Chapter 25
ASTRID
Iwake to a feeling of emptiness, the kind that presses against your chest like a weight.
My fingers trail across the empty sheets beside me. No Yuri. No sound of his breathing. No warmth from his body. Just the dull hum of the refrigerator and the rain tapping softly on the window.
I lie in the bed for a moment, willing the ache in my chest to go away. I’ve always been fine on my own, but right now I wish I weren’t.
Eventually, I drag myself to the shower, letting the water wash over me until my skin turns pink and the fog on the mirror swallows any reflection. I towel off, wrap myself in a robe, and make a cup of tea.
I sit by the window and stare out at my little slice of the city. The awnings below are beaded with rain, and everything looks just slightly blurred, like a painting smudged at the edges.
I think about yesterday. About the mansion, the women.
They were sharp, all of them. Confident.
Intimidating in the way only women who’ve seen too much and stayed standing can be.
But underneath the armor—behind the heels and the manicured nails—I saw flashes of something softer.
Laughter and camaraderie passed between them like currency. Fierce loyalty wrapped in steel.
And the children…
Their little voices, bright and unburdened, echoing up the stairs, untouched by the world their fathers navigate like a chessboard. It was happy chaos. Safe. In its own impossible way, it felt like a life.
I shake the thoughts away, dress quickly in dark jeans, a soft sweater, and a coat that hides the little curve of my belly, and head out.
The city is damp and pulsing as I reach the El. I swipe my card, slide between the doors, and settle into a seat, my fingers resting lightly over my stomach.
Work will be tense today. No doubt the FBI raid still lingers in everyone’s mind like smoke. Whispers in corners. Eyes watching everyone, wondering who knew what.
I feel a tension in the air behind me. Like something I can’t hear but can still feel. I glance over my shoulder.
Nothing.
But I can’t shake the sense someone’s watching me, that I’m not alone.
The train slows and I stand. When the doors slide open, I step out onto the station platform. The back of my neck tingles. I zip my coat up to my neck and keep walking.
The feeling grows heavier with each step.
It’s like a wire pulled taut behind me, thrumming in the back of my skull. I turn again, heart pounding. Still no one. Just the usual Chicago foot traffic, everyone hustling along, heads down, earbuds in, wrapped in their own little worlds.
I breathe. Try to focus. But when I glance up at the station sign, my stomach sinks. I got off at the wrong stop. Damn it.
I’d been so lost in my head I got off one stop too early. Walking the rest of the way is quicker than waiting on another train, so I cross the street and turn toward work, the early morning fog curling around me like smoke.
The feeling of being followed doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens. I walk faster.
I hear the sound of measured footstep behind me. Like someone trying not to be noticed. I don’t turn around. My pace quickens, my heartbeat keeping time with my boots pounding the pavement.
I make a snap decision and turn left down a side alley. It’s narrow, but it’s a shortcut, and there are businesses on the other side. It’ll get me to the main road faster. I’ll be fine.
Halfway through, I hear a voice. Low. Commanding.
“Stop.”
I turn. Two men. Both masked and walking toward me with too much purpose. My blood freezes.
“What do you want?” I manage, my voice trembling.
One of them pulls a knife from his coat.
Panic spikes like ice water in my veins.
I scream—high and shrill—and swing my purse at the man with the blade.
It connects hard and he stumbles back with a grunt.
His jacket shifts just enough for me to see the ink curling up the side of his neck; a black scorpion, its tail arched high, stinger poised behind his ear.
Before I can note anything else, the other man is on me. He lunges, slamming me against the brick wall. My shoulder hits first, then the back of my head. Pain explodes white behind my eyes. I crumple, half-conscious, stars dancing in my vision.
I think I hear laughter. Then running.
Another voice, louder this time. Sharp, authoritative. “Chicago PD! Stop!”
The men bolt, vanishing down the alley’s far end. I clutch my side, my breath coming in broken gasps.
The officer jogs toward me, young, clean-shaven, eyes wide with adrenaline. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
“I—” I blink hard. “I hit my head. I’m dizzy. And…” My hands go to my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
He crouches next to me instantly, pulling out his radio. “We need an ambulance. Woman assaulted, pregnant, possible loss of consciousness, hit her head.”
“I wasn’t unconscious,” I murmur, still dazed. “Just… dizzy.”
“You’re going to Northwestern Memorial,” he says firmly. “We’re not taking any risks.”
Tears sting my eyes. Not from the pain but from the fear. Whoever those men were, this wasn’t random. I know it. I feel it in my bones.
The thought hollows out something inside me.
“I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
“Hang in there,” the officer says. “You’re safe now.”
But I don’t feel safe.
Not even close.
I sit on the edge of the bed in a thin hospital gown, the paper beneath me crinkling every time I move. My head is throbbing where it met the wall, and my shoulder aches.
The door opens and the doctor steps in—early thirties, dark skin, clear blue eyes. “Hi, I’m Dr. Ellis,” she greets warmly. “Let’s have a look at you.”
She checks my pupils first, flashing a light across them, asking if I feel nauseated, dizzy, disoriented. Yes. A little. No. In that order. Then she checks for swelling at the base of my skull, tests my reflexes, checks for bruising along my shoulder and my ribs. Her hands are gentle and efficient.
“No signs of a concussion,” she says, typing on her tablet. “You’re banged up, but it looks like nothing’s broken. Now, let’s see about that baby.”
“I haven’t had an ultrasound yet. I’m scheduled for one next week.”
“Okay,” she says, stepping back. “Well, you’re here, so we might as well take a look.” She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
I stare at the ceiling, one hand resting protectively over my stomach. A thousand thoughts spin like leaves in a storm. Who were those men? Why were they after me?
The door opens again. A different woman—blonde, maybe forty, with a kind smile and a no-nonsense air about her walks in. She’s wearing pink scrubs and a badge that reads: Dr. Moreno, OB/GYN. A nurse wheels in an ultrasound machine.
“I hear we’re jumping ahead a bit on your prenatal schedule,” she says with a wink. “Let’s take a peek.”
I lie back on the bed, heart thudding. Gel hits my skin, cold and jarring. Dr. Moreno starts the scan. Suddenly, a loud thumping sound fills the room, rhythmic and fast.
“Is… is that the heartbeat?” I ask, breathless.
The doctor’s smile widens. “Yes, that’s the heartbeat. One of them, at least.”
One of them?
My head jerks toward her. “What do you mean one of them?”
She turns the monitor slightly so I can see. “See these two little shapes here? Those are your babies.”
She pauses, eyes twinkling. “Twins?” I whisper, blinking at the screen like maybe I heard her wrong. “You’re serious?”
Dr. Moreno nods, her soft smile still in place. “Very.”
I don’t know what to say. My mouth opens and closes like a guppy. My heart’s beating out of rhythm, too fast.
Two babies. Two lives.
Before I can form another thought, the door flies open. Yuri moves like a storm in a suit, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to kill someone.
The doctor freezes, startled. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t just barge in here.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “He’s the father.”
She looks at me, then at him. I give her a reassuring nod and a smile. She cleans the gel off my belly and pulls my gown back down. “I’ll give you two a moment then, but from what I’m seeing, everything looks good.”
I thank the doctor. She gives me one last smile before exiting the room quietly.
“I should’ve had guards on you,” Yuri says.
“I was a damn fool. I thought Spalding was the only threat. I didn’t think anyone else would make a move.
I was wrong. I’m sorry.” He paces, jaw tight, energy barely leashed.
“There are men stationed in the building now. At the doors. On your floor. You’ll have full protection, twenty-four seven. ”
“Yuri—”
“No one touches you again, do you understand?” His eyes flash. “Not while I’m breathing. Whoever did this… I’ll find them and they will pay.”
I reach out and take his hand. He stops and looks at me. “I’m okay,” I say softly. “So is the baby. Both of them.”
His brows knit in confusion. “Both?”
I press the call button.
Dr. Moreno returns with a knowing smile. “Did you need something?”
I nod. “Can you show him?”
She sets everything up again, the screen flickering to life. The sound returns, familiar now, but still miraculous. Two tiny heartbeats. Racing. Alive.
Yuri stares at the screen then drops to his knees beside me like something in him just gave way. His hand squeezes mine, gripping it tight, grounding us both.
His eyes are fixed on the monitor, unblinking. He doesn’t speak. He just listens.
And for once, there’s no calculation. No strategy. No Ivanov mask.
Only wonder.