17. Vera
VERA
Roman leaves before dawn on Thursday.
I wake to the sound of the shower going across the hall. Then I hear his footsteps moving through the penthouse.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. A door opens and closes somewhere in the apartment. He leaves without a word. That’s become normal.
I think about everything that’s happened in the past few weeks. My hand drifts to my stomach without conscious thought.
I still haven’t taken a test. Every morning since, I’ve told myself I’ll do it today, and every morning I find some excuse to put it off.
What if I’m wrong? What if the nausea is just stress, the missed period another side effect of everything that’s happened? If the test is negative, I’ll have to face the possibility that I’m not pregnant after all. That I’m still the broken woman Dmitri told me I was.
And... what if I’m right?
If I’m pregnant, everything changes. My decision about Roman isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about the life growing inside me, the child I never thought I’d have.
I need to know. One way or another, I need to know.
I finally drag myself out of bed, and pad into the hall.
The penthouse is quiet without Roman in it. I wander from room to room, aimless.
I keep coming back to the same thought, the same impossible question. Can I marry him and stay in this world, knowing what it costs?
That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? If I say yes to Roman, I’m saying yes to the Bratva. I’m saying yes to a life of danger and uncertainty, a life where my husband could be killed at any moment and I’d be left alone to pick up the pieces.
I’ve already lived that life once. I’m not sure I can do it again.
Then I think about the way Roman looks at me. The sex is incredible, but it’s more than that. He respects me in a way nobody else ever has. Is it enough? I don’t know anything anymore.
Oksana arrives around two, carrying bags of groceries and a knowing look.
“You look terrible,” she says by way of greeting.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.” She sets the bags on the kitchen counter and turns to face me, her hands on her hips. “When was the last time you ate something?”
“Uh...”
“Well, that explains everything.” She starts unpacking the groceries with brisk efficiency. “Sit down. I’ll make you something proper.”
I want to argue, but I don’t have the energy. I sink onto one of the kitchen stools and watch her work. She pulls out pots and pans from the cabinet and sets to work.
It reminds me of the mansion. I spent hours watching Oksana cook, hiding in the kitchen while Dmitri raged in the other room. She never asked questions or pushed for details. She just fed me and let me be.
“Oksana,” I say after a minute.
“Hmm?”
“I need to ask you something.”
She pauses, knife hovering over an onion. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the concern already forming there. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath. “If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell Roman?”
The concern deepens. “That depends on what it is.”
“It’s... it’s about me. I haven’t told him yet, and I don’t know for sure.”
She sets down the knife and wipes her hands on a towel. Then she comes around the counter and takes the stool next to mine.
“Tell me,” she says.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I’ve been carrying this secret for days, turning it over and over in my mind; now that I’m finally saying it out loud, I’m terrified.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
Oksana’s expression doesn’t change, but she takes in a deep breath. “Pregnant?” she repeats.
“I’m late, and I’ve been nauseous, and tired, and...” I trail off, unable to continue.
“Have you taken a test?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head. “Because I’m scared of what it’ll say, Oksana.”
Oksana reaches out and takes my hand. Her grip is warm and firm.
“I thought...” I swallow. “I thought I couldn’t have children.”
“Because of what Dmitri told you?”
I nod. “Him... and the doctors. They all said the same thing.”
“So you believed him.”
“He was my husband. Why would he lie about something like that?”
She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing slow circles over the back of my hand.
“Vera,” she says carefully, “Dmitri was a lot of things, but honest wasn’t one of them.”
I stare at her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if he told you that you couldn’t have children, there’s a reason. That reason probably had more to do with controlling you than with any medical reality.”
“The tests,” I whisper. “The doctors...”
“Did you ever see the results yourself, or did Dmitri tell you what they said?”
I open my mouth to respond, then close it again. The truth is that I never saw the results. I took the tests, yes, but it was always his private doctors and his physicians doing those tests.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Oksana squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying this to hurt you, but you need to know the truth. If you’re pregnant, it’s not a miracle. It’s just biology.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, but it comes out as a sob. “I don’t even know if I’m pregnant.”
“Then take a test.”
“I can’t. If Roman finds out?—”
“Roman doesn’t have to know. Not yet.” She stands up and pulls me to my feet. “There’s a pharmacy three blocks from here. We’ll have your answer soon enough.”
I want to say yes. I want to let her take care of me, to let her make the decisions so I don’t have to. Something stops me.
“I can’t,” I say. “Roman left security outside. He told me not to leave without them.”
Oksana’s expression hardens. “Since when do you let a man tell you what to do?”
“Since a man with a gun started standing outside the door.”
Her expression grows fierce. “And since when has that ever stopped you?”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
She’s right. Of course she is. Has a woman like Oksana ever been wrong?
I spent three years letting Dmitri control every aspect of my life, where I went, who I saw, what I wore. Now I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Different man, same cage.
Roman might be kinder about it, might frame it as protection instead of possession, but the result is the same. I’m sitting in this penthouse, waiting for permission to leave.
“I need to get out of here,” I say.
Oksana studies me for a long moment. Then she nods. “Then let’s go.”
My heart is pounding. I’ve never defied Roman before, but Oksana is right.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I grab my coat and head for the door. Oksana follows a step behind me.
The security detail is stationed in the hallway, just as I expected. There are two men in dark suits, their expressions blank. One holds a pistol, and the other has a cruel-looking rifle by his side. They straighten when they see me.
“Mrs. Volkonsky.” The taller one nods. “Is everything alright?”
“I need some air,” I say. My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’m going for a walk.”
The two men exchange a glance. “Mr. Volkonsky left instructions?—”
“I know what he left.” I cut them off, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. “I’m telling you I need to get out of this apartment for a little while. Oksana is coming with me.”
The taller one hesitates. I can see him weighing his options, trying to decide whether to push back or let it go.
“Oksana,” he says, his eyes shifting to her. “You’ll be with her the whole time?”
“Of course.” Oksana’s voice is calm, reassuring. “We’re just going for a walk. Nothing more.”
He exchanges another glance with his partner. Then he nods. “We’ll follow at a distance. Mr. Volkonsky would want us to.”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “I need space. I can’t have that with two men in dark suits trailing me like I’m some kind of criminal.”
The taller one’s jaw tightens. “Mrs. Volkonsky?”
“Vera.” I correct him. “I’m asking you, as a favor, to let me have twenty minutes. Just twenty. I’ll have my phone. Nothing is going to happen.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but something in my face must convince him because he finally nods.
“Twenty minutes,” he says. “You call if anything feels off.”
“Thank you.”
I turn and head for the elevator before he can change his mind. Oksana follows.
The elevator ride is silent. My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating, but I don’t regret it. For the first time in days, I feel like I’m in control of something.
The lobby is empty when we reach the ground floor. The doorman barely looks up, and the street outside is quiet in the late afternoon sun.
I step outside and take a deep breath. The air is cool and fresh, a relief after the stale confines of the penthouse. I didn’t realize how much I needed this until right now.
“Pharmacy?” Oksana asks.
I start walking. The city unfolds around me, familiar and strange at the same time. We walk for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only been five minutes. My mind is racing, turning over the same questions.
As we round a corner and I see the pharmacy, something inside me settles. I’m done waiting. I’m done letting other people make decisions for me.
It’s time to figure this out on my own terms.
I stop in front of the pharmacy door.
Oksana stops beside me, her eyes following mine. “Go on, then,” she says quietly. “Get your answers.”
I take a deep breath and push open the door.