Chapter 20 Alexei #2
Twenty minutes later, we’re loading suitcases into armored cars. Mila moves like a ghost. She follows orders, gets in, and stares out the window while Moscow fades behind us.
The compound is as Dmitri described: isolated and built into the rock like a fortress.
It looks harmless from the street, but below ground, it’s steel doors, reinforced walls, and independent power, water, and air systems that could keep a family alive through a siege. My father built it to survive a war.
“Home, sweet home,” Mila mutters as we step inside.
I want to tell her it’s temporary, and that when this is over, she’ll get her life back.
But it’s a lie.
I don’t want her to go back.
I want her here. With me.
That truth makes me as dangerous as the men we’re hiding from.
She drifts through the rooms like she’s touring a morgue.
“The master suite is below,” I tell her. “Private bathroom. Walk-in closet.”
“Great.”
She descends the stairs with her suitcase. I follow at a distance, giving her space to process everything.
Halfway down, she stops and grabs the railing like she needs it for support, holding her stomach.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she grits out. “Just tired.”
“Maybe you should eat something. You barely touched dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She continues unsteadily down the stairs. When she leans against the wall for a moment before continuing to the bedroom, I know something’s wrong.
“Mila…”
“I just need to lie down for a few minutes.”
She disappears into the bedroom and closes the door. I hear the lock click.
I pull out my phone and text our doctor, Dr. Orlov, who has served my family for years.
Come to the compound. Tonight. Full medical evaluation.
Everything okay?
Just be here in an hour.
I don’t know why I’m messaging him. Maybe because Mila hasn’t been eating as well lately. Maybe because she’s been tired and nauseous for weeks. Maybe because something in my gut tells me there’s more going on than either of us realizes.
Orlov arrives fifty-three minutes later with his medical bag and no questions about why he was summoned.
“Where is she?”
“Downstairs. Locked in the bedroom. She’s felt sick for weeks, but won’t admit anything’s wrong.”
“What kind of sick?”
“Nausea. Fatigue. Not eating.”
Orlov stops walking. “When was her last period?”
That question stops me cold. “I don’t know, but I haven’t seen any evidence of it since she’s been here with me.”
“How long is that?”
“Four weeks.”
“Could she be pregnant?”
The question settles in the room like a loaded gun. Pregnant. I hadn’t thought of that.
I swallow hard and reply, “We should probably find out.”
Orlov nods and heads for the stairs. “Let me talk to her.”
It takes twenty minutes of gentle persuasion through the door before Mila lets him in, and another thirty minutes for the examination. I pace the downstairs living room the entire time, checking my phone every thirty seconds for updates that don’t come.
Finally, Orlov appears in the living room with a crease between his eyebrows. “We should probably talk.”
His face tells me everything I need to know.
The world tilts sideways. Pregnant. Mila is carrying my child.
“How far along?” I manage to ask.
“Approximately six weeks.”
Six weeks. Our first night together. The night I took her virginity without knowing it.
Something primal and possessive roars through my chest. My child is growing inside the woman I can’t live without.
“Does she know?”
He nods and replies. “I just told her. She asked me to leave.”
“How did she react?”
“Not well. I think you should give her some time before—”
But I’m already moving toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Nothing else matters except getting to her.
The bedroom door is closed but not locked. I knock once before pushing it open.
Mila sits on the bed with her back to me. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs.
“Zaika.”
“Don’t.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Just don’t.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. This is a disaster. A complete fucking disaster.”
I walk around the bed so I can see her face. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her eyes are red and swollen.
“Hey.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Look at me.”
“I can’t do this, Alexei. I can’t be pregnant right now. Not with everything else falling apart.”
“You’re not doing it alone.”
“Yes, I am. Because in a few weeks or a few months, the threats will be gone, and you won’t need to protect me anymore. You’ll go back to your life, and I’ll be a single mother with a criminal’s baby.”
“That won’t happen.”
“How can you promise anything when this whole relationship only exists because someone put a bounty on my head?”
I reach for her, but she pulls away.
“I need to be alone right now.”
“Mila—”
“Please. Just go.”
The dismissal cuts deeper than it should. I want to stay and hold her while she processes this news. I want to promise her that everything will be okay.
The look on her face tells me she won’t hear any of it right now.
So, I leave, closing the door behind me and I lean against it like I can somehow absorb her pain through the wood.
Pregnant.
The word echoes in my head as I walk downstairs. She’s carrying my child, and instead of joy, all I feel is a fierce, overwhelming need to eliminate every threat that could touch them.
My family.