Chapter 30 Anika
ANIKA
The house is too quiet. I stare at the glossy marble tiles of the bathroom floor, listening intently for a noise as I kneel in front of the bottom drawer I just reorganized for the third time in a row.
I line up bottles of lotion by height, rearrange cotton swabs into their little glass jar. I shift it a centimeter to the left.
Then another.
Then back.
It’s ridiculous, but I can’t stop.
Miko’s man said it was a minor disturbance. Some breach in the perimeter, but he couldn’t give me more details.
Maybe it’s another Russian faction sniffing around.
I suppose that would be better than if the Tanakas chose to show up at our front door.
The man Miko sent to stand guard outside our room made it sound routine.
Nothing to worry about, but I felt the house shake. I heard the boom. Which is why my anxiety is through the roof.
I didn’t argue when he asked me to stay in our room. I know Miko just wants me to be safe. But knowing something intellectually doesn’t stop my stomach from clenching, or my palms from sweating, or my mind from leaping to the worst-case scenarios.
I bite the inside of my cheek and push the drawer closed. I need to do something, anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling with fear for Miko’s safety.
The cabinet under the sink catches my eye, and I yank it open. It’s cluttered with half-used bottles, unopened extras, my rarely used curling wand, and my feminine hygiene products.
I pull items out, humming under my breath, trying to calm my nerves.
My fingers work quickly, sorting through the clutter.
I toss the crumpled empty tampon box into the trash, lining up the rest in a neat little stack.
Then I pause.
There are too many.
My hand hovers over the drawer as I do a quick count, then another. Straightening my back, I press a palm to my belly.
No cramps. No headaches.
No sore breasts.
No signs at all of my period coming.
But it’s been weeks—longer even.
I scramble up, grab my phone from the counter and open my period tracking app.
My hands are shaking now.
The last recorded cycle was nearly two months ago.
Just days before Pyotr died.
Pyotr. His name hits me like a slap.
My throat tightens, but I force myself to breathe.
Focus. That cycle came after the last time he touched me.
So if I’m pregnant now, it couldn’t be his.
It couldn’t, I reassure myself, blinking back the memory of our last night together.
The night he came to bed drunk after celebrating the Chiaroscuros’ destruction, I waited until he was asleep before I joined him.
But still, I feel the fear that knotted in my gut every time he turned his gaze on me like I was a possession, a tool for him to use.
A vessel for him to put an heir in.
No. No more of that. Miko ended that life.
He pulled me out of the hell I thought I’d never escape.
So, I can’t be pregnant.
At least not with Pyotr’s child…
Turning, I rip open the left-side vanity drawer, digging to the very back, where I remember shoving a spare test months ago—the last time I was late and panicking that Pyotr had gotten me pregnant.
My fingers close on the slim pink foil-wrapped stick. Tearing it open, I pull out the flimsy piece of plastic with its cap-protected test strip.
I already know how to use it, and I move on autopilot now, numbed by nerves as I move through a dense fog that clouds my mind.
It takes no time at all to finish the test, and I cap it, setting it on the back of the toilet as I wait for the results.
I don’t look at it. Not yet.
But I set a timer as the seconds stretch into an eternity. Then I start to pace.
I open the app again and double-check the calendar, staring at the little dots.
I read every note I logged.
Then I scroll back to the month before Pyotr died, forcing myself to reread what I already know: My cycle came two weeks after the last time he finished inside me.
That alone makes my knees weak with relief. Even if the test is positive, Pyotr is not the father.
I nearly jump out of my skin when my alarm goes off at the three-minute mark.
Then I turn slowly toward the innocuous pink plastic test.
My heart pounds in my ears. It shouldn’t matter this much. It shouldn’t make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something vast and irreversible.
But I know why it does.
Because this time, it would be Miko’s.
The man who sees me.
Who listens.
Who took a vow to protect me and has honored it every day since.
He’s the man who touches me like I’m made of something sacred. Who saved me, not just from Pyotr, but from myself.
Air trapped in my lungs, I reach for the test and pick it up with shaking fingers. Two pink lines stare up at me, confirming what I knew the moment I laid eyes on my tampons.
I’m pregnant.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
I grip the edge of the sink, staring down at the tiny window with its two tiny pink lines like the meaning might change if I look long enough. But it doesn’t. The lines stay, clear and unmistakable.
A sob bubbles up and spills from my lips before I can stop it. But it’s not fear that makes my throat ache. Not like it would have if Pyotr were still alive.
It’s joy.
For so long, the idea of a baby felt like a trap, not just for me but for any innocent child I would be bringing into my cruel world.
Pyotr would mention children in the same tone he used to talk about breeding dogs.
Cold. Strategic.
Gloating if he was drunk and trying to impress his men. It made my skin crawl.
But now, with Miko’s name echoing in my heart, the thought fills me with warmth so overwhelming it almost knocks me over. I’m going to have a baby. Miko’s baby.
For the first time, excitement bubbles up inside me at the prospect.
I press a hand to my stomach again. There’s nothing there yet, no bump, no flutter.
But I imagine it anyway. I imagine Miko’s fingers brushing over my skin as it grows tight and round and swollen.
I imagine him dropping to his knees and kissing my belly, whispering in that low, reverent voice of his when I tell him we’re going to have a child.
A laugh escapes me, shaky and disbelieving, and suddenly, I can’t keep the news to myself. I grab the test and rush toward the door to our apartments, flinging it open. The guard stationed outside looks up, startled.
“Is the disturbance over?” I ask, breathless.
He straightens. “I believe so, but Signor Chiaroscuro told me you should stay here until—”
I don’t wait for the rest of his explanation.
Taking off down the hallway barefoot, I ignore the chill of the marble floor right along with the guard’s protest as he calls after me.
The test is clutched in my hand, my fingers tight around it like it might vanish if I let go.
I don’t know exactly where Miko is, but my feet know the way, and a thrill races through me as I set my mind on finding him.