Chapter 17
LEAH
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and old books in the bookstore café is a comforting balm.
The hiss from the espresso machine and the quiet clink of coffee cups above a hum of muted conversation is a familiar anchor in a life that has become anything but familiar.
It’s a desperate attempt to cling to the normalcy that feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
“You know, for a woman living on the Upper East Side with a—” She drops her voice and leans across the table, closer to me, “Russian mafia boss, you’re remarkably good at pretending to be a regular person,” Suzie teases before taking a sip of her latte.
The steam wafting out of her cup reaches the hot pink tips she dyed her hair the day before. She certainly knows how to stick out in a courtroom.
“Shh! Will you keep your voice down?” I shush her, my gaze darting around the cafe before meeting Suzie’s eyes again. “I like it here. It’s quiet. Predictable.”
Predictable. The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
Nothing in my life is predictable anymore.
Not since Viktor. Not since the baby. Not since the bullets aimed at me.
Even now, I see the black SUV idling across the street, its tinted windows opaque—Viktor’s men.
Always there, always watching. A comfort, yes, but also a constant reminder of the invisible cage I now inhabit.
“Right,” Suzie says, a knowing glint in her eyes.
“Because up until now, your life has been entirely predictable. A surprise baby at nineteen, helping your mom through an illness at twenty-one, an asshole of a fiancé who ends up in an accident that cripples him, and a one-night stand with a mob boss—”
I sigh, leaning my elbows on the tabletop. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
“It is dramatic, Leah! Your life is a telenovela, except with more actual danger and less questionable acting.” She grins, then her expression softens.
“Seriously, though, are you okay? Is the baby okay? I know it’s scary, but I’m kind of glad someone is watching out for you, considering the circumstances. ”
“I’m fine,” I say, a little too quickly. “Viktor handled it.” My mind flashes back to his iron grip on Clarissa’s wrist, the primal growl in his voice, the possessive kiss that had silenced the room. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly confusing.
The bell above the door jingles and a customer walks in.
I change subjects, asking Suzie about her newest client, whose case I’m also on, a high-profile celebrity divorcing a high-profile hedge-fund manager that’s gearing up to be nasty.
My best friend is more than happy to discuss the case with someone she can share it with, and I’m glad to lose myself in the details.
The afternoon passes, clouds slowly crowding the sky until they blot out the sun.
Leaves scutter by the window as the breeze picks up.
“Ready to brave the big, bad world, babe?” Suzie asks, sweeping the crumbs of her pastry into her napkin before balling it up.
I nod, pulling on my coat. The SUV across the street is still there, a silent sentinel. I feel a pang of guilt, knowing my presence puts Suzie at risk, but she brushed off my concerns. In fact, her exact words were: “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse than a few burly bodyguards in my line of work.”
We step out onto the sidewalk, the sudden chill in the air in contrast to the warmth of the coffee shop. The SUV’s engine hums, and I see Iliya waiting for us. Viktor’s right-hand man gives me a curt nod, his usual stoic greeting.
A dark van screeches to a halt directly in front of us, blocking my view of the men. Before I can process it, the side door of the van slides open, and two figures, large and menacing, leap out. They’re dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by balaclavas.
“Leah! Run!” Suzie screams, her voice sharp with terror, and shoves me hard.
My feet are moving before my brain catches up.
Adrenaline floods my system, a hot, urgent current.
I glance back, seeing Iliya scrambling out of the SUV, shouting into his phone, but the van is a wall between us.
The two men are fast, closing the distance, and there’s no way he’s going to make it to Suzie and me in time.
“This way!” Suzie yells, pulling my arm. We duck into the narrow alleyway beside the bookstore, the scent of damp concrete and garbage assaulting my senses. My breath comes in ragged gasps.
Footsteps pound behind us, heavy and relentless.
They’re gaining. Suzie, a runner since we were in middle school, is pulling me along behind her, weaving through discarded boxes and overflowing bins.
I follow her lead, my mind a frantic scramble of fear and a desperate need to protect us, including the life growing inside me.
“Here!” Suzie hisses, pulling me behind a dumpster. We crouch, heartbeats thundering in our ears, listening to the heavy, echoing footsteps. They pause, then move past us, their voices muffled and gruff, barking orders in Russian.
“They didn’t see us,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Not yet,” Suzie replies, her eyes wide with fear, a spark of determination still burning in them. “Come on, we need to lose them.”
We emerge from the alley onto a quiet residential street. We run, not in a straight line, but between alleys, anything to break line of sight, a maze of damp brick and the smell of garbage and moldering leaves picked up by the ever-sharpening wind.
I’m not sure where we’re going, only that we have to keep moving. My lungs ache, a fiery protest, and a sharp pain lances through my side. I press a hand to my belly, a silent plea to my unborn child. Just a little longer. We’ll be safe.
“Think, Leah, think!” I mutter to myself. Where will we be safe?
My mind, usually so sharp, feels sluggish, clouded by fear, before we come upon one of those chain gyms, the window facing the sidewalk full of people running and walking on treadmills.
“Perfect!” Suzie gasps, her voice strained.
We rush across the street, fueled by the desperate hope of sanctuary.
The pain in my side intensifies, but I ignore it, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other.
The sounds of the city, usually a comforting hum, now feel menacing, every distant siren or barking dog a potential threat.
A teenager sits at the front desk. He looks up, his red-splotched face moving from greeting to confusion, his mouth opening to speak before he shuts it again because he doesn’t know what to say.
Suzie ignores him, tugging me toward the double-doored entrance to the rest of the gym.
“Are you members?” the kid calls after us. “You can’t go in there unless you’re members!”
“Pregnant woman,” Suzie calls back over her shoulder. “Can’t get between a pregnant woman and the bathroom. NYC Administrative Code 11-114: Civil Actions Regarding Pregnant Women and the Use of Restrooms.”
“NYC Administrative Code what?” I hiss as we pass through the doors, fully aware she just pulled that one out of her ass.
“Like that kid knows anything about city administrative codes,” she retorts, still dragging me.
We stumble into the locker room, which is foggy with steam from the showers and sauna.
Ignoring the looks from the few women changing or wrapped in towels, we find an empty corner, and I lean against the cool tiles, sliding down to the floor, my legs shaking uncontrollably.
Suzie collapses beside me, her chest heaving.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Suzie whispers, burying her face in her hands. “Did that really just happen? That was terrifying.”
“I know,” I manage, still struggling to catch my breath. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely hold my phone. I dial Viktor’s number, my fingers fumbling. It rings once, twice, then his voice, sharp with concern, cuts through the distance between us.
“Leah! Where are you?” His voice is a torrent of questions laced with a raw edge of panic I’ve never heard before.
Tears prick at my eyes, a wave of relief washing over me at the sound of his voice. “We’re at Squat Goals on Elm Street. Two men tried to grab us, so we ran and hid in here, in the locker room.”
“Stay put. Do not move,” he commands, his voice regaining its usual steel combined with an underlying urgency. “I’m on my way.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, then at Suzie, who’s watching me with wide eyes.
“He’s coming,” I tell her. I just hope he gets here in time.
We wait, every second stretching into an eternity. Women come in and out of the locker room, and my heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs every time the door opens. What if they find us before Viktor gets here? What if they’re already outside?
A sudden, loud bang echoes through the locker room as the locker room door flies open, a choked scream escaping from the women at the nearby lockers.
My blood runs cold. They found us. Panic, cold and sharp, grips me. I scramble to my feet, looking around wildly for an escape, but there’s nowhere to go. Suzie grabs my hand, her knuckles white.
Shouting and more screams erupt from the main locker area—a crash, a yell, then silence. My breath hitches. What’s happening?
Viktor’s voice, a roar that vibrates through the entire room. “Everyone, get dressed and get out!”
Footsteps pound away, frantic, desperate, the door opening and closing multiple times. A moment later, Viktor rounds the corner, his face grim, his eyes blazing with a cold fury I’ve only seen glimpses of before. Behind him, Iliya stands, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.
Viktor strides past the two men, his gaze sweeping over us, checking for injuries.
He’s across the room in a moment and pulls me into his arms, a crushing embrace that steals what little breath I have left.
His body is rigid with tension, but his hands are gentle as they cup my face, searching my eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
“We’re okay,” I whisper, my voice muffled against his chest. “Just scared.”