Chapter 37 Alina
ALINA
Iwake with nausea rolling through my stomach like a wave crashing against rocks. The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, giving me barely enough time to throw back the covers and stumble toward the bathroom.
I make it to the toilet just in time, my body heaving as I empty what little is in my stomach. My hands grip the cool porcelain, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the spinning room. This is the third morning in a row.
When the nausea finally subsides, I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth with shaking hands. My breasts ache beneath the thin nightgown, tender in a way that has nothing to do with Dimitri's touch. My period is late, though with everything that's happened, I'd convinced myself it was just stress.
But three mornings of vomiting?
I stand on unsteady legs and move to the sink, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, pale and hollow-eyed. I look like I've aged years in the past few weeks, but there's something else too. A soft glow to my skin.
I reach under the sink, my fingers finding the pregnancy test I hid there three days ago. I'd bought it on impulse during a trip to the pharmacy with one of Dimitri's guards, tucking it into my purse before anyone could see. I've been too afraid to use it, too afraid of what it might confirm.
But I can't ignore it anymore.
My hands shake as I open the box and read the instructions, even though I already know what to do. The test is simple. Pee on the stick, wait three minutes, and my entire life changes one way or another.
I take the test and set it on the counter, then wash my hands and stare at my reflection while I wait.
The seconds tick by with agonizing slowness.
I think about Dimitri, about the meeting with Mikhail that's coming, about all the violence and chaos that's consumed our lives since that burning church.
Is this really the world I want to bring a child into?
But even as the thought forms, I know the answer. Yes. Because this child would be ours. Mine and Dimitri's. A symbol of something beautiful born from all this darkness.
Three minutes pass.
I pick up the test with trembling fingers and look at the result window.
Two pink lines. Clear and unmistakable.
Positive.
I'm pregnant.
The test slips from my fingers and clatters into the sink. I grip the counter's edge, my knees suddenly weak. A baby. I'm going to have a baby. Dimitri's baby.
Joy and terror war inside my chest in equal measure. I press a hand to my still-flat stomach, trying to imagine the tiny life growing there. Our child. The thought fills me with a fierce protectiveness I've never felt before.
But then reality crashes in. We're about to meet with Mikhail, a man who wants to destroy everything Dimitri has built. A man who's orchestrated massacres and frame jobs. A man who won't hesitate to use this pregnancy against us if he finds out.
I can't tell Dimitri. Not yet. Not before the meeting. He's already worried enough about my safety without adding this to his concerns.
I hide the test at the bottom of the bathroom trash, covering it with tissues, then brush my teeth and splash more water on my face. When I return to the bedroom, Dimitri is awake, propped up on one elbow and watching me with concerned eyes.
"You okay?" His voice is rough with sleep, his dark hair mussed in a way that makes my heart clench.
I nod. “Just a bit tired.”
He studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder if he can see the truth written there. But he just nods and pulls back the covers in invitation. "Come back to bed. We have a few hours before we need to start preparing."
I slide in beside him, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and I press my hand over the eight-pointed star tattoo on his right pec. This man. This dangerous, complicated, beautiful man is going to be a father.
"Dimitri," I whisper.
"Hmm?"
I almost tell him. The words are right there, pressing against my lips. But then I think about the meeting ahead, about Mikhail's threats, about all the ways this could go wrong. So instead, I say, "I love you."
His arms tighten around me. "I love you too."
We lie there in silence for a while, and I memorize the feel of him. Just in case. Just in case tonight doesn't go the way we hope.
Eventually, he kisses the top of my head and releases me. "I need to check in with Alexei. Will you be okay?"
"I'm going to visit Katya," I say. "Spend some time with her."
He nods and disappears into the bathroom. I dress quickly in jeans and a soft sweater, then make my way down the hall to Katya's room.
I knock softly, and her voice calls out for me to enter. She's sitting on her bed, a sketchbook open in her lap, her dark hair falling around her face. When she sees me, she sets the sketchbook aside and smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey." I close the door behind me and move to sit beside her on the bed. "How are you doing?"
She shrugs, a gesture that reminds me so much of when she was little. "Okay, I guess. The nightmares are getting better."
I take her hand, feeling how cold her fingers are. "I'm glad you're here. That you're safe."
"Me too." She looks down at our joined hands. "Alina, can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Papa." Her voice breaks on the word. "Is he really dead?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with grief and confusion. I think about lying, about softening the truth, but Katya deserves honesty.
"Yes," I say quietly. "He's dead."
She nods slowly, tears gathering in her brown eyes. "Did Dimitri kill him?"
This is the moment. The moment where I have to decide whether to protect her from the truth or trust her with it. I look at my sister, at the girl who's survived kidnapping and terror, who's stronger than anyone gives her credit for.
"No," I say, my voice steady. "I did."
Katya's eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she's going to pull away from me. But then she squeezes my hand tighter. "Why?"
"Because he killed Sergei. Because he tried to have me killed. Because he was going to kill you." The words come out in a rush, and I feel tears burning in my own eyes. "Because he was a monster, Katya. And I couldn't let him hurt anyone else."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing this. Then she says something that breaks my heart. "I know. I mean, I didn't know you killed him, but I knew he was a monster. I've known for a long time."
I pull her into my arms, and we cry together. Not for the man Viktor was, but for the father he should have been. For the childhood we deserved but never had. For the family that was broken long before that church burned.
"I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair. "I'm so sorry you had to grow up with him."
"It's not your fault." She pulls back and wipes her eyes. "You protected me. You always protected me. Even when it meant sacrificing yourself."
"You're my sister. I'll always protect you."
We sit together in comfortable silence for a while, and I watch her pick up her sketchbook again. She's drawing the gardens outside her window, capturing the way the morning light falls across the flowers. She's talented, always has been.
"Katya," I say, "I want you to know that things are going to be different now. You're going to go to college, study art like you've always wanted. You're going to travel and see the world. You're going to have choices."
She looks at me with hope shining in her eyes. "Really?"
"Really. I promise."
"What about you?" she asks. "What are you going to do?"
I think about the baby growing inside me, about the life I'm building with Dimitri, about the future we're fighting for. "I'm going to make sure you get everything you deserve. And I'm going to build something better than what we had."
She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. "You already have."
We spend another hour together, talking about her plans for school, about the places she wants to visit.
She shows me her sketches, and I'm amazed by her talent.
She's captured the estate in loving detail, but also darker images from her captivity.
Art as therapy, processing trauma through creation.
When I finally stand to leave, she hugs me tightly. "Be careful tonight," she whispers. "With Mikhail. I heard the guards talking."
"I will be. Dimitri will keep me safe."
"I know. But still. Be careful."
I kiss her forehead and leave her to her sketching. As I walk back down the hallway toward my bedroom, I press a hand to my stomach again. This secret I'm carrying feels heavier with each passing moment.
I find Dimitri in our room, dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, checking weapons with the efficiency of someone who's done this a thousand times. He looks up when I enter, and something in his expression makes my breath catch.
"It's time," he says, his voice grave. "We need to leave for the meeting with Mikhail."