16. Luka
LUKA
Alina asks to meet for lunch.
I agree because I need to know what she knows, and I don’t want to scare her into running to whoever sent her.
She chooses Verre, a restaurant with glass walls and too many people. That tells me she wants to be seen. Or she wants to feel safe.
Either way, it’s useful.
She arrives ten minutes late in a cream dress, one hand resting over her stomach. The gesture looks practiced. I stand when she reaches the table.
“Luka,” she says.
“Alina.”
I don’t kiss her cheek.
She notices and sits down with a tight smile.
A waiter comes over. I order coffee. She orders sparkling water and barely looks at the menu.
“I’m glad you came,” she says.
“You wanted to talk.”
“I needed to. Yesterday was… a lot.”
“You should not have come to my office like that.”
Her eyes lower. “I know. I panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m scared.”
“Of me?”
She looks at me quickly. “No. Of everything.”
That is either true, or close enough to true.
I let her settle. I don’t push too hard at first. If she feels trapped, she will shut down.
The waiter brings our drinks. When he leaves, she folds her hands in her lap.
“I don’t want to trap you,” she says. “I don’t want money.”
“That’s usually what people say before asking for money.”
Her face flushes. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is walking into my office and announcing a pregnancy in front of my staff.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering.”
“I was recovering.”
She looks confused. “Recovering from what?”
“A gunshot wound.”
Her reaction is immediate. Her eyes widen, and her hand tightens around the edge of the table.
“You were shot?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No. I heard something happened, but I didn’t know you were hurt.”
I watch her carefully. That reaction looks real.
So whoever is pushing her didn’t tell her everything.
I keep my voice calm. “How far along are you?”
“Almost eight weeks.”
“Almost?”
“Seven and a half, maybe eight. I haven’t had a proper scan yet.”
“You said yesterday you saw a doctor.”
“I did. Just not… not everything.”
The first lie is clumsy.
I drink my coffee and let her sit in it.
She shifts in her chair. “I know this is a shock.”
“It is not a shock.”
That unsettles her. “It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you and I know both know I’m not the father.”
“You can’t just dismiss me,” she pleads.
“I’m not dismissing you. I’m asking why you’re lying.”
She goes very still.
The waiter approaches with bread. I look at him once, and he changes direction.
“I think someone told you what to say and gave you enough details to make it sound possible.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?”
She looks away toward the window. I follow her gaze without moving my head.
A man stands across the street near a jewelry store, pretending to look at his phone. Grey linen jacket. Sunglasses.
So, she’s being watched.
I lean back and soften my tone. “Alina, listen carefully. If there’s a child, the child will be supported. Medical care, privacy, security. I will not let anyone hurt a pregnant woman.”
Her shoulders loosen a little.
Then I add, “But I also will not let anyone use a child to threaten me.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “I’m not threatening you.”
“No. You are delivering someone else’s threat.”
Her lips part. She says nothing.
I take a card from my inside pocket and place it on the table.
“My doctor. You will see him today.”
“I have my own doctor.”
“Not anymore.”
Her face hardens. “You can’t force me.”
“No,” I say. “I cannot.”
She exhales like she has won something.
I keep my eyes on hers. “But if you refuse, I will assume you don’t want the truth documented. Then my lawyers will treat this as fraud, extortion, and attempted reputational damage. Every message you sent, every call you made, every person you met before coming to my office will be pulled apart.”
Her hand tightens around the glass.
“And Alina,” I say quietly, “if Roman Karpov is involved, my patience becomes much shorter.”
The color drains from her face.
She tries to hide it by lifting the glass to her mouth, but her hand is shaking now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
She looks toward the window. Again. Same direction.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“No.”
“You keep looking outside.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Because of me?”
Her laugh is short and false. “You are a frightening man.”
“Yes,” I say. “But you knew that before lunch.”
Her fingers rub at the stem of the glass.
“I mean what I said, regardless of who’s involved.” I let my tone soften by one degree. “Alina, if you are pregnant, you will receive medical care and protection. I meant that. I will not punish a child for whatever this is.”
Her eyes flick back to mine.
“But,” I say, “you will talk to my lawyers first.”
By the time I step out of the conference room, my shoulder is burning, my patience is thin, and all I can think about is Nina.
That’s becoming inconvenient.
It has always been inconvenient, but now it is also impossible to ignore. Last night changed the shape of everything. There is before her apartment and after it. Before her hands in my hair and after. Before that soft, angry goodbye kiss and after.
I cross the executive floor, phone in one hand, reading Pavel’s update about the temporary maintenance credential used before the garage attack.
The credential was created through a facilities account.
The account belongs to a man who has worked in the building for seven years, which either means he is stupid, compromised, or dead and I have not been told yet.
Pavel is still pulling movement logs. Two cameras from the service corridor are damaged.
Convenient.
I’m halfway to my office when Nina comes out of the side corridor with a file against her chest.
She stops when she sees me.
For one second, she forgets to guard her face.
Not my assistant with polite eyes and a corporate voice. Not Misha’s sister. Not the woman who tried to resign and then argued with me in her apartment like she had every right to call me vile.
Just Nina.
Hair tied back badly, mouth pressed into a line, skin still faintly flushed in a way I shouldn’t notice at work and notice anyway.
Then she remembers where we are.
Her face cools.
Mine probably does the opposite. I step toward her.
An analyst comes around the corner, looking down at a tablet, heading straight into her. I move before thinking and put my hand on her waist, guiding her closer to me and out of his path.
It’s a practical touch.
That’s what I tell myself.
My fingers settle at her side, warm through the thin fabric of her blouse, and every practical thought in my head dies quietly.
She goes still.
The analyst mutters an apology and keeps walking.
Nina looks up at me. Her voice is low. “Where were you?”
There’s too much in the question.
Jealousy. Anger. Worry. Something softer she does not want me to hear.
“Handling Alina,” I say.
Wrong answer.
I know it as soon as her eyes shift over my shoulder.
Alina has stepped out of the legal conference room with Grigori beside her. She looks pale now, less polished than she was at the restaurant, one hand wrapped around her phone, the other resting near her stomach. She sees me first, then sees my hand on Nina’s waist.
Nina feels the direction of my attention before I even turn. Her eyes move past me and land on Alina.
Everything changes.
Her body goes stiff under my hand. Her face closes. She steps back, and this time I let her go because if I don’t, the whole floor will understand in less than five seconds.
“Of course,” she says.
“Nina.”
“I need to get this to legal.”
“You are standing outside legal.”
“Yeah,” she says coolly. She moves around me before I can stop her without making a scene.
Alina watches her go.
I turn toward Alina. She quickly looks away, but she is too late.
“I think we’re done here,” I say, starting to walk away.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I really am.”
I wait until the elevator doors close behind them.
Then I go looking for Nina.
She’s not at her desk. Not in the legal corridor. Not in the smaller conference room.
Meredith looks up when I pass her. “Miss Hale went to the coffee room,” she says without being asked.
I stop.
Meredith keeps typing.
“You are very observant,” I say. She just gives me a small smirk.
I continue walking.
The executive coffee room is at the end of the corridor, tucked behind a frosted glass door. It is small, usually empty, and close enough to my office that most employees avoid it unless they enjoy feeling like they are trespassing.
Nina is inside.
Her back is to me.
She’s standing at the counter, stirring coffee she won’t drink. I know she won’t drink it because she hates the coffee here and has complained about it enough times to make it part of the building’s history.
I step in and close the door behind me.
The latch clicks.
She turns at once and gasps, hand flying to her chest. “What are you doing?”
“Closing the door.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
She rolls her eyes and turns her back to me.
“You were avoiding me.”
“I was making coffee.”
“You hate the coffee here.”
“I felt like suffering.”
“Alina is not a threat,” I say. “You have to trust me. She was just with my lawyers.”
“How romantic.”
She turns back to the counter and picks up the spoon again. “I asked where you were. I did not ask for the emotional itinerary of your pregnant ex-whatever.”
“She is not my ex.”
“Right. She’s just one of the many women I used to schedule like recurring maintenance.”
I walk closer.
She hears me. Her shoulders tense.
“She’s lying,” I say.
Nina laughs once, quietly. “Everyone keeps saying that like it makes this less messy.”
To that, I don’t say anything at all. “I’m sorry.” It’s a poor reply, but it’s all I have right now.
The coffee machine hums behind her. Someone walks past outside the door, shoes soft against the carpet. We both hear it. The office is right there.
Too many reasons not to do what I want.
Nina swallows.
That’s enough.
I reach for her waist and pull her to me.
She inhales sharply. “Luka.”
“Tell me to stop.”