Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Roman
After that brutal fight, the entire estate froze over.
Leah made her position crystal clear in the most final way possible—she moved out of my master bedroom.
That night, she walked out in front of half the household staff, clutching her own pillow and that gray cashmere throw, and went back to her old room.
From that moment on, we became complete strangers under the same roof.
Every morning in the dining room, only the soft clink of silverware against china broke the silence. She always chose the seat farthest from me, head down, taking small bites of her food.
The second I walked through the dining room doors, she'd quickly swallow her last bite of breakfast, mumble some excuse, and hurry out.
When I worked in my study, she never came near that hallway.
If we ran into each other on the main staircase, she'd immediately look away and grip the wooden banister, pressing herself against the wall as she passed.
Like getting too close to me would infect her with some fatal disease.
I knew she was afraid of me.
That was understandable. Expected, even. Making people fear me was how I operated.
It was efficient communication. I was dangerous, brutal, so you'd better not piss me off and just do what you were supposed to do.
I never expected anyone to love me. Never saw love as a necessary emotion.
But when the love in Leah's eyes gradually got replaced by fear, I felt pain.
The oppressive atmosphere finally alarmed Maria. I could absolutely guess it was Emily, that loudmouth, who'd tipped her off.
So Maria called me for a half-hour lecture, pulling rank as an elder and demanding I back down immediately.
I leaned back in my chair, handled her coldly, then hung up without hesitation.
I couldn't tell Maria the filthy truth.
Couldn't tell her that Leah had been wrapped up tight with her ex in that dark alley, couldn't describe how that bastard's dirty hands had been brazenly placed on Leah's belly.
Or that the kid had been that asshole's to begin with.
Just thinking about that fact, picturing them embracing, made me want to personally strangle Trent's rat neck.
But right now I didn't even have time to deal with this shit.
Dmitri, that old bastard, had picked his moment perfectly and clamped down hard on the Volkov family's main artery.
In three days, two core smuggling lines at the Brooklyn docks got completely rolled up, customs precisely seized three shipments of heavy weapons, and the Queens money-laundering operation we'd run for five years got its door kicked in by federal agents.
Every hit was lethally accurate. This was no coincidence.
Even after I'd ordered a complete information lockdown and changed transport routes overnight, our core secrets kept leaking out without fail.
There was one hell of a mole inside my estate.
But if Dmitri wanted to play, I'd play with him to the end.
I used brutal, high-intensity work sessions to trace every financial and personnel movement, then launched a one-sided massacre. Everyone who might be connected to Dmitri got eliminated.
I'd lost all patience for interrogation. The only thing left to do was cut off Dmitri's head and end this mess for good.
My people whispered behind my back that I'd lost my mind, but I didn't give a damn.
Only when I was issuing kill orders, calculating trajectories and blast yields, could my near-exploding brain find brief peace. The second I stopped working, I couldn't stop thinking about those two goddamn women.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcibly cutting off those maddening images. Returned my focus to the Brooklyn East Side building blueprints spread across my desk.
Dmitri was paranoid as hell.
He was definitely hiding in that heavily fortified underground bunker right now, surrounded by fully armed security.
A frontal assault would just cause pointless delays. I needed the most direct, lethal strike—bury that old bastard and his ambitions alive under tons of steel and concrete.
After confirming the blast points, I issued new isolation orders to the strike team. All suspicious personnel were kept out of the loop and quarantined.
I wouldn't give potential traitors any chance to pass intelligence. I absolutely couldn't let Dmitri catch even the faintest whiff of danger.
I chewed on an unlit cigar, checking and rechecking the strike team's infiltration route. I calculated every second from planting the explosives, hitting the detonator, to full team evacuation.
Night fell heavy outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Just as I picked up my pen, ready to sign the final authorization for Dmitri's assassination—
Sergei knocked and pushed through the heavy wooden door.
He strode to the desk, expression grim. His Adam's apple bobbed twice before he set a black encrypted folder on the surface.
"Boss, the internal sweep has final results. You need to be prepared." His voice was slower than usual, carrying obvious hesitation.
"All the intelligence leaks... point to the same person."
"Name." I issued the command coldly.
Sergei didn't speak. He just opened the folder and pushed it toward me. In the center of the first page was a high-resolution photo.
It was Leah.
I stared at the photo for a full ten seconds.
"You'd better be making a sick joke, Sergei."
"I desperately wish I were." Sergei met my gaze without flinching. "But all the evidence points to her as the prime suspect. The major leaks started precisely three months ago—right when Leah moved into the estate."
"Leaking right after moving in is too risky. Doesn't fit mole logic."
I instinctively tried to find holes.
"I tried convincing myself with that exact argument, so I pulled all the estate's surveillance footage overnight." Sergei flipped to the next page, revealing dozens of high-res security screenshots.
He went straight to the last page.
"Last Wednesday, your wife disappeared from the east garden at 9:17 a.m. She didn't reappear until 7:02 p.m. at the wine cellar stairwell. Nearly ten hours blank. Right after that, our smuggling routes went sideways."
The folder closed with a dull thud.
"So? What's your final conclusion?"
Sergei stood rigid, delivering his verdict word by word.
"Boss, I believe Leah is highly suspect. I recommend immediate isolation and interrogation, cutting off all contact with the outside—"
He didn't finish.
Because I kicked back my chair and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him hard against the bookshelf.
"Say that again!" I ground out through clenched teeth, staring him down. "She's my wife, and you want me to throw her in the dungeon for interrogation based on a few hallway photos?"
Sergei's face flushed red from oxygen deprivation, but he didn't struggle at all. He just forced words through his throat. "It's my duty. Three years ago... no one dared... submit that report about Irina to you either."
I froze instantly. The pressure from my grip loosened involuntarily.
Yes. Three years ago, it had been exactly the same situation.
Everyone saw that woman's betrayal except me, desperately making excuses for her innocence.
How could I let myself make the same stupid mistake again?
Sergei slid down the bookshelf half an inch and steadied himself, straightening his wrinkled collar. He didn't complain. He knew full well his hefty salary included bearing my rage.
"Leave the report." I let go and stepped back.
"Immediately increase round-the-clock surveillance on her and raise estate security to maximum level." I cut off his attempt to push for interrogation, rapidly issuing absolute defensive orders.
"Double the outer posts; all vehicles go through two armed checkpoints. Increase Leah's personal security detail to four people, twenty-four-hour rotating shifts, never leave her side."
Not getting the result he'd expected, Sergei sighed heavily, nodded, and left the study.
I stayed alone in the study, walked to the bar, poured a large glass of straight vodka, no ice, and knocked it back.
The burning liquid scorched down into my stomach, but couldn't suppress the manic churning in my chest.
I grabbed the bottle and refilled the glass.
Second glass. Third glass.
I desperately wanted to get completely drunk. I needed high-proof alcohol to forcibly shut down my overworked brain, numb this dull pain that was driving me insane.
The edges of my vision finally started blurring.
I braced one hand against the cold marble bar, drunkenly staring at that photo on the counter. The Leah in the picture smiled innocently, as if she had no idea how many deadly threats lurked in this estate.
A sick, desperate thought took complete control under the alcohol's catalysis.
I caught myself thinking:
Leah. If it really is you, I hope to God you hide it better.
The new rules took effect in one night.
At exactly ten o'clock the next morning, my study door got shoved open.
Leah had one hand braced against the doorframe, the other instinctively protecting her swollen belly, chest heaving from rapid breathing.
She'd clearly power-walked the whole way here.
"Why are you doing this?"
Leah hadn't even caught her breath before demanding answers.
I stopped working on the complex assassination plan and looked up from the thick documents.
"Doing what?"
"Four bodyguards, Roman." She walked step by step to the desk, glaring at me.
"This morning I just wanted to walk in the east garden. Guess what? Four guys over six feet tall wearing bulletproof vests following me every single step!"
"What's the problem?"
"I'm pregnant, I'm not wearing a bomb!" Her voice shot up. "I go to the bathroom, two men stand guard outside the door. I grab an apple in the kitchen, and someone immediately radios encrypted channels reporting the target's movement! Roman, it was an apple!"
"This is the new security arrangement." I looked back down at my files coldly. "We're in a critical period."
"What critical period? Roman, look at me when you answer!" she demanded through gritted teeth.
I slowly lifted my head, expressionlessly meeting her furious eyes.
She had no idea that this surveillance system was the most merciful arrangement I could give her right now.
Subordinates with mere traces of suspicion were already lying in the morgue, while she—the most suspicious one—still stood here completely unharmed, yelling at me.
"The all-out war between me and Dmitri has begun," I stated the facts in a businesslike tone. "Assassination attempts against me could happen anytime. People around me are in serious danger. You're no exception."
"Is this really about protecting me?" Her eyes reddened, voice turning shrill. "Or are you afraid I'll run out and pass messages? Roman, don't think I don't know what you're doing—you're just looking for an excuse to lock me up like a prisoner!"
I watched her face twist with rage and gave up on explaining.
"You can see it that way."
"You—" My blunt response completely choked her.
I knew how much of a bastard I was being. If Leah wasn't a mole, just a tool Dmitri was using as misdirection, then what I was doing would absolutely break her heart.
But none of it mattered anymore.
A more insane, more twisted thought had completely solidified in my mind.
I didn't care anymore whether she was Dmitri's spy or not.
Whether she was innocent or carrying a mission to destroy me—none of it mattered.
I'd made only one final decision—I would never let go.
All I needed to do was destroy Dmitri's empire as fast as possible, eliminate all external threats.
Once the outside world was completely safe, I'd personally break every one of Leah's wings.
Lock her in this heavily guarded estate forever, where she could never leave me.
Even if Leah ended up hating me, it didn't matter.
As long as she was alive and could never leave me.
"If there's nothing else, get out now." I turned a page and looked back down. "Your only job right now is safely delivering that baby. Nothing else is your concern."
Leah stood frozen, staring at me.
I could feel her trembling body, see her reddening eyes.
But in the end, she said nothing. Just spun around and slammed the study door with force.
The massive bang echoed down the empty hallway.
I knew.
No matter how this ended, we could never go back.