Chapter 31 Eva
EVA
Ihaven't slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see Alexei's face twisted with hurt and disgust, hear his voice cracking as he said, I don't even know who you are anymore.
The words loop endlessly in my mind, a recording I can't stop playing.
I've tried calling him a dozen times, but every call goes straight to voicemail.
My texts remain unread, the blue checkmarks mocking me with their absence.
Roman notices my exhaustion over breakfast, his blue eyes tracking the shadows under my eyes, the way my hands tremble slightly around my coffee cup.
He doesn't ask questions, just reaches across the table and squeezes my hand once before returning to his phone.
The gesture is surprisingly gentle for a man who kills without hesitation, and it makes my chest ache with complicated emotions I'm not ready to examine.
My phone finally buzzes mid-morning. Megan's text is brief.
Alexei's here. He's okay but won't talk about what happened. Says he needs time to think.
Relief floods through me, immediately followed by fresh guilt. My sixteen-year-old brother is sleeping on Megan's couch, confused and angry, while I sit in a mansion drinking coffee from China that probably costs more than his plane ticket from Russia.
I find Roman in his study, reviewing documents with that absolute focus he brings to everything.
He looks up when I enter, and I'm struck again by how devastatingly handsome he is in his tailored suit, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch.
Even now, even exhausted and worried, my body responds to his presence with embarrassing eagerness.
"I need to leave early," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Alexei is at Megan's apartment. I have to talk to him."
Roman studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. "Take the car. Security will follow at a distance."
I want to argue about the security detail, but I'm too tired and too desperate to see my brother. "Thank you."
"Eva." His voice stops me at the door. When I turn back, his blue eyes have softened slightly. "Bring him home."
The word home catches in my throat. Roman's estate isn't home, not really. But I nod anyway because arguing would take energy I don't have.
The drive to Megan's apartment feels longer than it should, traffic snarling in the afternoon heat.
I watch the city pass by through tinted windows, the black SUVs trailing behind like shadows I can't shake.
This is my life now. Security details, and marble floors, and a husband who runs an empire built on blood and violence.
No wonder Alexei looked at me like I was a stranger.
Even though he has no idea of my true life.
The sixth-floor walk-up feels impossibly small after weeks at Roman's estate.
The stairs are narrower than I remember, the hallway dimmer, the worn carpet more threadbare.
When Megan opens the door, her usual sunshine is dimmed by concern and sadness.
She pulls me into a tight hug, and I let myself lean into her warmth for just a moment.
"He's on the fire escape," she whispers against my hair. "He's been out there for hours."
I find Alexei exactly where Megan said, sitting in the cramped space where I used to drink my Sunday morning coffee and gather courage before video calls home.
His blonde hair is messy, sticking up in all directions, and his blue eyes are so like our mother's that my chest aches.
He doesn't look at me when I climb out onto the metal grating, just stares at the street below.
"Can I sit?" I ask quietly.
He shrugs, which I take as permission. The fire escape barely fits both of us, our shoulders touching in the tight space. For a long moment, we sit in silence, and I'm transported back to our childhood in Russia, sitting on Babushka's porch while summer rain fell around us.
"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I should have explained everything before you came. Should have prepared you."
"For what?" His voice is rough, angry. "For finding out my sister is living like a princess while Babushka and I struggle just for necessities? While I withdrew my university savings to try to help?"
The accusation stings because it's not entirely unfair. "It's not what you think, Alexei. I haven't been living in luxury while you suffered. I've been drowning."
He finally looks at me, his expression guarded. "That house has a chandelier that probably costs more than our entire apartment building in Russia."
"I know." I press my thumbnail into my index finger. "But I didn't buy it. I didn't choose any of this."
"Then why are you there? Why are you marrying him?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything I can't tell him.
I can't explain that Roman is a Pakhan, that his world is violence and blood and bodies wrapped in plastic.
I can't tell him about the shooting in the office, about watching Roman kill a man without hesitation.
I can't reveal that I'm pregnant, that Roman gave me an ultimatum I couldn't refuse.
So I tell him what I can.
"Do you remember when Mama got sick?" My voice cracks slightly. "How the bills kept coming, how the insurance kept denying coverage, how I signed anything they put in front of me just to buy her more time?"
Alexei nods, his jaw tight.
"The debt from that was crushing me. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Alexei.
With interest rates designed to make sure I could never pay it off.
I was working three jobs and barely making minimum payments.
I couldn't afford to keep you here, couldn't afford to bring you back.
I was drowning, and I couldn't see any way out. "
I watch understanding start to dawn in his eyes, but I'm not finished.
"Then I got the temp job at Sokolov Financial Group.
It paid triple my normal rate. Enough to finally make progress on the debt, enough to send real money home.
And Roman…" I pause, choosing my words carefully.
"Roman offered to help. To pay for Babushka Sasha's surgery.
To bring you back to America for school.
To give you opportunities I could never afford on my own. "
"In exchange for what?" Alexei's voice is sharp, suspicious. He's sixteen but not stupid.
"In exchange for marrying him." The truth tastes bitter on my tongue. "For giving our child his name."
Alexei's eyes drop to my still-flat stomach, and I watch shock ripple across his face. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes." I press my hand protectively over my abdomen. "I know this all seems sudden and strange. I know you don't understand. But everything I've done, every choice I've made, has been to keep our family safe. To give you and Babushka the future you deserve."
"By selling yourself to some rich guy?" His anger is back, but softer now, edged with concern rather than accusation.
"By making impossible choices with no good options." I turn to face him fully, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. "I'm not a victim, Alexei. I chose this. Maybe not for the right reasons, maybe not the way I would have wanted. But I chose it. And Roman… he's not what you think."
"What is he, then?"
I think about Roman's hands on my body, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious and dangerous all at once.
I think about his cold blue eyes when he's handling business, the controlled violence coiled beneath his expensive suits.
I think about the gentleness he shows me, the vulnerability he hides from everyone else.
"He's complicated," I finally say. "And dangerous. And not always good. But he protects what's his, Alexei. And now that includes you."
My brother studies me for a long moment, his intelligent mind working behind those blue eyes. "Do you love him?"
The question catches me off guard. Do I love Roman Sokolov?
I'm wildly attracted to him, that much is undeniable.
My body responds to his presence with embarrassing eagerness, my pulse quickening every time he enters a room.
But love? Love is supposed to be simple, uncomplicated.
What I feel for Roman is neither of those things.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I'm trying to make this work. For all of us."
Alexei's anger seems to drain away, leaving only exhaustion. He looks so young suddenly, so much like the little boy I used to read bedtime stories to. "I just want you to be happy, Eva. You've sacrificed so much for us. You deserve to be happy."
My throat tightens with unshed tears. "I am happy. Or I'm trying to be. Will you come back to the estate? Let me take care of you the way I've always wanted to?"
He hesitates, then nods. "Okay. But if this Roman guy hurts you, I don't care how big his house is. I'll find a way to make him pay."
The fierce protectiveness in his voice makes me smile despite everything. "Deal."
We climb back inside, where Megan is pretending not to have been listening at the window. She helps us pack Alexei's few belongings, her usual chatter subdued. When everything is loaded into his worn duffel bag, she pulls me aside.
She hugs me tightly, and I memorize the vanilla scent of her body spray, the warmth of her embrace. My best friend, my anchor, the person who made America feel like home. I'm losing her, and we both know it.
The security detail is waiting downstairs, the black SUVs idling at the curb. Alexei's eyes widen slightly at the sight, but he doesn't comment. We're loading his bag into the trunk when my phone rings.
A Russian number I don't recognize.
My stomach drops as I answer. "Hello?"
"Miss Markova?" The voice is female, professional, speaking rapid Russian. "This is City Hospital Number Six in Moscow. I'm calling about Sasha Markova."
My grandmother. My heart stops.
"Her condition has deteriorated rapidly in the past hour. We're moving her into emergency surgery immediately. The doctors…" The woman's voice softens with sympathy. "They wanted us to call. If you wish to speak with her before the procedure, you need to call now. I can transfer you to her room."
The world tilts sideways. Alexei is staring at me, his face pale, reading the panic in my expression. Megan has one hand pressed to her mouth. And I'm standing on a sidewalk, my phone clutched in my trembling hand, about to say what might be my final words to the woman who raised me.
"Transfer me," I whisper.