Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Leah
By the time I walked out of the clinic with a full schedule of appointments and left the pharmacy, the New York sky had turned a murky orange-red.
Harper carried two bulging shopping bags, climbing the stairs ahead of me.
Then she kicked open the wooden door of my new apartment like a drill sergeant.
"Close the door, Leah." Harper dropped the shopping bags heavily on the rickety dining table, pulling things out and rattling off instructions.
"Look, now that we've decided to have this baby, we need to be fully prepared starting today."
She held up a bottle with a bright yellow label. "Folic acid. Pop one every morning with breakfast. And this—iron complex vitamins."
Then she yanked out several bags of whole wheat bread and fresh vegetables from the bottom of the bag.
"Those street-corner burritos and cheap hot dogs are permanently off your menu. And your beloved black coffee—half a cup max per day. Better yet, don't touch it at all."
I watched her sort through all the bottles like a pro. "Where the hell did you learn all this pregnancy stuff?"
"Please," Harper rolled her eyes, shoving a bag of carrots into the fridge. "I've got two married sisters, and one of them's already popped out three kids. So you better listen to me."
I sighed, raising both hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright, you're the boss." But looking at the mountain of shopping bags and supplements on the table, my wallet still hurt. "Seriously though, Harper, this is way too much. I can't afford all this right now..."
"A pregnant woman's nutrition is non-negotiable, Leah." Harper slammed the fridge door shut.
"Don't worry about the money. Consider it a loan. When that kid of yours grows up, they can go to Wall Street and earn it all back with interest."
Harper kept talking as she tore open a carton of milk and shoved it into my hand.
"We need to budget smart. Keep your shifts at Old Mike's—no heavy lifting there. I'll pick up some extra gigs. I'll cover next month's rent."
We stood there in the cramped kitchen, talking about everything from scraping together money for the first prenatal visit to which thrift stores had the best deals on used cribs.
Before I knew it, the orange-red outside had been swallowed by complete darkness, streetlights flickering on in the distance.
Harper glanced at her phone screen and suddenly cursed.
"Shit, it's late already! I gotta go."
She scrambled for her coat, rushed to the door, then turned and jabbed a finger at me.
"Lock the door! Put the chain on! Take your folic acid, then get your ass to bed! I'll bring breakfast tomorrow morning! Baby."
"Got it, now go make some money!" I waved her off, laughing.
As the door closed, the apartment fell silent again.
I looked at the pile of supplements on the table, gently touching my still-flat stomach. My soul, adrift for twenty-five years, finally seemed to have found an anchor in this tiny space.
The mess ahead was bottomless, but that unreal floating feeling had finally grounded itself. An unprecedented sense of security washed over me.
Don't be down, Leah. You've got the best friend in the world, and you're about to have the sweetest baby. Life's not so bad, right?
I put away everything Harper had bought, then walked into the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, I emerged from the shower, threw on an oversized hoodie, and towel-dried my hair halfway.
A knock suddenly came from the door.
At first, I thought it was Harper, that scatterbrained idiot forgetting something on the coffee table.
I walked quickly to the door, hand already on the doorknob, then froze.
No. The knock was too heavy. Didn't sound like Harper.
"Leah? Open up!"
My hand stopped mid-motion.
That voice came through the thin door. I'd recognize it anywhere, even if it turned to ash.
Trent.
The knocking became more frantic, the entire doorframe shaking violently.
"I know you're in there, sweetheart. Stop hiding. The lights are on." Trent's voice continued.
Barefoot, barely breathing, I tiptoed like a startled cat toward the door and pressed my eye to the peephole.
Under the dim hallway sensor light, Trent's face—bloated from too much partying—was magnified grotesquely by the fisheye lens.
He was grinning, showing a bone-chilling smile. Behind him, three hulking men with mean faces crowded close. They wore leather jackets, tattoos crawling from their necks to their chins.
I recognized one of them. Loan sharks. Enforcers.
"Open the door, bitch!" One of the thugs lost patience and kicked the door.
Run. I had to run now.
I bit down hard on my lip, turned slowly, and bolted toward the fire escape window in the bedroom. The rusty iron staircase was this crappy old building's only escape route.
My fingers trembled with terror, fumbling desperately with the stuck, rusted window lock.
But just as I pushed the window open a crack, a massive crash came from the front door.
The wooden door and chain were kicked clean off by the thugs outside, the door slamming hard onto the living room floor.
"Gotcha, little mouse."
Trent dusted off his shoulders, stepped over the door, and swaggered inside.
The three thugs burst in immediately. One moved fast, striding into the bedroom in seconds, grabbing the back of my hoodie like I was a chicken, dragging me from the windowsill and throwing me hard onto the living room floor.
"Let go of me!" I screamed, grabbing a glass tumbler from the dining table and clutching it to my chest.
"Hey, Leah." Trent walked up to me, even smiling as he greeted me.
"Moving without telling me? This place was hard to find. Took me forever."
I forced down my heaving chest, glaring at him.
"Trent, what do you want? I already went to that hellhole for you! The debt's cleared! What will it take for you to leave me alone?"
"I'm not here about the debt, sweetheart." Trent laughed exaggeratedly. He turned to exchange a look with the lead enforcer. "Jack told me about it. Your last 'job' was a huge success. That big shot couldn't stop raving about you."
He leaned in close, tobacco stench flooding my nostrils.
"Jack said you performed so well, plenty of rich clients would go crazy for you! Come back, and not only will my new debts get cleared, but you'll be living the high life. Win-win."
"Dream on!" I shot him down without hesitation. "I will never set foot in that hell again! Get out!"
"That's not up to you, Miss Carter." The lead thug sneered, spitting on the floor. "Dead or alive, we're dragging you back today."
"Do it." Trent dropped the smile and stepped back without a second thought.
Two thugs lunged at me like wolves.
"Don't touch me!"
I could never go back to that lightless hell. My life was about to start over.
How could I let these bastards keep buying and selling me?
I gritted my teeth and hurled the glass at the thug charging first.
He dodged. The glass hit the wall. That only pissed him off more.
He stepped forward and backhanded me across the shoulder, the force knocking me to the ground.
"No! Get away!"
I curled up, legs kicking wildly, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it at them.
Chairs, unopened cereal boxes, even the bottle of folic acid I'd just bought—all flew like a storm. Useless.
A rough hand like an iron clamp grabbed my hair, yanking my face up.
Another thug effortlessly twisted my arms behind my back, pinning me with his knee while pulling out a rough zip tie.
The tie cut into my wrists. They lifted me like livestock, my feet barely touching the ground.
Despair flooded over me like freezing seawater.
Trent watched my struggle cease with satisfaction. He strolled over to the couch, sat down, casually tore open a pack of oatmeal cookies Harper had left on the coffee table, and munched away.
"Should've been obedient from the start." He chewed, scanning the trashed apartment.
Suddenly, his chewing stopped.
His gaze fell on the yellow bottle I'd thrown earlier, now lying quietly on the floor.
Trent put down the cookie and walked over, picking up the bottle.
"Folic acid?"
His brow furrowed instantly. Then, as if realizing something, his gaze swept toward the trash can like radar. He strode over and kicked it hard.
As the can toppled, the pregnancy test with its glaring red lines rolled out completely exposed.
Trent stared at the test on the floor, his face darkening.
"You shameless whore!"
Trent spun around, rushed up to me, and grabbed my collar in a death grip.
"Now I get it! No wonder you dumped me! No wonder you wouldn't let me touch you!" Spit flew in my face, his features twisted like a demon's. "You've been screwing some other guy behind my back! Kicked me to the curb and got knocked up with someone else's bastard!"
"Behind your back?" He was choking me. I strained my head back. "What right do you have to talk about betrayal? If I could, I'd wish I never met you!"
"Shut up!"
Trent, hit where it hurt, completely lost it.
He raised his hand high, veins bulging on the back of his hand, and swung at my face.
I clenched my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut, turned my head, waiting for the slap.
But the expected pain never came. Instead, there was a loud crash.
Two black figures burst through the broken doorframe.
They moved lightning-fast. Before Trent could curse, one of them kicked hard at the back of his knee.
Trent screamed and crashed to his knees. The next second, his arm was twisted at a near-dislocating angle, his face smashed into the floor.
The three loan shark thugs holding me panicked instantly, instinctively reaching for knives at their waists.
They never got the chance. Several armed men in black flooded the living room, cold gun barrels pressed against all three foreheads.
"Don't move." The lead man said coldly.
I was released from their grip, collapsing onto the floor, chest heaving violently.
What the hell was happening? Who had Trent pissed off now?
My brain was in complete chaos. All I could do was watch this sudden turn of events in terror.
Then a tall figure appeared in the doorway.
The man walked in slowly, stepping over the shattered boards, into my cramped apartment. He wore an impeccably tailored dark three-piece suit, those black eyes locked on me.
No, no, no.
Impossible.
This couldn't be happening. Him!
The man I'd had a one-night stand with, the biological father of the baby in my belly, stood in my living room without warning.
The man stood in the center of the living room, barely tilting his head, giving the loan shark leader one cold glance.
Just that one look made the previously arrogant thug shudder violently.
"Mr.-Mr. Volkov..." The man's voice cracked, legs buckling as he dropped to the floor.
Cold sweat poured down his forehead. He didn't care about the debt anymore, hands waving frantically at his chest, babbling apologies.
"I'm sorry! Today was all this bastard's idea! Please spare us, we'll leave right now, disappear immediately!"
The man before me nodded slightly, but his gaze lingered on me.
The leader scrambled up like he'd been pardoned, calling to his gun-pointed underlings, fleeing the apartment in a panic.
Meanwhile, Trent, still pinned to the floor, struggled violently.
"You bastards let me go! Know who I am? This woman is mine! She's just some whore drowning in debt, knocked up with someone else's bastard. She belongs to me—mmph!"
The lead man in black stomped a boot on Trent's cheek without mercy, crushing those words back down his throat.
"Take him downstairs." The man ordered coldly. "Find somewhere quiet. Give him some treatment."
Two subordinates grabbed Trent's arms, dragging him out efficiently.
Trent's muffled groans echoed down the hallway.
The remaining men in black bowed their heads as they exited the apartment, eyes glued to the floor, not daring to look at me.
"Pakhan, we'll wait downstairs." The lead man bowed slightly, stepped out, and pulled the half-broken door shut behind him.
Pakhan? Volkov?
Fragmented information scrambled in my brain.
So that was it.
Everything made sense now. No wonder Midnight's security feared him, no wonder Jack acted like a servant, no wonder that vicious loan shark leader dropped to his knees at one glance.
The man before me was the head of New York's largest Russian mob.
Roman Volkov.
And right now, he was stepping over shattered glass, crunching softly, walking toward me step by step.