Chapter 21 - Anja
I have a prenatal appointment today, and Alexey has a meeting.
We sit across from each other in the sunroom off the chef’s kitchen in the main house at the family compound. Morning light pours through the tall windows, turning the space into a bright, airy oasis filled with potted herbs and fresh flowers.
The table is set simply but beautifully with fresh fruit, yogurt with honey, warm croissants, and the ginger tea Alexey always makes sure is waiting for me.
The pregnancy has made mornings gentler in some ways and harder in others; today, the nausea is manageable, but my emotions feel raw and close to the surface.
Alexey looks impeccable in an iron-gray suit, his brown hair neatly combed, the faint stubble along his jaw giving him that quietly dangerous edge I’ve grown used to. He’s reading something on his tablet while eating, but his attention keeps drifting to me.
“I’ll be fine going alone,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence as I stir honey into my tea. “It’s just a routine check-up. Dr. Morozova said everything looked perfect last time.”
“No,” he says, setting the tablet down immediately, brown eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity.
The single word is calm, but firm. The same tone he uses when he’s made up his mind about something non-negotiable.
“Alexey, we haven’t seen Fadir in months. Not since that day at the café with Arina and Katya. His men haven’t come near the compound. His businesses are all but gone. He’s probably hiding somewhere trying to salvage what’s left of his reputation,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair.
He doesn’t look convinced. His jaw tightens slightly. The same thing I’ve learned to recognize when he’s fighting the urge to wrap me in security and never let me out of his sight.
“I know you’re worried,” I continue, reaching across the table to cover his hand with mine.
“But I need to do this. I need to feel like I can still have some normalcy, even with everything that’s changed.
Antone will drive me. He’ll stay right outside the clinic.
I’ll call you every step of the way so you know I’m safe. Promise.”
He studies me for a long moment, the internal battle clear in his eyes. The protective fire that has only grown stronger since we found out about the baby wars with his desire to give me the space I keep asking for. Finally, he exhales slowly.
“Fine,” he says, though the word sounds like it costs him.
“You go alone. But you call me when you leave the compound, when you arrive at the clinic, after the appointment, and when you’re back in the car heading home.
Every step. If anything feels off... even slightly, you tell Antone immediately, and you call me. ”
“I promise,” I nod, squeezing his hand.
“Be careful, Anja. Please.” He doesn’t look entirely happy, but he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“I will.”
Little did I know what would happen once I left the confines of the Sokolov compound.
The drive into the city feels almost normal. Antone is quiet and professional behind the wheel, the black SUV smooth and secure. I watch the scenery pass as trees give way to buildings, the familiar rhythm of city life that feels both distant and comforting after weeks at the estate.
I call Alexey when we leave the compound, then again when we arrive at the private clinic. He answers on the first ring both times, his voice steady but laced with that underlying tension I’ve come to recognize as love wrapped in worry.
The appointment itself goes well. Dr. Morozova is warm and thorough, confirming the baby is growing perfectly. I hear the heartbeat again, it’s strong and fast, and for a few precious minutes, the fear recedes.
I leave the clinic smiling, one hand resting lightly over my gently rounded belly, already imagining telling Alexey about the latest measurements.
I’m halfway to the SUV when everything changes.
Fadir steps out from behind a parked car near the curb, his eyes wild and desperate. He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, his clothes slightly rumpled, the charming mask he once wore completely shattered. Two of his men hover a few steps behind him, trying to look casual but failing.
“Anja.”
My blood turns to ice. I freeze, heart slamming against my ribs. Antone is already moving, stepping between us, but Fadir holds up his hands in a placating gesture.
“I just want to talk,” he says, voice pleading but edged with something darker. “Please. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Stay away from me.” I shake my head, backing toward the SUV.
“You’re carrying my child,” he blurts out, loud enough for a few passersby to hear. “He took you from me when you were already pregnant. I know the truth, Anja. I know what he did.”
The lie hits like a slap. Rage and fear twist together in my chest.
“It’s not yours. It was never yours.”
“Step back, Klem. Now,” my driver Antony growls, his hand is on his sidearm now, voice low and deadly.
“You think he’ll keep you? He’s using you, just like I did. When he’s done with his little revenge game, he’ll toss you aside. You’re nothing but a pawn to men like him,” Fadir’s eyes dart between us, desperation turning to fury.
The words sting because they echo the old fears I’ve carried for so long. The belief that I’m forgettable, disposable, inherently “less than.” But I’m not the same woman he trapped months ago. I lift my chin, voice shaking but clear.
“You don’t know anything about him. Or me. Leave me alone, Fadir. Or the Sokolovs will make sure you never get the chance to speak to me again.”
Antone moves forward, forcing Fadir and his men to back away. I slide into the SUV, hands trembling as I lock the door. The moment we pull away from the curb, I call Alexey.
“Anja? Are you okay?” he answers instantly.
“Fadir was there,” I say, voice cracking. “Outside the clinic. He tried to talk to me. He’s still spreading those lies about the baby being his.”
The silence on the other end is heavy. When Alexey speaks again, his voice is terrifyingly calm. The kind of calm that usually precedes violence.
“Put Antone on.”
I hand the phone over. Antone speaks in low, clipped tones, giving a rapid report. When he hands the phone back, Alexey’s voice is softer but no less intense.
“Stay in the car. Come straight home. I’m waiting for you.”
The drive back to the compound feels endless.
When we finally pull through the iron gates, Alexey is already standing on the steps of the main house, Tikhon beside him like a wall of muscle.
The moment I step out, Alexey pulls me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. One hand rests protectively over my belly, the other strokes my hair.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs against my temple. “He won’t get near you again.”
I nod, but my body is still shaking. “I thought it was over. I thought he was done.”
Alexey doesn’t answer right away. When I pull back to look at him, I see the anger rising—jaw tight, eyes shaded with barely contained fury. Not at me. Never at me. But at Fadir. At the constant threat that refuses to die.
“He’s getting desperate,” Alexey says quietly, thumb brushing my cheek. “That makes him dangerous. But he just made his last mistake.”
I lean into him, letting his strength hold me up. The pregnancy has made every emotion feel bigger, but so has this... Alexey’s unwavering presence. The way he keeps choosing me, even when the world tries to remind me how fragile everything is.
Revenge against Fadir is still burning.
But as I stand here in his arms, safe within the walls of the Sokolov compound, I realize something else is growing stronger.
The belief that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to face any of this alone.
***
I’m shaking, but not with fear of Fadir anymore. Instead, it’s with the overwhelming realization that the man beside me would take on the world to keep me and our baby safe.
The SUV ride back to the compound passes in a blur of tinted windows and Antone’s silent vigilance. Alexey’s arm is wrapped around me the entire way, his large hand resting protectively over the gentle curve of my belly.
Every few minutes, he presses a kiss to my temple or murmurs that I’m safe, that Fadir will never get close again. His voice is steady, but I can feel the tension coiled in his body. How he’s quiet with a precision that defines him now, sharpened into something fiercer.
When we finally pull through the iron gates and stop in front of the main house, Alexey helps me out, his hand never leaving the small of my back.
Tikhon is waiting on the steps, his massive frame radiating barely contained anger on my behalf.
But it’s Alexey’s face that undoes me. The age gap, the Bratva world, the way he moves with such quiet precision… it all hits me at once.
This man, the same one who once stormed into a warehouse with a gun and the calm threat of explosives, would destroy anything that tried to harm us.
Not with loud rage or violence like the men from my childhood, but with methodical, unrelenting force.
He would burn the world down if it meant keeping me and our baby safe.
The realization steals my breath.
Later that evening, I sit on the sofa in the family compound’s living room, legs tucked beneath me, a soft throw blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
The room is warm and inviting, with deep leather couches, a crackling fireplace, and shelves lined with books and family photos, making the space feel lived-in rather than imposing.
Pregnancy hormones make every emotion feel bigger and more obvious tonight.
I can’t stop the thoughts from spinning.
I replay the violent men who came for my father back home when I was younger with the threats and the terror that made me flee at eighteen rather than be married off to settle debts.
Those men were loud, brutal, and monstrous.
They laughed while they destroyed our home.
They spoke about me as if I were a prize to the victor.
I spent years painting every Bratva man with that same brush.
Alexey is none of those things.
He is patient. Methodical. Fiercely protective in a way that still terrifies me because it feels too good to be true.
He didn’t yell when I told him about Fadir at the clinic.
He didn’t storm off to hunt him down immediately.
He held me. He listened. He made sure I was safe first, then started planning with that terrifying calm that makes powerful men nervous.
The black-and-white view I grew up with that “Bratva equals evil” has been dismantled so completely over the last several months that I barely recognize my own beliefs anymore.
The Sokolovs protect their own. They close ranks without question. They don’t prey on the vulnerable for sport. They build structures that last.
But the doubt still lingers.
The next morning, I seek quiet advice from Katya.
She meets me in the sunroom off the main kitchen, a gentle smile on her face as she pours us both herbal tea.
The light is soft and golden, filtering through the windows and warming the wooden table between us.
Katya looks elegant and composed, but there’s a deep understanding in her eyes that tells me she’s walked a similar path.
I don’t know how to start, so I just begin talking.
“I saw Fadir yesterday,” I say quietly. “Outside the clinic. He tried to talk to me. He’s still spreading those lies about the baby being his.
” My voice cracks. “I am so scared. Not just for me, but for the baby. And then Alexey… he is so calm, but I could see the anger underneath. It all hit me at once—the age difference, this world, how protective he is. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to realize I’m too broken, too marked by my past, and decide I’m not worth it. ”
Katya listens, her hand reaching across the table to cover mine. When I finally fall silent, she speaks with quiet understanding.
“I felt the same terror after Fadir targeted me,” she says softly.
“I grew up hearing the same stories you did. Stories that would make your skin crawl, violence, broken homes, and women used as pawns. When I first realized this world is one I’d never escape from, I was convinced every Sokolov man is a monster waiting to reveal himself.
It took time to separate the code they actually live by from the nightmares I was raised with. ”
She squeezes my hand gently and continues.
“The Sokolovs protect women and children above all else. It’s not just words.
It’s the foundation on which everything else is built.
Alexey isn’t like the men who came for your father.
He’s not like Fadir. He’s choosing you every single day, and not because you’re useful, not because of the baby, but because you’re you.
The pregnancy makes everything feel bigger and scarier, I know.
But that fear doesn’t mean the safety isn’t real. ”
Her words ease some of the weight in my chest, but the doubt still lingers.
“The war with Fadir feels truly over,” I whisper, “but I’m still carrying everything I survived.
The baby growing inside me. The way Alexey keeps choosing us without demanding anything in return.
I’m closer to trusting this life than ever before…
but I’m not there yet. Part of me wonders if I can truly handle being a Bratva wife and raising a child in this world without repeating the cycle of fear I ran from before. ”
“No one is ever fully ready. I'm not. But you’re not repeating the cycle. You’re breaking it. You ran from fear once. Now you’re choosing to stay and build something better—for yourself and for your child. That takes more strength than running ever did,” Katya’s expression softens with empathy.
I nod, tears pricking at my eyes. The pregnancy hormones make the emotion swell until it feels overwhelming, but there’s a quiet hope underneath it now.
Later that afternoon, I find Alexey in his office. He looks up the moment I enter, brown eyes immediately softening with concern and that fierce protectiveness that still takes my breath away.
I cross the room and climb into his lap without asking, curling against his chest. His arms come around me instantly, one hand settling over my belly in that now-familiar protective gesture.
“I’m still scared sometimes,” I admit quietly. “Of this world. Of repeating the past. Of not being enough for you or for our baby.”
He presses a kiss to my hair, his voice low and steady. “You are more than enough. And you don’t have to be unafraid. You just have to let me stand beside you when the fear comes. We’ll face it together.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in. The clean scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the quiet strength that has become my anchor.
The war with Fadir may be ending.
But the real battle, learning to trust this life, this man, this future, is only beginning.
For the first time, I think I might be ready to fight for it.