Chapter 26
ASTRID
The city slips by in streaks, the quiet hum of the SUV doing nothing to settle my nerves.
I sit in the back seat, curled into the leather like it might soften the edges of the day. Across from me, Yuri sits still as stone. Hands resting on his knees, curled into fists.
I can’t stop stealing glances at him. The softness he had in the hospital—the awe, the joy—has vanished. What’s left is a calculating coldness; a man locked in strategy mode. His jaw ticks. His gaze narrows on the window like he’s reading a battlefield in the skyline.
I shift, smoothing a hand over my belly. Twins. I still can’t quite believe it.
“Alright,” Yuri says suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re moving into the mansion.”
I frown, surprised. “What?”
“It’s the only place where I can control every variable. You’ve seen it. I can keep you safe there.”
“You mean... live there?”
He nods once. “You’ll have your own wing. Full medical. Guards. Everything.”
I chew my bottom lip. “I’ll need a few things from my apartment first. My work laptop, some clothes, personal items.”
He doesn’t like that. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow at me. “You can grab essentials,” he says eventually. “But I’m going with you, and you need to do it quickly.”
I glance out the window again. My stomach is in knots, and not just from the adrenaline that still hasn’t fully dissipated. The USB drives are still at my place, hidden, but not secure. If Yuri sees them...
He can’t. Not yet.
The SUV slows, then stops in front of my building. We get out, and Yuri scans the street, his posture shifting into something lethal. He reaches under his jacket, pulls out a sleek black pistol, and checks the chamber.
“Wait here,” he says. He disappears into the building, gun drawn.
A minute passes. Then two.
When he returns, his tone is clipped. “It’s clear. Let’s be quick.”
I follow him inside, every creak of the stairwell making my skin crawl.
He closes the door behind us, bolting the lock and sliding the chain.
He posts by it like a sentinel—watchful, unshakable.
The sheer tension in his body, the way his fingers flex near the trigger, is terrifying.
But also comforting. I don’t doubt for a second that if someone came through the door with bad intentions, they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.
“Five minutes,” he says, without looking away from the peephole.
I nod and move fast.
In the bedroom, I go straight to the bookshelf. I reach for my copy of Anna Karenina, open it, and lift the hollowed center. Nestled inside are the USB drives. They look so innocent. Like they couldn’t possibly hold anything worth killing over.
I slip them into the inner pocket of my bag, then grab my laptop, chargers, phone, prenatal vitamins, and a few items of clothing. Everything else can wait.
I pause. My eyes drift around the room.
My room.
The soft duvet I picked out on a whim. The photos on the wall. It’s not much and it’s not glamorous. But it’s mine. My space. My life.
And it’s ending.
I sit down, suddenly unsteady. My legs feel weak, my hands are trembling. And then the tears come.
I didn’t expect them but should have. Everything crashes down at once. The alley. The knife. The babies. My body folds forward, elbows on knees, palms covering my face as I cry.
Yuri is beside me before I hear him enter. He crouches and wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me close. Solid. Steady. “If you want everything moved, we’ll do it,” he murmurs. “We’ll have it all out by the end of the day. You can have your own space set up at the mansion, just like this.”
I shake my head, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “It’s not that,” I whisper. “It’s…”
I don’t even know where to begin.
He doesn’t push. He just holds me. And for a while, that’s all I need.
I look up. His face is so close, his jaw tight, eyes stormy with concern. Protective. Fierce.
God, he’s beautiful.
“Kiss me,” I say.
And he does.
His lips claim mine—slow at first, then deep and searching, like he’s trying to kiss every bit of pain away. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek like I might shatter if he holds me too tight.
I lean into it, into him.
His other hand slides around my waist, drawing me closer until there’s no space between us at all.
His breath is warm on my mouth when he whispers, “I’ll do anything for you. For them. There’s nothing I won’t give.”
I believe him.
I grip the hem of his shirt and pull. He moves with me, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. I run my hands down his chest, feeling the solid heat of him, the tension he carries like armor.
He pulls off my sweater then leans in, kissing every inch of skin revealed—my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, my neck. Reverent. Tender.
We shed the rest of our clothes with quiet urgency, each piece falling like soft whispers. When we slip beneath the sheets, the rain is tapping against the window in a steady rhythm.
By the time he reaches the inside of my thighs, I’m trembling. His breath is warm, teasing. Finally, his fingers find me and I gasp, hips pressing into his touch before I can stop myself.
He groans low in his throat, like the sound of me unraveling undoes something in him.
He doesn’t go for intensity, just slow, steady circles, gentle pressure in a precise rhythm.
Like he’s listening with his hands, learning me all over again.
His fingers tease my entrance then retreat, spreading wetness with knowing ease.
When his thumb brushes against my clit, I cry out softly, and he smiles into my skin.
I can barely breathe, barely think. My fingers twist in the sheets. He takes his time; watching me, coaxing pleasure with patience and skill that borders on cruel.
When my body is strung tight with want, trembling and desperate, he rises over me, bracing himself with one arm, his other hand still between my thighs, keeping me at that perfect edge.
His eyes lock on mine. Deep. Dark. Serious.
“Please,” I moan.
He enters me with one long, smooth thrust, and everything falls away.
The stretch, the fullness, the dizzying depth of it.
My breath catches as he buries himself within.
I clutch his shoulders, my nails pressing into the muscle there, and for a second I forget how to think, how to move.
There’s only him. The heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the way he fills every inch of me like he belongs there.
Yuri stills for a moment, like he wants to savor the feel of us joined.
“God, Astrid,” he murmurs against my jaw. “You feel like home.”
My chest tightens with emotion.
He moves slowly, powerfully. Each thrust is deep, steady, like he’s not just taking me—he’s memorizing me. Our hips move in sync, my body rising to meet his. We’ve always had this rhythm, but it’s different now.
It’s perfect.
His perfect body works, his muscles tensing and flexing as he drives into me, each stroke so perfectly full.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Don’t ever forget that.”
I gasp as he shifts, hitting deeper. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together above my head.
“I can’t wait,” he breathes, “to hold them. To hold you holding them. To be the father of your children.”
My eyes blur with tears. “You already are,” I whisper.
He groans, like the words wreck him in the best way. He kisses me everywhere—my throat, my cheeks, my lips, again and again, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he stops. “You’re everything to me,” he says, his voice raw. “Everything I never thought I deserved.”
We rise and fall together, breath mingling, sweat slicking our skin. His body presses into mine again and again, and all I can do is hold on. There’s no armor left, no space between us, just need, heat, and aching devotion.
I open my eyes and watch him slide into me, over and over. I move my hands over my breasts, sighing. He gazes down at me with those gorgeous eyes, like he doesn’t want to forget a moment.
The tension builds, coiling tighter with every thrust, every word, until I’m shaking.
“Yuri!”
He kisses the words from my mouth as I come apart, crying out his name as everything inside me shatters.
His own release soon follows, a groan spilling from his throat as his body surges against mine. I feel him pulsing inside. His arms lock around me as he trembles, as if he’s anchoring himself to me and never letting go.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move. Just keeps me close, our hearts thundering in unison.
He stays inside me for a moment, his body heavy but welcome, his breath slowing against my neck. I feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of everything he poured into me—body, soul, promise.
Gently, he pulls back, only to settle beside me, gathering me against him with an almost primal protectiveness. His chest is slick with sweat, rising and falling beneath my cheek. One arm is tight around my back, the other draped over my belly.
His hand stills there.
Neither of us speaks at first, we just listen to the patter of rain against the window, the faint hum of the city below, the quiet aftershock of pleasure.
“They’ll know how loved they are. From the very beginning.”
My throat catches. He doesn’t need to say anything more, but he does.
“I’ll read them stories,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hair. “Hold them when they cry. Teach them and protect them from everything—especially people like me.”
I tilt my face up, meeting his eyes. “You’re not like them.”
“I was,” he says. “But I’ll be better. For them. For you.”