Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Dante
"The Romanov dynasty's wedding of the century is finally back on track."
That line had been all over New York for days. Splashed across society pages, echoing through TV news, whispered even by the men who moved cargo and worked the docks for me.
The whole damn city was celebrating for me—Dante Romanov was finally getting his runaway bride back. Everything was returning to how it should be.
I sat behind the massive oak desk in my office, staring at a pile of contracts waiting for my signature.
Couldn't read a single word.
My eyes kept drifting—must've been the hundredth time—from the papers to that black phone at the corner of my desk.
It just sat there. Screen dark. I stared at it for a few seconds, forced myself to look away. Less than a minute later, my eyes found it again.
News this big, she had to have seen it.
No way she could stay silent.
She loved me so much. Three years of that stubborn, relentless love—a woman like that, seeing headlines about me marrying her sister again, how could she just sit still?
She'd come. She had to.
I could almost see it. Her bursting through my office door, eyes red, fists twisted in my collar, begging me not to do this, demanding to know if I was really throwing her away.
And then what would I do?
Push her away with ice in my voice? Or...
I didn't know. That's what ate at me—I actually didn't know.
I cut the thought off, irritated. She hadn't even shown up yet, and here I was, already planning what I'd say when she did.
Once or twice, I even unlocked that phone, finger hovering over her number. One press and I'd hear her voice again. But every time, I stopped myself at the last second. She was the one who left. Why the hell should I cave first? She should be the one panicking.
I slammed the phone face-down on the desk.
But the longer her number stayed dark, the more that certainty crumbled. What if she didn't care that much? What if she'd actually walked away clean, without looking back even once? I couldn't let myself think it. Every time I did, my chest tightened like a fist was squeezing my lungs.
I'd rather have her crying, screaming, cursing my name—anything but this absolute, empty silence.
But I couldn't help it. Every time the elevator dinged on my floor, every knock on the door, every flicker of light on that screen, my heart jumped. Thinking maybe, just maybe, Natasha had reached out.
But three days had passed.
That phone never once lit up with her name.
No calls. No texts. Nothing.
She'd just vanished. Clean break. Not even a word of anger or pleading was left behind.
That restless frustration in my chest grew heavier by the day.
How could she be so calm? How could she walk away so easily? Was that coward really better than me?
I grabbed the damn phone, nearly hurled it at the wall—
It rang.
I froze.
The screen lit up. A name flashed.
Not Natasha.
Katerina. Still in Europe on vacation, clueless about everything happening here.
Disappointment crashed down like a wave. I closed my eyes, swallowed the bitter taste of it along with all that pent-up frustration, then answered.
"Hey, Dante." My mother's voice came through bright and cheerful. "So? Did you have a good birthday this year?"
I gripped the phone. Said nothing.
"Why so quiet?" She laughed, expectant. "I called specifically to ask. Natasha put so much thought into your birthday surprise. Well? Were you happy?"
I closed my eyes, forcing my voice to stay flat.
"Natasha and I are getting divorced."
Silence on the other end.
"What did you just say?"
"We're getting divorced," I repeated it, deliberately cold and detached, making it sound trivial. "She ran off with another man. A bodyguard. So you don't need to bring her up anymore."
"Dante Romanov!" Her voice shot up, nearly piercing my eardrum. "You tell me what the hell is going on! That's impossible!"
"It's—"
"Ran off with another man?" She cut me off, voice shaking.
"Do you hear yourself? That girl just found out she's pregnant!
She's been throwing up so badly she can't even keep water down, but she was so happy, keeping it secret from everyone, waiting to tell you on your birthday! How could she possibly leave you now?"
I went completely still.
My mother kept talking, but her voice faded into the distance. Only one word kept exploding in my head, over and over.
Pregnant.
The word hit me like a bomb. My mind went blank.
Then another memory surfaced—Natasha's voice. Right before my birthday, tugging at my sleeve, eyes bright, telling me she had something really important to say on my birthday. She'd been so hopeful, so careful, afraid of annoying me.
I'd been drowning in Vera's mess. Didn't give a damn what she was saying. I'd brushed her off, hung up fast.
Now I finally understood what she'd been trying to tell me.
I had to find her.
That was my child. Romanov blood. My only heir. No man in the world would sit back and let his own kid go hungry and cold. This wasn't about romance. This was duty. A reason no one could question.
Right. That was it.
I was doing this for the child.
As long as I kept telling myself that, I could bury the guilt I felt toward Vera. I'd found myself an out—a way to drag Natasha back without admitting what I was really hungry for.
I grabbed my coat, shoved the door open, and barked at the people outside.
"Find Leo's location. Now."
Leo knew where she was. In this entire city, he was the most likely person to know where Natasha had gone. Former employee or not, I still had his ID and tracking on file. I'd make him talk, even if I had to pry it out of him tooth by tooth.
My men pinpointed Leo's beat-up car in half an hour.
He was driving through some forgettable street on the east side. I took a crew and boxed him in at a red light.
I got out and walked straight to his window. The second Leo saw me, his face changed. Before he could hit the gas, I yanked the door open, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him out of the driver's seat, slamming him onto the pavement.
"Where's Natasha?"
I didn't wait for an answer. My fist cracked into his face. Blood gushed from his nose.
"Talk! Where is she?"
Leo clutched his face, tried to get up. I kicked him back down, leaned over him, and hit him again.
I didn't hold back. Every ounce of frustration, regret, and the sick jealousy I'd felt watching him walk out of the Manor beside Natasha—all of it poured into my fists, one blow after another. I didn't care if he fought back. He couldn't anyway.
Leo wiped blood off his face and forced himself up again. He didn't dodge. Didn't beg. He just stared at me, neck stiff, eyes without a trace of fear.
"Go ahead. Beat me." He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "Kill me if you want. You won't get a damn word out of me."
That lit me up completely.
I shoved him against the car, forearm crushing his throat, face inches from his.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" I snarled. "What are you to her? You think you can stand between us?"
"At least I didn't leave her pregnant and sleeping on a cold floor." Leo could barely breathe under my grip, but he still mocked me.
"You son of a bitch." I grabbed his collar again and yanked his face up to mine. "Where is she now?"
Leo's face was covered in blood, but suddenly, he smiled.
He laughed so hard his shoulders shook. Blood dripped down his chin.
"You want to know where she is?" He spat more blood, each word slow and vicious.
"She's in the kind of place you'd never set foot in your whole life.
She doesn't have a cent. Pregnant with your kid, puking up bile, and she had to pawn the only thing her mother left her just to scrape together one month's rent. "
He stared at me, eyes full of scorn.
"You're so rich, aren't you, Dante Romanov? And you let your own child starve in the slums." He grinned wider. "What kind of man does that make you?"
My fist froze mid-air.
I was still gripping his collar, chest heaving. I wanted to push harder, force him to give me the exact address. But Leo clamped his mouth shut. No matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't say another word. He just looked up at me from the ground with pure contempt.
Then my phone rang.
It was one of my guys back at the office, the one I'd left searching for Natasha.
"Boss." His voice came fast and urgent. "We found her. We got Mrs. Romanov's address. It's in an old apartment building on the edge of the south district slums—"
I let go of Leo's collar. He collapsed to the ground, still smirking.
I didn't look at him again. I turned and got in the car.
The building was worse than Leo had described.
I parked at the mouth of the alley and walked in alone. I didn't bring anyone. I didn't want a single one of my men to see this place, to see that my wife—who should've been living in luxury—had ended up here.
The alley was so narrow only one person could pass through at a time. Filthy water pooled on the ground. Rotting garbage piled in the corners. Every step I took, my chest got tighter.
Natasha had grown up with everything she needed. Even if she wasn't favored in the Kornilov house, she'd never actually been poor. How could she stand living in a place like this?
The stairwell was pitch black and cramped. Paint peeled off the walls in chunks. The air reeked of damp and mold. I climbed step by step, and with every floor, my heart sank deeper.
Finally, I reached the floor my intel had given me. The door number hung crooked on the wall. A sliver of dim yellow light leaked from under the door.
I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and knocked softly.
"Natasha." My voice came out rough and low. "It's me."
No response from inside.
"Natasha, I know you're in there." I pressed my forehead almost against the door, eyes closed. "Open up. Please. Let's talk."
Still nothing. The silence inside was deafening.
I pressed one hand flat against the chipped paint of the door and rested my forehead against the back of my hand.
"I know about the baby." I lowered my voice, almost speaking into the crack of the door. "I didn't come home that day. I left you there alone. And I said those things."
I closed my eyes. I never knew admitting I was wrong could be this hard. This painful.
On the drive over, I kept telling myself I was just coming to claim the child. To do my duty as a father. But standing here outside this door, listening to that suffocating silence, I realized I couldn't even fool myself anymore.
I wanted to see her. Natasha. I needed to see with my own eyes that she was okay.
I wanted to pull her out of this hellhole and back into my arms.