Chapter 23 Eva
EVA
Isit on the worn couch in my cramped apartment, staring at the peeling paint on the opposite wall.
The curtain that used to divide this space from Megan's bedroom hangs limp and forgotten, a reminder of the life I'm leaving behind.
My suitcase sits half-packed in the corner, clothes spilling out like I couldn't decide what version of myself to bring into Roman Sokolov's world.
I should run.
The thought forms with crystalline clarity, sharp enough to cut. Pack a bag, drain my meager savings account, disappear into a city big enough to swallow me whole. I could lose myself in the city, find a cash-only job, become someone else entirely.
But even as the fantasy takes shape, reality crushes it like glass beneath a boot.
Roman Sokolov doesn't lose things that belong to him.
And I'm carrying his child, which makes me his in a way that transcends any choice I might make.
His security detail knows my routines, my friends, every place I go.
They've been following me for weeks, cataloging my movements with professional efficiency.
Where could I possibly hide that his reach wouldn't find me?
What corner of this city exists beyond his influence?
I press my hand against my still-flat stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing everything has changed.
There's a life growing inside me, half mine and half his.
Roman's heir. The thought makes my chest tighten with emotions I can't untangle.
Fear, yes. But also something else, something I'm not ready to examine.
My phone sits on the coffee table, silent and accusing. I haven't called Roman back since yesterday's ultimatum. Move into his estate. Marry him. Give our child his name and the protection of his organization. Or watch my family suffer the consequences of my defiance.
The cruelty of it steals my breath. He's weaponizing my love for Alexei and Babushka Sasha, using my desperation against me like a blade pressed to my throat.
And I hate him for it. Hate how well he understands me, how precisely he's identified my pressure points.
Hate that his offer is so tempting despite the poison wrapped inside it.
Babushka Sasha needs surgery. Without it, her heart will fail.
It's not a question of if, but when. And Alexei, my brilliant sixteen-year-old brother with his engineering dreams and top marks in physics, deserves better than scraping by in our grandmother's cramped apartment, counting kopeks for heating, eating day-old bread.
Roman dangled them like bait, and I'm too trapped to do anything but bite.
I stand and move to the window, looking out at the street below. A black SUV idles at the curb, the same one that's been there every day this week. Roman's security, making sure I don't do anything foolish. Making sure I understand that running isn't an option.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass, pale and hollow-eyed. I barely recognize myself anymore. When did I become this person? This woman who's considering marrying a monster because the alternative is watching her family suffer?
But that's not entirely fair, and I know it.
Roman isn't just a monster. He's also the man who held me against his office door and made me forget my own name.
The man whose blue eyes soften when he looks at me, whose hands are surprisingly gentle despite the violence they're capable of.
The man who makes my body respond with embarrassing eagerness every time he's near.
I'm wildly attracted to him. That's the part that makes this so complicated, so impossible to think through clearly.
When Roman touches me, when his mouth claims mine with that devastating precision, I forget everything else.
The danger. All of it dissolves beneath the heat of his hands on my skin, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious and dangerous all at once.
But desire isn't love. Lust isn't a foundation for marriage.
I keep telling myself this, repeating it like a mantra, but the words feel hollow.
Because what is love, really? Is it the way my heart races when Roman enters a room?
The way I catch myself watching him through the glass wall of his office, memorizing the line of his jaw, the way his shoulders fill out his tailored suits?
The way I imagine those hands on my body, sliding up my thighs, gripping my hips with bruising force?
I press my forehead against the cool glass, trying to clear my head. This isn't about attraction. This is about survival. About making impossible choices with no good options.
Roman is dangerous. Violent. A man who kills without hesitation and erases the evidence with terrifying efficiency.
I watched his cleaners work after the shooting, saw how practiced they were at making bodies disappear.
How can I bind myself to someone like that?
How can I bring a child into his world of blood and bullets and men who carry guns beneath expensive suits?
But what choice do I have?
If I refuse, will he force me? The question sits heavily in my chest. Roman has been surprisingly patient so far, giving me time to decide, but I've seen the possessive gleam in his eyes when he looks at my stomach. He wants this child. Wants me. And Roman Sokolov takes what he wants.
Would he take the baby? The thought makes my blood run cold.
I don't know enough about family law, about what rights he'd have.
But I know he has money, power, and lawyers who could make me disappear from my own child's life.
David Brennan, with his expensive suits and careful legal language, restructuring reality to suit Roman's needs.
Or would he destroy my family to punish my defiance?
I've seen the cold calculation in his blue eyes when he wants something, the ruthless efficiency with which he handles obstacles.
Babushka Sasha's surgery could be denied.
Alexei's scholarship opportunities could evaporate.
They could suffer because I dared to say no to the Pakhan.
I know he's capable of it. That's what makes this so terrifying.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I jump, my heart hammering. For a moment I think it's Roman, calling to demand an answer. But the screen shows a Russian number. Babushka Sasha.
Relief floods through me as I answer, switching to Russian automatically. "Babushka, how are you feeling? Did the doctor—"
"Eva." My grandmother's voice cuts through my greeting, frantic in a way I've never heard before. "Eva, something terrible has happened."
My stomach drops to my feet. "What? What's wrong? Is it your heart? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No, no, it's not me." She's crying now, her words tumbling over each other. "It's Alexei. He's gone."
"Gone?" The word doesn't make sense. "What do you mean, gone?"
"He withdrew all his university savings this morning.
Every kopek he's been saving for MIT. Then he went to the airport.
" Her voice breaks. "Eva, he bought a plane ticket to America.
He's flying there right now to help find money for my surgery.
He thinks… he thinks he can work, can help you, can somehow fix everything. "
The room tilts sideways. I sink onto the couch, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to hurt. "No. No, Babushka, he can't. He's sixteen. He doesn't understand—"
"I tried to stop him!" She's sobbing now, the sound tearing at my heart. "But he's so stubborn, just like you. He said you've been sacrificing everything for us, and it's his turn to help. He said he's the man of the family now, that he needs to take care of us."
My vision blurs with tears. Alexei. My brilliant, foolish, brave little brother. Coming to America with his university savings and his determination, walking straight into Roman Sokolov's world without any idea of the danger.
I end the call and stare at my phone, my mind racing. Alexei is coming here. To this city. To me. And Roman's security detail has been watching me for weeks, cataloging everyone I know, every place I go.
They'll know the moment Alexei arrives. They'll report it to Roman. And then what?
My hand drifts to my stomach again, to the life growing there that's changed everything.