Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roman
Sergei's voice had been buzzing in my ear for nearly twenty minutes.
But I couldn't hear a word. My gaze drifted past his shoulder to the surveillance monitor embedded in the wall behind him.
The master bedroom feed was maximized. Leah was curled up in the corner of the bed, facing the wall, knees pulled to her chest.
She'd been frozen like that for two days.
If the timestamp in the bottom right corner wasn't ticking forward, I'd have thought it was a still image.
"Boss?" Sergei tested my attention.
I dragged my eyes back from the screen. "What about the second line?"
"Jersey Coast's compromised too. Dmitri intercepted three shipments—total value around twelve million. Every key contact on that route's gone dark. Either bought off or already dealt with."
Sergei kept his voice low. I understood why.
He was afraid I'd lose it.
Twelve million. Two smuggling lines. Enough to end a lot of lives.
But all I could see was that woman curled up on the screen.
I'd never been this indifferent to a loss before. The feeling of losing control terrified me, but even that terror couldn't pull my attention away from that image.
Leah shifted. She rolled over, turning from the wall onto her back.
Even through the low-resolution feed, I could see her face was unnaturally pale, lips cracked, cheekbones more prominent than two days ago.
Her hand rested on her lower abdomen, fingers slightly curved in a protective gesture.
She hadn't touched any of the meals Emily brought in. Still hadn't eaten a thing.
"Sir, we need to formulate a counterattack soon. If we wait any longer, the Manhattan South Side locations will be exposed too." Sergei was still talking.
"I'll figure it out. Get out."
Sergei opened his mouth, glanced at my expression, then immediately closed his folder and backed out.
I sat there alone. Staring at the screen.
Leah hadn't eaten in nearly forty-eight hours.
Last evening's dinner came out untouched. This morning's too.
Yesterday evening I'd spoken to her through the intercom system. She hadn't said a word back.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with her?
The internal line rang. I checked the caller ID—the estate's medical wing.
"Talk."
"Boss, it's about Miss Carter's latest lab results. She's showing signs of mild dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and low blood pressure. If she doesn't get proper nutrition and hydration in the next twelve hours, I can't guarantee the baby's safety."
I shot to my feet. The tablet in my hand smashed into the opposite wall.
Glass shattered across the floor. I swept my arm across the desk, sending the pen holder and file folders crashing down.
"Prep the IV equipment. Tie her down if you have to." My voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it.
"Yes, boss."
I hung up, my mind in chaos.
How dare she?
Pregnant and on a hunger strike.
Just to defy me.
Just to prove she'd rather die than be kept by me. The realization ground through my head on repeat.
"Move her to the medical room. Get me rope and a car ready." I called Nick.
Nick went silent for two seconds on the other end.
He didn't ask anything else.
I stood up from my chair and strode toward the door.
I'd go back myself. No matter what, I'd get that IV needle into her vein, pump those nutrients into her body.
As long as she stayed alive.
I yanked my coat off the rack, shrugging it on as I walked. The sleeve caught. I jerked it twice before getting it through.
But the moment I opened the door, I collided with someone.
Maria Volkova glared at me coldly. She wore a charcoal cashmere cardigan, hair pulled back in a flawless bun, spine ramrod straight.
Then Maria raised her hand and slapped me across the face.
The crack echoed down the entire hallway. The two guards at the door froze. Sergei, passing by with documents, dropped everything. Even the maid wiping the windowsill at the far end stopped mid-motion. Everyone turned to stone.
My head snapped to the side, left cheek burning.
But I felt no anger. Because Maria had earned this right.
From the moment I'd gripped her hand at my father's funeral when I was eight, she'd been the only person in this world with the right to hit me.
"What did you just say, Roman? You're going to tie her down? Force-feed her? Do you have any idea how much of a coward you look like?"
Maria rubbed her hand, then brought her cane down hard on my foot.
"I don't have a choice. She won't eat," I said.
"Because you forced her to this. You locked up a pregnant woman, took away all her communication, won't let her see anyone. Roman, what do you think you're doing? You think you're protecting her? You're pushing her toward death." Maria's cane struck the floor hard.
"I am protecting her."
"You're repeating history."
Those words froze me solid.
All the rage, anxiety, need for control—it all died in the face of those words. The noise in my head vanished instantly, leaving only sharp, painful silence.
Maria looked into my eyes. Her gaze was exhausted and heartbroken.
"Don't repeat the tragedy of three years ago."
We both knew what three years ago meant. I couldn't speak. My throat worked uselessly.
"Roman, are you ready to watch a second woman walk down the same path in your cage?" Maria's voice softened, but that softness suffocated me more than shouting ever could.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Because every word she said was right.
What right did I have to say I was different from three years ago?
"I won't let you become your father. When he died, not one person shed a real tear for him. I spent a lifetime making sure you wouldn't turn into him. Don't let me waste all those years." Maria stepped closer, placing her hand on my arm.
I lowered my head.
Her palm was dry, warm. The touch through my coat sleeve made my nose sting.
"When you've thought it through, follow me. Go see her."
She patted my arm, then turned and walked slowly away. The tap of her cane on the marble floor gradually faded down the hallway.
I stood alone in the corridor. My left cheek still burning, foot still throbbing. My hand gripped the coat's hem until my knuckles went white.
All I could see was Leah curled in the corner of that bed, and Irina's last look at me in that bedroom years ago.
Two faces flickered back and forth, splitting my head open.
One was already dead. Died in my control.
No.
Not a second time.
I released my grip on the coat, took a deep breath, then strode after Maria's retreating figure.
Everyone in the kitchen froze when they saw me walk in.
The Volkov Pakhan never entered the kitchen.
But I ignored their stares, opened the freezer, and ladled out a bowl of the mushroom bisque Leah used to like. I put it in the microwave to heat, then cut half an apple and placed it on a plate.
The apple looked rough—one piece still had skin on it. I stared at the lopsided chunk for two seconds, then put it on the plate anyway.
Good enough. I'd never cut an apple in my life.
Carrying the tray toward the medical room, I braced myself with every step. Prepared for her silence, her rejection, her hollow stare, or something worse.
Maria walked ahead of me without looking back. But she slowed her pace so I could keep up. At the medical room door, she turned and nodded at me.
The door stood open. Through it, I could see Leah had been moved to the hospital bed.
An IV needle was taped to the back of her hand. She lay there staring blankly at the ceiling.
Clear liquid dripped slowly down the IV line—the nutrients I'd ordered pumped into her.
Her left hand had four or five purple-blue bruises, probably needle marks and contusions from when she'd violently resisted the IV earlier.
Just seeing those marks, I could imagine how fiercely she'd fought back.
And Mira sat on a stool beside the bed, both small hands clutching the hem of Leah's nightgown, tears streaming down her face. Her mouth hung open, producing broken sobs, snot smeared across her face.
She was struggling through tears to beg Leah to eat.
Leah's tears were falling too. Silent, quiet, sliding from her temples into her hair.
Her hand emerged from under the blanket and touched the top of Mira's head.
"I'm okay, sweetheart."
But her voice sounded nothing like okay—so hoarse it was barely audible.
I stood in the doorway, the tray in my hands impossibly heavy. My hands were shaking.
This is what I'd done.
I'd driven a once-vibrant girl to this point.
And the reason for all of it wasn't because she'd done something wrong, wasn't because she'd betrayed me—it was simply because of my fear and cowardice.
I deserved to burn in hell.
Leah heard footsteps and turned her head.
Her eyes met mine. Those eyes held no anger, no fear—only a calm that left me nowhere to hide.
The kind of calm that comes after imagining the worst outcome a hundred times and preparing for all of it.
The eye contact didn't last long. She looked away with indifference.
I walked to the bedside and set the tray on the nightstand.
Then I crouched down, kneeling on one knee beside the bed, coaxing her gently.
"Leah. Eat something. Please?"
Leah didn't respond. She glanced at the bowl of soup, then turned her head away again.
I stared at her. Her face was so pale it nearly melted into the white sheets. The bruises on her hand stood out brutally against her white skin.
Already this fragile, yet still no intention of surrendering.
She was serious. She truly would rather die than be my prisoner.
"Fine. You win, Leah."
"Starting now, the lockdown's over. Your phone and devices will be returned immediately. You can move freely around the estate. I won't control you anymore."
Leah looked at me, expression unchanged. Her eyes were still full of wariness.
"Eat," I said.
She didn't reach out.
I picked up the soup bowl and placed it within her reach. The spoon clinked lightly against the rim. Mira was still sobbing beside us, little face crumpled.
"Leah... the baby will starve... waaah..."
Leah finally pushed herself up slowly, sitting up from the pillow.
Emily rushed over to prop a pillow behind her back.
Leah took the bowl.
Her hands were shaking. Her body was too weak to hold a bowl steady, but she managed to lower her head and take a sip.
The soup was probably too hot. Her cracked lips touched the rim, and she frowned slightly. But she swallowed. Then a second sip. A third.
Mira watched Leah drink with wide eyes, nose still twitching with sniffles, but the corners of her mouth already turning up.
"Is it good?" Mira whispered.
Leah freed one hand and pulled Mira close. Mira immediately climbed onto the bed, curling into Leah's embrace, little head buried in the crook of her neck. Leah drank her soup while bowing her head to kiss the top of Mira's head.
I knelt beside the bed, watching this scene, my eyes unnaturally hot. I blinked twice to push it down.
Leah finished most of the soup and ate two pieces of apple. Then she set down the bowl, leaned back against the pillow with her arm around Mira, and closed her eyes.
She was exhausted.
I stood up from the floor. My knees had been on the cold tile too long and felt numb. I stepped back, looking at the two figures on the bed. One big, one small, huddled together.
"Leah."
She didn't open her eyes. But I knew she was listening.
"Mira's kindergarten has a parent-child day next week. Will you go?"
Leah opened her eyes. She lifted her head to look at me, showing the most animated expression she'd had in days.
She looked genuinely surprised, maybe unsure if I was telling the truth.
"I'm serious. Take Mira. Nick's people will handle perimeter security, but they won't restrict your movements."
Mira, hearing about parent-child day, suddenly lifted her head from Leah's embrace. Her eyes lit up so bright I could barely look directly at them.
"Leah? Leah's coming?"
Leah looked down at the bright little face in her arms, then glanced up at me.
She nodded slowly.
Mira squealed, wrapping both arms tight around Leah's neck. Leah coughed from the pressure, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly—such a tiny movement that if I hadn't been watching so closely, I'd have missed it.
I stood in the shadows by the bed.
Watching the two of them embrace. Leah's chin resting on top of Mira's head, Mira's small hands clutching the collar of Leah's nightgown.
I wanted to walk over. Wanted to hold her, or at least touch her hair.
But I held back. She didn't need me right now.
Maybe I needed to rethink what love actually meant. Maybe one day I'd earn the right to pull her into my arms again.