Chapter 18 - Alexey
The doctor confirmed a healthy pregnancy that afternoon.
Dr. Elena Morozova arrived at the penthouse perfectly on time, her black medical bag discreet and her manner calm and professional. She conducted the exam in the guest suite with quiet efficiency. She did some bloodwork and an ultrasound before asking gentle questions about symptoms.
Anja sits on the edge of the bed, pale but composed, her hand occasionally drifting to her still-flat stomach as if reassuring herself that the tiny life inside is real.
I stand by the window, arms crossed, watching every movement. When the ultrasound screen flickered to life, and the faint, rapid heartbeat filled the room, something primal unlocked in my chest. A strong, steady rhythm. Healthy. Our child.
“Everything looks excellent for this stage,” Dr. Morozova says, wiping the gel from Anja’s skin with a warm cloth. “You’re roughly a few weeks along. Continue with the prenatal vitamins, rest when the nausea hits, and we’ll schedule regular check-ins. Any questions?”
Anja shakes her head, voice small. “Not right now.”
I walk the doctor out, thank her, and make the arrangements on the spot. Within two hours, bags are packed, security detail is doubled, and the SUV is waiting in the underground garage.
“We’re moving to the family compound for your safety,” I tell Anja as I carry her suitcase to the elevator. “The penthouse is secure, but the estate has more protection, family close by, and far less exposure to any remaining reach Fadir might have. It’s not negotiable.”
She doesn’t argue this time. The fight from this morning has drained out of her, replaced by quiet exhaustion and the weight of a new reality. She simply nods and follows me into the car.
The drive to the Sokolov estate is silent except for the low rumble of the engine. When we arrive, the iron gates open smoothly, and the sprawling stone mansion comes into view under the afternoon sun.
I led Anja to the family wing, a private section with its own entrance, reinforced security, and direct access to the main house.
Her new suite is larger than the guest room at the penthouse: soft neutral tones, a king bed already made with fresh linens, windows overlooking the gardens, and an adjoining sitting area.
Arina was waiting in the hallway when we arrived.
The moment she sees Anja, my sister’s face lights up with that fierce, warm energy only she possesses. She pulls Anja into a tight hug without hesitation, wrapping her arms around her like she’s known her for years.
“Welcome to the madhouse,” Arina says, voice muffled against Anja’s hair.
“You know, the sister who keeps these stubborn men from burning everything down. And you…” She pulls back, grinning as she looks Anja up and down, “…are finally the real woman Alexey’s brought home instead of another damn strategy. ”
I shoot her a warning look. Arina just laughs.
“Relax, brother. She’s carrying your child.
The least you can do is let me tease you about it.
” She turns back to Anja, squeezing her shoulders gently.
“If you need anything, clothes that actually fit as you grow, someone to rant at, or just quiet company, I’m right down the hall.
Katya sent a message through Tikhon. She wants you to know she’s here when you’re ready to talk about any of it.
Her own experiences, advice, whatever you need. No pressure.”
“Thank you. Both of you.” Anja manages a small, genuine smile.
That evening, we gathered for dinner in the main dining room. The long oak table is set simply but warmly with roasted lamb, fresh vegetables from the garden, and bread still warm from the oven.
Tikhon sits at one end, his massive frame somehow fitting comfortably in the chair as he relays Katya’s messages with his usual gruff affection.
Arina dominates the conversation with her sharp wit, ribbing me about my “patient sniper approach to romance” and how I have finally been caught off guard by something I couldn’t plan for.
Anja sits beside me, quiet at first, but gradually relaxing as Arina tells stories about our childhood. Like the time I tried to out-strategize our father at age fourteen and ended up locked in the library for three days with only Sun Tzu for company.
When Anja laughs softly, it surprises me with how it lights up her face. Something dangerous twists in my chest, and I shift in my chair.
I watch her across the table as she listens to Arina, her hair with its auburn highlights catching the candlelight, and her eyes soften with genuine amusement.
She looks like she belongs here. Not as a tactical asset in a revenge plot, but as part of the family.
My mind wanders unbidden to the future: Anja wearing my ring, our child in her arms, Sunday dinners where her laugh becomes a regular sound instead of a rare gift.
I am already imagining her as something permanent.
Fadir’s first major public humiliation lands that same week.
We have purposely leaked photos from one of our recent events with Anja on my arm in that sleek emerald gown, my hand resting at the small of her back. The images hit the right circles: society pages, business networks, the underworld whispers that matter.
By mid-week, surveillance footage shows Fadir in one of his remaining safe houses, staring at a tablet.
His face has drained of color when he sees Anja clearly pregnant, and rumors are already swirling in the captions.
The message is unmistakable: everything he thought he owned is slipping away.
The woman he tried to trap now stands beside his enemy, carrying his child, while his empire crumbles around him.
I watch the footage in my office at the compound, jaw tight with satisfaction. But the revenge no longer burns as the primary fire inside me.
The pregnancy has instantly shifted my focus.
My usual restrained patience now carries a more personal edge. Every decision, every move against Fadir is filtered through one overriding imperative: nothing and no one will touch Anja or our unborn child.
Suppliers who hesitate receive faster pressure. Leaks become more precise. The slow dismantling continues with accounts frozen, allies turning, his public image fracturing further, but for the first time, revenge feels secondary.
What matters most is the fierce protectiveness that surges through me every time I look at the woman carrying my child.
That evening, after dinner, I find Anja on the terrace overlooking the gardens. She stands at the stone railing, one hand resting lightly over her stomach, the evening breeze lifting strands of her hair. I approach quietly, stopping beside her without crowding.
“Arina’s stories are dangerous. I almost forgot how terrifying this all is for a minute.” She glances at me, a small smile touching her lips.
“You don’t have to carry the fear alone anymore.” I reach out, covering her hand with mine, where it rests on her stomach.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into my side just slightly. It’s the first voluntary closeness since the news of the pregnancy.
The slow squeeze on Fadir continues in the background.
But as I stand there with Anja under the fading light, feeling the tiny, impossible reality of our child between us, I know the truth with absolute clarity:
Revenge is no longer the center of this war.
Protecting my family is.
I will burn the world down before I let anyone threaten it.
***
The war room at the family compound smells of aged wood, strong coffee, and the faint trace of cigar smoke that always lingers when the capos gather. I sit at the head of the long mahogany table, sleeves rolled up, reviewing the latest intelligence reports while the others settle in.
Tikhon occupies the chair to my right, his massive frame making the heavy seat look almost delicate. Andrei, my younger brother, sharp-eyed and quick-tempered, leans against the wall near the window.
Three other trusted capos fill the remaining seats: Viktor, who handles the eastern routes; Lev, our financial enforcer; and Sergei, the quiet one who manages security for the entire family.
We've been meeting for nearly an hour, mapping the next phase against Fadir.
His suppliers are folding faster now. Two more legitimate fronts have been quietly frozen.
The leaked photos from the gala are doing their work, and society circles are buzzing with speculation about the woman on my arm and the rumors of pregnancy already swirling.
“Financial pressure is working,” Lev reports, sliding a folder across the table. “Three more accounts are locked. His cash flow is drying up. Another two weeks and he’ll be forced to liquidate assets just to keep the lights on.”
Tikhon grunts in approval. “Good. Let the bastard feel the noose tightening slowly. No clean bullet for him. He deserves to watch everything burn.”
“We keep it surgical. No unnecessary noise. The goal is still erosion, and that’s to make him look weak in the eyes of his own people. Once he’s isolated, we finish it,” I nod, making a note on the margin of the report.
The conversation shifts to other pending business: a minor territorial dispute on the south side, a shipment schedule that needs tighter security, and a request from one of our legitimate construction companies for additional capital.
I listen carefully, giving instructions with the same methodical calm I always maintain in these rooms.
Then Andrei speaks up, his tone darker than usual.
“There’s something else. More rumors are swirling about Anja’s pregnancy.”
The room goes still. I set my pen down slowly, every muscle in my body tightening.
“Fadir’s been talking. He’s telling anyone who will listen.
People like associates, a few loose ends in the underworld, even some of the old messengers, that the child is his.
Claims you abducted Anja when you knew she was already pregnant with his baby.
Says you stole his woman and his heir to humiliate him.
He’s painting you as the villain who broke the code by taking a pregnant woman from her rightful partner,” Andrei continues, eyes flicking to me.
Rage ignites in my chest, hot and immediate.
I feel it like a physical blow, and it’s not just the lie itself, but the deliberate attempt to drag Anja’s name through the mud, to question her safety, to make her pregnancy a weapon against both of us.
The thought of Fadir spreading that poison, claiming my child as his own, makes my hands curl into fists beneath the table.
“He’s desperate,” Sergei mutters. “Trying to turn public opinion, make us look like we’re the ones breaking rules.”
“Desperate or not,” I say, voice low and edged with ice, “he has crossed the final line.”
“We hit him harder. Financially first, then we start picking off the few loyal men he has left. Make sure everyone knows the child is yours. Publicly, if necessary.” Tikhon leans forward, his massive hands flattening on the table.
I shake my head once, sharply. “No. Not yet. We keep the pregnancy quiet on our end for now. Anja is already carrying enough. I won’t subject her to public scrutiny until she’s ready.
But Fadir’s lies end today. Leak the truth through the right channels...
discreetly. The child is mine. Anja is under Sokolov's protection. Anyone who repeats Fadir’s filth will answer to us. ”
“You’re furious.” Andrei’s eyes narrow.
I don’t deny it. The fury burns clean and bright, sharpening every instinct I possess.
This isn’t just business anymore. Fadir has tried to claim what is mine, my woman and my child, and twist it into something ugly.
The methodical patience that has defined my approach to this war now carries a lethal edge.
“She is carrying my son or daughter,” I say, voice quiet but steel-hard. “Not his. Never his. He knows that. He’s lashing out because he’s losing everything, and the only weapon left is trying to tarnish her name and question her safety. I will not allow it.”
The capos exchange glances. They have seen me angry before, but rarely like this. Nothing this personal, possessive, and protective in a way that goes beyond territory or profit.
“Then we make sure he pays for every word. Slowly. Painfully. The way you like it.” Tikhon claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I nod once, already recalibrating the next moves in my mind. Additional security around the compound. More eyes on Fadir’s remaining contacts. A carefully placed counter-rumor that would make anyone repeating his lies think twice.
The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, but my focus has narrowed to one overriding imperative: protect Anja and our child at all costs. The slow dismantling of Fadir will continue, not until revenge is no longer the primary fire driving me.
Protecting what is mine is.
When the capos finally file out, Tikhon lingers behind. He studies me for a long moment, then speaks in that deep, rumbling voice.
“You’ve claimed her. Not just for the plan. For real.”
I don’t answer immediately. The image of Anja at dinner the other night, laughing softly at Arina’s stories, one hand unconsciously resting over her stomach. The image flashes through my mind. The way she looked up at me on the terrace, trusting me enough to lean into my side.
“Yes,” I say finally. “She’s mine. And the child is mine. Fadir will regret every lie he’s spreading. But more than that… I will make sure Anja never has to fear her past or her future again.”
“Good. Family first. Always.” Tikhon nods, a rare hint of approval in his eyes.
He leaves me alone in the war room.
I remain at the table a moment longer, staring at the reports spread before me. The fury still simmers, but beneath it is something fiercer. Something deep with an unshakable resolve.
Fadir thinks he can claim my child and my woman with words.
He has no idea how thoroughly I will make him pay. How completely I will protect what belongs to me.