Chapter Thirteen
Mila’s POV
The greenhouse had become my refuge, which was ironic considering it was made entirely of glass.
I sat in the wicker chair, a textbook open in my lap that I hadn’t actually read a word of in the past hour. My mind replayed the phone call over and over again.
“Mila.”
Just my name. Just that one word in a voice that had made my knees buckle, that had sent ice flooding through my veins.
I knew that voice. I knew it. But my brain wouldn’t complete the connection, wouldn’t let me acknowledge what every instinct was screaming. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.
He was dead. I’d grieved him. I’d mourned and raged and finally, finally started to heal.
But that voice…
The man on the phone had told me he was alive, in hiding. Had warned me not to trust anyone, especially the Italians. Had mentioned a traitor close by. And when I’d asked where he was, confused and terrified, he’d just hung up.
Left me standing in the greenhouse with a dead phone in my hand and my entire world tilting sideways.
That had been yesterday. Twenty-four hours of walking around in a daze, trying to act normal while my thoughts spun in endless circles. Trying to figure out who the voice belonged to, why they’d called, what it all meant. Trying to decide whether to tell Alexei.
And failing. Failing at all of it.
Because I couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I understood what was happening.
If I told him about the call, he’d tear the city apart looking for answers.
He’d mobilize his entire army, follow every lead with the ruthless efficiency that made him so dangerous.
People would die. Maybe innocent people. Maybe people I cared about.
Maybe whoever had called me, if I was right about who it was.
My hand drifted to my stomach, to the small swell that was growing more noticeable every day. The baby fluttered under my palm, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t just about me anymore. I was carrying Alexei’s child. Our child. I owed them both honesty, safety, and stability.
Instead, I was keeping secrets that could get us all killed.
The textbook blurred in front of me. I blinked hard, refusing to cry. I’d done enough crying over the past few weeks to last a lifetime. I didn’t have tears left for this new nightmare.
But the fear wouldn’t leave. It sat coiled in my stomach alongside the baby, a constant presence that made food taste like ash and sleep feel impossible.
Someone was playing games with us, leaving cryptic warnings and making mysterious phone calls.
And I was caught in the middle, drowning in questions I couldn’t answer and information I couldn’t share.
The virtual classes had been a relief, actually.
It was easier to hide behind a screen than sit in a classroom trying to focus while my world crumbled around me.
Anya had complained, of course, but she’d adapted quickly, decorating her study space and treating the whole thing like an adventure.
I envied her resilience, her ability to find lightness even in dark situations.
I used to be like that. I used to have everything under control. But that was a lifetime ago. Before everything fell apart. Before I’d learned that nothing in my life was what it seemed.
The light was fading outside, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon. I should go inside. Eat something. Pretend to be normal for a few more hours before I could escape to bed and lie awake in Alexei’s arms, counting his heartbeats and wondering how long I could keep this up.
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t seem to make myself stand or walk back to that house full of guards, cameras, and my husband’s penetrating gaze that saw through every lie I told.
“Mila.”
I jumped so violently that the textbook went flying. Strong hands caught it, caught me, and steadied my shoulder with a touch that was both gentle and immovable.
Alexei. Of course. He moved like a ghost when he wanted to, silent and sudden.
“God, you scared me.” My heart hammered against my ribs, pulse racing with more than just surprise. Guilt tasting metallic on my tongue.
“Sorry.” He set my book aside and crouched in front of me, putting us at eye level. Those hazel eyes studied my face with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn’t let myself. “You’ve been out here for hours. It’s getting cold.”
Time moved strangely lately, either crawling or racing depending on whether I was alone with my thoughts or trying to act normal around people who knew me too well.
“I’m fine.” The words came automatically, accompanied by a smile I didn’t feel. “Just lost track of time.”
His jaw tightened slightly. He knew I was lying. Of course he knew.
“Have you eaten?”
“I had lunch.” True, technically. A few bites of a sandwich that I’d forced down before my stomach rebelled.
“That was six hours ago.” His voice stayed gentle, but I heard the concern underneath, the frustration he was trying to control. “Come inside. Anna made that soup you like.”
The thought of food made my stomach turn. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Mila.” He caught my chin, tilting my face up so I couldn’t avoid his gaze. The touch was tender, but his eyes were steel. “The baby needs you to eat. You need to eat. Please.”
Guilt crashed over me in a fresh wave. He was right. I was being selfish, letting my fear and confusion control me when I had a child to think about. Our child, who deserved better than a mother who was falling apart.
“Okay.” I nodded, felt the exhaustion pulling at me. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He stood, pulling me up with him, and I swayed slightly on feet that had gone numb from sitting too long. His hand settled at the small of my back, steady and warm. “Just take care of yourself. Both of you.”
We walked back to the house in silence. I was hyper-aware of his presence beside me, the weight of his hand on my back, the way he watched me from the corner of his eye like I might bolt at any moment.
The distance between us felt vast despite the physical closeness, a chasm that grew wider every time I opened my mouth to tell him the truth and chose silence instead.
I loved him. The realization had crept up on me slowly over the past months—undeniable and terrifying. I loved my husband, this man who’d forced me into marriage but had somehow become my safety, my shelter, my home. I loved him, and I was lying to him, and it was eating me alive.
In the kitchen, he watched while I forced down a spoonful of soup that tasted like nothing. My stomach protested with each bite, anxiety making it nearly impossible to swallow.
“How’s the virtual program working out?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
“Fine. Good. The professors are accommodating.” I kept my eyes on the bowl, counting bites like a child. “Anya’s handling it better than I expected.”
“Dmitri says she’s already decorated her entire study space with fairy lights.”
Despite everything, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. “Yeah, she did.”
“And you? Are you managing okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just… different. But necessary. I understand why we’re doing it.” The words came out flat, automatic. I sounded like a robot. Like someone reading lines from a script.
Silence reigned between us again, thick and uncomfortable. I forced down another spoonful of soup and prayed he’d get called away, give me space to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell I was going to do.
And the powers that be granted my desperate wish.
His phone buzzed. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
“You should get that,” I said, hating the relief in my voice. “It might be important.”
He pulled out his phone, his expression darkening as he read whatever message had come through. When he looked up at me, I saw the conflict in his eyes—duty pulling one way, concern for me pulling the other.
“I need to take care of something,” he said finally, standing. “Will you actually eat the rest of that, or should I have Anna bring you something else?”
“I’ll finish it. Promise.” I met his eyes briefly, and for a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. Beg him to help me make sense of the chaos in my head. But the words stuck in my throat, trapped behind fear and confusion and the echo of that voice on the phone. “Go. Do what you need to do.”
He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, breathed in his scent. The scent of the expensive cologne I’d come to like and something darker underneath—smoke, danger, and safety all mixed together.
“Get some rest,” he murmured against my skin. “I’ll check on you later.”
“Okay.”
He left, and I sat alone in the kitchen with my half-empty bowl of soup and the weight of my secrets pressing down like a physical entity.
I should eat. Finish the soup like I’d promised, take care of the baby, and be the responsible adult I was supposed to be.
Instead, I sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing, before forcing myself to lift the spoon again.
One bite. Then another. Mechanical movements that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with keeping promises, even small ones.
When the bowl was finally empty, I placed it in the sink and was about to wash it when Anna rushed into the kitchen, insisting on doing the dishes. So I left the kitchen.
The house was quiet. Most of the staff had retired for the evening, leaving just the night security crew moving silently through the halls. I should go upstairs. I should try to sleep, even though I knew it would be futile.
Instead, I found myself wandering into the library.
It was one of my favorite rooms in the house—all dark wood and leather furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that smelled like old paper and possibility.
Alexei’s grandfather had built the collection, or so I’d been told.
Alexei himself rarely used the room, preferring to work in his office or disappear into whatever dark corners of the city his business required.
But I’d claimed it as my own space, spending afternoons curled up in the oversized armchair by the window, losing myself in stories that had nothing to do with my life.
Tonight, though, I couldn’t seem to focus on reading. I pulled a book from the shelf at random—some nineteenth-century Russian novel I’d been meaning to get to—and settled into the chair.
I opened to the first page, reading the same sentence three times without absorbing a single word.
My mind kept drifting back to the phone call. To that voice. To the impossibility of it all.
“Don’t trust anyone, especially the Italians. There’s a traitor close.”
What did that mean? Who was I supposed to trust if not my own husband? And if there was a traitor in Alexei’s organization, shouldn’t I tell him? Wasn’t keeping this information to myself a betrayal in its own right?
But what if I’ve been wrong?
What if the call had been a trick, a manipulation designed to make me doubt the people around me? What if telling Alexei would play right into someone’s hands?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything anymore.
The baby kicked. Or maybe I imagined it. I pressed my hand to my stomach. “I know,” I whispered to the life growing inside me. “I know I’m being stupid. I know I should tell him.”
But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.
The clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes. I sat in the library until my back ached and my eyes burned with exhaustion, the unread book still open in my lap. Outside, Brooklyn glittered in the darkness, a city full of secrets and dangers I was only beginning to understand.
Finally, when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I forced myself upstairs to bed.
I went through my nighttime routine on autopilot. Brushed my teeth. Washed my face. Changed into the soft cotton nightgown that was one of the few things that still fit comfortably over my growing belly. Climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, counting the minutes until Alexei would return.
I must have dozed off at some point, because I woke to the sound of the bedroom door opening. My body tensed automatically before I forced myself to relax, to keep my breathing even and slow.
The mattress dipped as Alexei slid in behind me, his arm wrapping around my waist, his hand covering mine on my stomach. I stiffened involuntarily before catching myself.
“Sorry,” he murmured against my hair, his breath warm on my neck. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.” I kept my voice soft and sleepy and hoped he’d believe it. “Everything alright?”
“It will be.” He pulled me closer, his body a solid wall of heat against my back. “Just business. Nothing for you to worry about.”
The lie was so casual, so practiced, that I almost believed it.
But I’d learned to read him too, learned the subtle tells that meant he was holding back.
Whatever business he’d been handling, it wasn’t nothing.
It was serious enough to pull him away at night, serious enough to put that edge in his voice.
Was it about the letter? About the phone call? About threats I didn’t even know existed yet?
I forced myself to relax against him, to let my breathing even out like I was drifting back to sleep.
But my mind raced, turning over possibilities and scenarios until they blurred together into white noise.
His hand was warm on my stomach, our child between his palm and mine.
This was what mattered, I told myself. This moment, this connection. Everything else was just noise.
But I didn’t believe it.
“Mila,” he said quietly, and something in his voice made my pulse jump. “If something’s wrong, if you’re scared or worried about anything, you can tell me. You know that, right?”
The words hovered on my tongue.
Someone called. They warned me. I don’t know what to do.
But what came out was, “I know.”
Such a small lie. Such a massive betrayal.
I pressed back against him slightly, a gesture of affection that felt hollow even as I made it. His arms tightened around me, his face buried in my hair, giving me a feel of the tension in his body that matched my own.
We lay there in the darkness, holding each other while oceans of unspoken truth stretched between us. Two people who’d promised forever, who’d created life together, who couldn’t seem to bridge the gap that was growing wider every day.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about tomorrow, about the next crisis, about the inevitable moment when all my carefully constructed lies would come crashing down around us.
For now, I just held onto my husband in the darkness and pretended that was enough.
Of course, it wasn’t.
But it was all I had.