than just a room choice. He’s putting space between the situation and me because he’s afraid they’re bleeding together too fast.
“What do I do now?” I ask. There has to be something other than sitting and listening to men arrange barricades around my life.
He studies me for a long second. “You rest. You eat. You answer my call on the first ring. And you keep him or her”—his gaze drops to my belly again— “safe.”
“I hate this,” I repeat. I know I sound like a brat not getting her way, but the truth is, I’m scared out of my mind.
“So do I. And I will end it.”
Dmitri clears his throat, pulling the room back into motion. Vlad nods to the men and they peel away to their posts, the space feeling different as soon as they’re gone.
Vlad looks back at me. “Pack a go-bag,” he says. “Warm clothes, documents, anything you can’t stand to be away from. Leave it by the bedroom door.”
“Okay.”
“And Teresa, if anything feels wrong—a noise, a shadow that shouldn’t be there—don’t second-guess it. You call my name.”
It’s not meant to be a romantic line, yet it lands like one.
I go to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. It feels too still. Not the peaceful kind of still… more like the quiet before a storm.
I cross to the window and watch the city glitter below.
I press my hand to my stomach. No bump yet.
Just the knowledge of a second heartbeat buried so deep I almost convince myself I can hear it.
Vlad’s face flashes in my mind—jaw tight, eyes lit up with rage and resolve.
I’ve never seen him look like that. It’s terrifying and comforting at the same time.
I wonder if this side of him has always been there, beneath the surface, just waiting for the right excuse to show itself.
I think about the helipad, the idea of being lifted out of the city at a moment’s notice. Out of the fight. Out of Volkov’s reach.
I sink onto the bed, staring at the ceiling until I can no longer keep my eyes open.