Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Laurel
Two weeks after Leonid and I had temporarily stepped away, I stare at the pregnancy test in my hand, the two stark pink lines glaring back at me.
Pregnant. I’m pregnant.
The word doesn’t even feel real. My stomach lurches, not from nausea this time, but from sheer disbelief. I’ve been on the pill for months. I started right after Paris, right after the first time Leonid and I—
Tasha’s voice pulls me out of the spiral. “Laurel? Babe, say something. What are you going to do?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out at first. My tongue feels thick, useless. “I… I don’t know.” The words finally scrape past my throat. “How can I be pregnant?”
Tasha smirks. “Well, from the number of times you said you and Leonid have been at it, it’s not hard to deduce how…”
“No,” I quickly cut in. “I mean, I’ve been on the pill. I got on it right after… you know.”
Tasha leans against the bathroom counter, arms crossed, eyes gentle but worried. “Have you been consistent with it? Every single day, same time, no skips?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I mean… mostly. I might’ve missed a few days. Sometimes I forgot. Work was crazy, and—” My voice cracks.
She nods slowly. “That’s your answer, then.”
“I thought I was careful.”
I sink onto the closed toilet seat, burying my face in my palms. The cold porcelain presses against my thighs through my leggings.
I’ve been throwing up everything I eat for days.
My period was late, and Tasha practically dragged me to the pharmacy this morning after I kept making excuses.
Now the little stick in my hand is screaming the truth I didn’t want to face.
Tasha crouches in front of me, voice soft. “Do you want to keep it?”
I drop my hands, staring at the tile floor between us. The test is still clutched in my fingers like evidence.
“Sure... but I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I whisper.
“Uh, okay… how about we go find you something you can keep down in the meantime?”
We walk out of the bathroom, and I collapse onto her couch in the living room while Tasha makes me some herbal tea. A moment later, she walks in and hands me a steaming mug.
“Thanks,” I murmur, not bothering to take a sip. Food is the least of my worries right now.
Tasha sits close, knee touching mine. “Are you going to tell Leonid?”
I sigh, long and shaky. My hand slowly drifts to my stomach, almost without thinking. It’s still flat. But something is there now. Someone.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother.
Have my own kids. And… I love him, Tasha.
God, I love him so much I’d give anything to have his baby.
But bringing a child into his world? Is that even safe?
He’s—” I lower my voice, even though we’re alone.
“He’s in the mafia. People die around him.
People he orders to die. And not to mention, I watched him kill someone. ”
“He has a son already, doesn’t he?” Tasha points out gently. “Alexei?”
I nod. “Yeah. But that doesn’t make it okay. It just means another kid is already in danger because of who their father is.”
She reaches over, squeezes my hand. “Do you believe Leonid would ever hurt you? Or let anyone hurt you? Or your baby?”
I don’t even have to think. “No. He’s… protective. Possessive. But he’s never once made me feel unsafe. Not with him.”
Tasha nods. “Then maybe that’s your answer.
Yeah, I’d be terrified too if I found out my boyfriend was in the freaking mafia.
But from everything you’ve told me? The way he takes care of you?
The way he looks at you? That man would burn the world down before he let anything touch you.
I’ve seen it the few times I’ve met him.
Women would kill to have a partner look at them the way he looks at you.
Like you’re the center of his universe.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know. But… what kind of life is that for a child? Looking over their shoulder? Knowing their dad has blood on his hands?”
Tasha shrugs, not unkindly. “I don’t have the answers, babe. But I do know you. And I know you’re going to be an amazing mom, whether you decide to keep it or not. You don’t have to figure it all out right now. But I think you should tell him whatever it is that you decide.”
I nod slowly, hand still resting on my stomach.
I haven’t slept properly or thought clearly since I asked Leonid for space. Two weeks. The longest, emptiest weeks of my life. Not just because I miss him, but because I miss Alexei too. Being away from them feels like a slow kind of torture.
Each new day in the past two weeks, I realize how deeply my love for Leonid runs. I find myself rationalizing what he does, turning his darkness over in my mind until it doesn’t sound as unforgivable as it did at first.
Yes, he’s in the mafia. Yes, he kills. But I’ve seen the other side too—the man who reads Alexei bedtime stories until the boy falls asleep against his chest, who remembers I like oat milk in my coffee. The man who looks at me like I light up his world.
Who am I kidding? I don’t care what Leonid does for a living.
Not really. Not when it comes down to it.
I just want to be with him. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite.
Maybe it’s a double standard. But like he said, he doesn’t go around hurting innocent people.
That man at the party—he asked for it. If he’d backed off when I told him no, he would still be alive.
Tasha watches my face closely, then smiles. “Okay,” she says. “Judging by that look, I’m guessing you’ve made up your mind.”
I nod, a small, real smile breaking through. “I need to go see him.”
“That’s my girl.” She leans over and pulls me into a tight hug. “Go get your man. And tell me everything later.”
“Promise.” I hug her back hard, then grab my bag. I step into the hallway, heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with certainty. She walks me to the door. “You’ve got this.”
I didn’t drive, so I’m taking a taxi to his office. I glance at my watch; it’s past three, he should still be there. If not, I’ll head to his house. I keep replaying the last two weeks. Even though he’s been giving me the space I asked for, I still feel him everywhere.
Every morning, there’s a bouquet of flowers at my door, a card tucked inside telling me he loves me.
That I belong to him. Meals show up daily.
When I texted him to stop, he simply told me to eat.
If I run out of anything, it’s replaced before I even realize I need it.
The other day my kitchen sink broke, and by the time the property manager finally showed up with a plumber, it was already done.
I’ve texted Leonid more times than I can count, asking him to stop. He always answers the same way—that he won’t, that he’s just making sure I’m taken care of. I shake my head, smiling despite myself. What was I thinking? That I could stay away from him? That I could pretend I didn’t need him?
I love him. And I’m carrying his child.
My hand drifts to my stomach. What will he say when I tell him? Will he want this baby? Or will he think I’m trying to trap him the way Alexei’s mother did, using a pregnancy to get something from him?
The cab driver’s voice jolts me out of the fog in my head. “We’re here, ma’am.”
I blink, startled, and fumble for my wallet. “Right. Thank you.” I hand him cash and step out onto the sidewalk. The office building towers above me, the question replaying in my head: Will he want this baby?
I mutter under my breath, “There’s only one way to find out.”
Before I can take a single step forward, the revolving doors spin, and Leonid walks out.
My heart leaps. A wide, involuntary smile breaks across my face.
He’s here, right in front of me, looking every bit the man who owns every room he enters.
Black suit, no tie, dark hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it during a long meeting.
But the smile dies on my lips the second I see her.
A blonde woman steps out right behind him—stick-thin, designer dress hugging her frame, hem stopping just above her knees, six-inch heels clicking against the pavement.
She’s smiling up at him, head tilted in that intimate way women do when they know they’re being listened to.
And Leonid, my Leonid, has his hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My feet root to the concrete. What? Who is she?
Why does he have his hand on her? The questions run through my head, and I have no answer for any.
My stomach drops so fast I feel sick. Is this real?
Am I seeing things? My vision blurs at the edges, but I can’t look away.
He’s helping her into the back of a waiting black SUV, the same kind he always uses.
Holding the back door open for her as she slides in with practiced grace.
I’m moving before I realize it, marching toward them, fists clenched, ready to demand answers. I barely make it three steps when a wall of muscle steps into my path.
Dmitri.
Leonid’s right-hand man. Tall, broad, expression blank except for the faint shake of his head. “I’d strongly advise against that, Ms. Harper.”
I stare up at him, chest heaving. “What’s going on, Dmitri? Who is she?”
Dmitri doesn’t answer. Just stands there, immovable. I look past him in time to see Leonid round the SUV, glance in my direction, and our eyes lock.
For one heartbeat, everything stops. No guilt. No flicker of recognition. Just… nothing. His face is blank, cold, like I’m a stranger. Like I don’t exist.
Then he looks away, gets in the car, and shuts the door. The SUV pulls away from the curb, tires whispering against asphalt, and disappears into traffic.
I stand frozen, mouth open, words trapped in my throat. Dmitri’s voice drifts in from somewhere far away. “Let me take you home.”
I turn to him slowly. Tears are already pooling in my eyes, hot and stinging. I don’t answer. I just turn and walk away, mechanically hailing a cab.
The ride home is a blur. I don’t cry until I’m inside my apartment.
The moment the door shuts behind me, the dam breaks.
I slide down the wood, knees hitting the floor, and the sobs come hard—chest-heaving, ugly, uncontrollable.
My whole body rocks with them. It feels like someone reached inside my ribcage and ripped my heart out.
He looked right through me. Like I was nothing. Like the last few months never existed.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they keep coming. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. The pain is crushing, like I’m being hollowed out from the inside.
He moved on already? But he sent me roses yesterday morning. The same bouquet that’s still sitting on my kitchen counter.
The contradiction burns. I stumble to my feet, legs unsteady, cross the living room in three strides, grab the vase with shaking hands, and hurl it into the trash. Glass shatters against the metal bin. Petals scatter across the floor like blood.
I sink to the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, knees pulled to my chest, and more tears come.
My body rocks with sobs so hard I can’t breathe.
I press my palms to my lips, trying to hold it in, but it’s useless.
I don’t know how long I stay curled on the cold tile, crying until my throat is raw and my eyes are swollen shut.
Eventually, the sobs slow to hiccups, then to exhausted silence.
I’m too weak to move, so I shut my eyes, hoping that when next I open them, it will all be a dream.
My phone buzzes somewhere on the floor. I ignore it. It buzzes again. And again. I drag myself up just enough to reach it. Unknown number. I swipe to answer, too numb to care who it is.
“Laurel?”
I sit up so fast my head spins, back pressing against the cabinet for support. “Mom?”
She clears her throat. “It’s me.”
I can’t speak. I haven’t heard her voice in years. Not since I left Philadelphia, begging her to come with me, and she refused. Said she couldn’t leave him.
“How… how are you doing?” she asks, voice small.
“What?” The question is so absurd that I almost laugh. “How am I doing? Mom, what—”
“I’m sorry,” she cuts in. “I’ve been wanting to call you for so long. I just… I didn’t know how. I’m sorry, Laurel. For everything. For all the years I let him hurt us. For exposing you to those men. For not protecting you. For not being the mother you deserved.”
I’m stunned. Tears I thought were done spill over again.
“The last time we spoke,” she continues, “you asked me to leave with you. I said no because I was scared of him coming after us. I didn’t want you to get hurt anymore because of me. But he’s dead now.”
My breath stops. I don’t need her to say the name. I know who she means. My stepfather.
There’s relief in her voice. “I just… I called to apologize. I understand if you never want to talk to me again. But I’d really like for us to reconnect. If you’ll let me.”
I swallow hard. “Where are you?”
“At a rehab center,” she says softly. “Getting clean. From the alcohol. Your boyfriend… Leonid, he helped me get in here. About two weeks ago. Right after… after Bruno died. He showed up at my door, introducing himself as your boyfriend, and asked if I wanted to get help.”
My brain short-circuits. “What?”
“Leonid placed me here,” she repeats. “Paid for everything. Said I needed to get better for you and for myself, too.”
“Leonid did that?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracks. “He’s a good man, Laurel. He loves you. I can hear it when he talks about you…”
I hear voices in the background, and some shuffling.
“I’m sorry, I have to go now. Time’s up on the phone, but it was really nice talking to you. I’m happy you have someone who loves you like that. I hope… I hope we can talk again.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone in my hand, tears streaming down my face. Leonid put my mother in rehab. He found and helped her.
Why? I shake my head. This is all confusing. He’s with another woman now, so why would he do this?
A text lights up my screen. Tasha: How did it go? Did you tell him?
My thumbs shake as I type. Me: It’s over.
Reading the words on the screen makes it real. My chest caves in. I slide down the cabinets until I’m curled on the floor again, rocking, crying so hard I can’t breathe.
God, it hurts so much. I don’t know if I’ll survive this.