Chapter 24 （continued）
Lev
Valerie is hiding something again.
Every instinct I've honed over fifteen years in this life is screaming at me that she's keeping secrets. The way she deflects questions. The guilty look in her eyes when I catch her off guard. The whispered phone calls with Tash that end abruptly when I enter the room.
History repeating itself.
I find Mikhail in the security office reviewing camera feeds. "I need you to run a check on Valerie."
He doesn't look surprised. "What kind of check?"
"Everything. Phone records, movements, contacts. Make sure there's no connection to Patrick's network. No communication with anyone suspicious."
"Boss, we've been monitoring her constantly since the confession. There's been nothing—"
"Then check again." My voice hardens. "She's hiding something. I need to know what."
He nods. "I'll have a full report by morning."
But morning comes and the report shows nothing. No suspicious calls. No unexplained absences. No contact with anyone connected to Patrick or his organization.
Clean.
Too clean, my paranoia whispers. Or maybe she's just actually innocent this time.
I watch her throughout the day.
She barely eats breakfast. Pushes food around her plate, claims she's not hungry.
Refuses wine at dinner. Says she's not in the mood, wants water instead.
Excuses herself early, claiming exhaustion despite sleeping ten hours the night before.
And she won't let me touch her stomach. Every time my hand drifts there during sex, or while we're lying together, she redirects it. Subtle. Probably thinks I don't notice.
I notice everything.
That night I find her in the bathroom at 2 AM. The door is cracked open, and I hear her retching, the sound of someone violently sick.
I push the door wider.
She's on her knees in front of the toilet, face pale, hair pulled back. When she sees me, she jumps. Actually flinches like I've caught her doing something wrong.
"How long have you been sick?" I ask.
"Just tonight. Must be something I ate—"
"Don't." I move closer. "Don't lie to me. I've heard you throwing up for four mornings in a row. This isn't food poisoning."
She wipes her mouth with shaking hands. "It's just a stomach bug—"
"Is it?" I crouch beside her. Study her face. "Or is it something else? Something you're too terrified to tell me?"
Tears well in her eyes. "Lev, please. I just need—"
"Two more days. I know." I stand, frustration burning through me. "But every secret you keep feels like another betrayal. Every time you hide something, every time you deflect or lie, it reminds me that I can't trust you. That maybe I never should have tried."
"It's not like that—"
"Then what is it like?" My voice hardens.
"Because from where I'm standing, you're exhibiting the exact same behaviors you did when you were spying for Patrick.
Secret calls. Guilty expressions. Avoiding my questions.
How am I supposed to differentiate between genuine and deception when they look identical? "
She's crying now. Full tears streaming down her face. "Because I'm begging you to trust me. Just two more days. Please."
I want to demand answers. Want to shake the truth out of her. Want to stop feeling like I'm standing on unstable ground.
But I gave my word.
"Two days." I head for the door. "Then I want the truth. All of it. No more delays. No more excuses. Understand?"
"Yes." It comes out broken.
I leave her there on the bathroom floor.
And as I walk down the hallway, pieces start clicking together in my mind. Pieces I've been deliberately ignoring because the possibility is too terrifying to examine.
Sickness. Every morning for a week.
Exhaustion despite adequate sleep.
Emotional outbursts. Crying at things that normally wouldn't affect her.
Refusing alcohol. Not just tonight but for over a week.
Won't let me touch her stomach.
Secret conversations with Tash about something she can't tell me.
My brain supplies an answer I'm not ready to face.
Pregnant.
No. It can't be.
We've been careful. She's on birth control. We took precautions after the first few times.
But nothing is foolproof. Nothing is guaranteed.
And if she is—if Valerie is carrying my child—
I can't finish the thought. Can't let myself hope or fear or feel anything about it until I know for certain.
But my feet carry me to Mila's room anyway.
The door is cracked open. She sleeps with it that way now—doesn't like complete darkness, doesn't like feeling trapped.
I push it wider and step inside.
She's curled on her side, clutching the stuffed bear I bought her. Face peaceful in sleep. No nightmares tonight. Just a little girl dreaming whatever little girls dream about.
I move closer. Sit on the edge of her bed carefully so I don't wake her.
Look at her small face. Her dark hair spread across the pillow. The way her chest rises and falls with steady breaths.
She looks like Katya. Has her mother's features, her delicate bone structure, her long lashes.
But she has my eyes. Gray like storm clouds. Like her brother's were.
Dmitri.
The thought of him hits like it always does—sharp and sudden and devastating.
I press my hand over my face. Try to breathe through the pain that never quite fades.
Katya pregnant with him. The way her hand would rest on her swollen belly. How she'd laugh when he kicked during dinner, interrupting conversations with his movements.
The anticipation. The fear. The overwhelming love for someone I hadn't even met yet.
Then two years of watching him grow. First steps. First words. That smile that lit up rooms.
Gone.
All of it gone because I wasn't there to protect them.
And now—if Valerie is pregnant—I'll have another chance.
Another child to love. Another fragile life depending on me not to fail.
The thought terrifies me.
But underneath the terror, something else stirs. Something that feels like want.
I'd like a baby with Valerie.
The realization settles over me with surprising clarity.
I'd like to see her pregnant. Watch her belly grow with our child. Put my hand there and feel movement. Experience all the moments I took for granted with Katya.
I'd like to hold an infant again. Change diapers, lose sleep, and deal with all the chaos new babies bring.
I'd like Mila to have a sibling. Someone to grow up with. Someone to help carry the weight of this life we're building.
I'd like to believe we can do this. Survive Patrick. Build a real family. Prove that love doesn't always end in devastation.
But the fear is stronger than the want.
Because Patrick is still out there. Still planning revenge. Still waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And if Valerie is pregnant, she becomes a target. The baby becomes leverage. Everything becomes infinitely more dangerous.
How do I protect them both? How do I keep Valerie safe when she's vulnerable and carrying our child? How do I ensure I don't fail again?
I don't have answers.
Just terror and hope tangled together until I can't tell which is which.
Mila shifts in her sleep. Makes a small sound. Her hand reaches out, finds my arm, and holds on.
Even unconscious, she seeks safety. Seeks the protection I failed to give her mother and brother.
"I won't fail you again," I whisper to her. "I promise, cielo. Whatever it takes. I'll keep you safe."
And if there's another baby—our baby, mine and Valerie's—I'll keep them safe too.
Or die trying.
I sit with Mila until her grip on my arm loosens. Until her breathing evens out completely.
Then I head to my study. Pour vodka. Pull out the photos I keep in the locked drawer.
Katya. Pregnant with Dmitri. Glowing and beautiful and alive.
Dmitri. Two years old. Smiling at the camera with innocent joy.
I trace their faces with one finger. Let myself remember. Let myself feel the loss that never quite heals.
Then I close the album and lock it away.
Because dwelling in the past won't protect the future.
And if Valerie is carrying my child, I need to be present. Strong. Ready for whatever comes.
Even if the possibility terrifies me more than anything Patrick could do.
Two more days.
Then the truth comes out.
And I'll have to face whatever comes next.
The hope. The fear. The overwhelming responsibility of another life depending on me not to fail.
I drink until the sun comes up.
Thinking about babies and betrayal and whether I'm strong enough to survive loving someone that vulnerable again.
Thinking about Valerie with my child growing inside her.
Thinking about Mila as a big sister.
Thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.
And the one way it could go right.
If I'm very lucky.
If I'm very careful.
If Patrick dies before he can take this from me too.
Two more days.
Then everything changes.
Again.