Chapter 35 Mila
Mila
Mama looks smaller than I remember.
She sits across from me at the metal table in the bunker, picking at a sandwich one of the guards brought down twenty minutes ago. Her hair is shorter now, and styled in a way that makes her look younger despite the lines around her eyes.
“You’re staring,” she comments without looking up.
“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re real. It’s been almost eight months.”
She sets down the sandwich and meets my gaze. “I know how long it’s been. Down to the day.”
The guard by the door pretends not to listen, but his posture tells me he hears every word. I’ve gotten used to living without privacy. Mama probably never will.
“How did Papa convince you to come here?” I ask.
“He didn’t. You did.” She reaches across the table but stops short of touching my hand. “When you called and wanted to hear what I had to say, that changed something. Made me realize I needed to stop waiting for the perfect moment and just show up.”
“Even though showing up meant coming to an underground bunker surrounded by armed men?”
She covers my hand with hers. “You’re living the life I couldn’t survive, and I need to understand why. What makes you strong enough to stay when I had to run?”
I turn my palm up and lace our fingers. Her hand feels fragile in mine, like I could crush the bones if I squeezed too hard.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” I admit. “Some days, I think about leaving. About taking this baby and disappearing somewhere Alexei can’t find us.”
“But you don’t.”
“But I don’t.”
She squeezes my hand. “Tell me about him. Not the criminal part. Not the dangerous part. Tell me what you see when you look at him.”
A ghost of a smile starts on my lips as I consider the question, and out of all the things I could say, what comes out is, “He made me borscht. He even called Papa for Babushka’s recipe and spent hours getting it just right.”
Mama’s eyes go bright with tears. “She would have loved that.”
“He reads French poetry to fall asleep. Has a library of books he’s read, not just collected to look impressive. And when he looks at me—” I pause, searching for the right words. “When he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only person in the world who matters.”
“Your father used to look at me that way.” She pulls her hand back and wraps her sweater tighter around herself. “In the beginning. Before the violence and the fear eroded everything between us.”
“That’s what scares me most. Not the bullets or the kidnappings or any of the external threats. I’m terrified of becoming you, and Alexei becoming Papa. Of waking up one day and realizing we’ve slowly destroyed each other instead of building something that lasts.”
She nods like she expected this. “That’s why I came. Not to tell you to leave, even though every maternal instinct I have screams that you should. I came to tell you how to stay without losing yourself.”
I cock my head. “How?”
“Boundaries. Real ones, not the kind you negotiate away during crises. Decide what you need to survive—not physically, but emotionally—and protect those things like your life depends on them. Because it does.”
“What kind of boundaries?”
“For me, it should have been limiting my exposure to the violence. Not attending meetings where business was discussed. Not knowing details about operations that would keep me awake at night. Your father thought including me in everything meant trusting me, but it meant drowning me in trauma I couldn’t process. ”
“Alexei shields me from the worst of it.”
Mama shakes her head. “That’s different from you setting boundaries. Him choosing what you can handle and you deciding what you need are separate things.”
She picks up her sandwich again, but still doesn’t eat. “I let your father determine how much I could bear. Every time I accepted his judgment over my own, I gave away a piece of myself I never got back.”
“So, what should you have done differently? What boundary would have changed things?”
Her gaze drops. “The pregnancy, for one. I should have waited before I had your sister. I should have established myself as a partner in the marriage before adding a child to the equation. But I thought a baby would fix the distance between us. Instead, it just made me more dependent on a man whose world was destroying me.”
I rest my hand on my stomach. “It’s a little late for that advice.”
“I’m not criticizing your choices. I’m explaining mine so you can make better ones.
” She finally takes a bite and chews slowly, using it to buy time.
“Your situation is different. Alexei seems willing to prioritize you in ways your father never did for me. But that willingness only matters if you’re clear about what you need. ”
“I need him to stop making decisions for me.” I snort, half-laughing.
“Tell him that. Explicitly. And when he inevitably decides something without consulting you because the threat feels urgent, call him out on it. Don’t let it slide because you understand why; make him understand that your agency is non-negotiable.”
The guard returns, and Mama straightens like she’s been caught doing something forbidden. Old habits from her years in this life.
“Dr. Orlov’s here,” the guard announces. “It’s time for your checkup.”
I groan. “Can’t he come back later?”
“He’s already downstairs.”
Mama stands and takes her purse that’s been hanging on the back of the chair. “I should go anyway. Let you rest.”
“You just got here.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow if you want. Next week. Whenever you need me.” She walks around the table and kisses my forehead. “But right now, you need to take care of yourself and that baby. Everything else can wait.”
After she leaves, Dr. Orlov begins his examination, going down the usual checklist. My blood pressure is still elevated but stable. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. He reminds me to take my vitamins and avoid stress, as if it’s that simple.
When he’s gone, I lie on the bed and think about what Mama said. About boundaries and agency, and the difference between Alexei protecting me versus me protecting myself.
After half an hour or so, the bedroom door opens without a knock. Alexei fills the doorway, and something in his face tells me he’s been waiting to talk.
“How did it go with your mother?” he asks.
“Good. Better than I expected.” I sit up and pat the space beside me. “We need to talk.”
He closes the door and joins me on the bed. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. Maybe. I don’t know.” I take a breath and start over. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal. About what marriage would mean.”
“And?”
“And I need you to understand something first. If I agree to marry you, it can’t be because I’m backed into a corner with no other options. It has to be because I’m choosing you and you’re choosing me, not because circumstances are forcing our hand.”
He takes my hands in his. “I’m choosing you. I have been all along, Mila. I need you to see that.”
The honesty in his voice tightens my throat. “I need time to work through everything my mother said. About making sure I don’t lose myself trying to fit into your world.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t—”
The door bangs open, and Dmitri bursts in without apology. His face is gray.
“We have a problem,” he announces. “Novikov is moving. Our source says he’s planning a massive strike that targets multiple locations.”
Alexei is on his feet immediately. “What locations?”
“Your penthouse. Leonid’s estate. The safehouse where Irina is staying with her baby. He’s going after everyone at once, trying to wipe out our support network.”
My stomach drops. “Irina. The baby—”
“They’re being moved now,” Dmitri assures me. “But we need to make decisions fast. Novikov knows we’ve been stalling, and he’s forcing our hand.”
Alexei looks at me, then at his brother. “Give us five minutes.”
“We don’t have five minutes.”
“Then make them.” The command in his voice leaves no room for argument.
Dmitri leaves, and Alexei turns back to me. “I know the timing is terrible—”
“The timing is always terrible,” I scoff. “That’s the point. There will never be a perfect moment. There will always be another threat, another crisis, and another reason to delay. Go deal with Novikov. Protect Irina and the baby. Do what you need to do.”
“Mila—”
“I’m not going anywhere. But I need space to think, and you need to focus on keeping everyone alive. So, go plan with your brother.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me like it might be the last time. When he pulls away, his eyes search mine for something I’m not ready to give.
“We’re not finished,” he promises.
“I know.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with a decision I’m not ready to make.