Chapter 33
Roman
The Chicago rainstorm finally died before dawn, but the air still reeked of cold and blood.
"Doctor! Yuri, get out here!"
The car hadn't even stopped when I kicked the door open and burst into the blazing-bright hall with Nadia limp in my arms.
My roar echoed through the empty white corridors—pure murder and barely concealed panic.
The medical team was already on standby.
Dr. Yuri came running with nurses pushing a gurney.
When I laid Nadia down carefully, I saw her eyes shut tight, her face drained of color like a lifeless porcelain doll.
The glass cuts on her hands—deep enough to see bone—had swollen white from the seawater, still leaking diluted blood.
"Pakhan, please wait outside. We need to examine and treat Mrs. Sokolova immediately." Yuri blocked the ER doors. His voice shook, but he held his ground.
I stared at the closing doors like I could burn through them. When the red light came on, all the strength drained from my body. I slumped against the cold wall.
Water dripped from my soaked hair onto the hospital tiles. I looked down at my hands—covered in mud, seawater, and her blood—and they started shaking.
I'd almost lost her.
One second later, and she'd have closed her eyes forever in that cold, dark water. And the one responsible wasn't Vera. Wasn't Morozov. It was me.
My arrogance. I'd shoved her into the abyss with my own hands.
Time outside the ER became the cruelest punishment. Every second dragged like a dull blade slowly cutting through my nerves. I paced the corridor like a caged animal, chain-smoking. But the nicotine couldn't touch the beast tearing through my chest.
I don't know how long passed. Maybe two hours. Felt like a century.
Finally, the red light went out. Dr. Yuri pulled off his mask and walked out, his expression grave.
I threw down my cigarette and grabbed him by the collar. "How is she?"
"Pakhan, calm down." Yuri flinched at the bloodshot in my eyes. He rushed through his report. "Mrs. Sokolova's vitals are stable. She inhaled seawater—minor lung infection—but that's not the worst of it. The worst is the lacerations on her hands and multiple soft tissue injuries."
"But..." Yuri paused. His eyes went complicated. He lowered his voice. "Pakhan, during the blood work and ultrasound, we found... Mrs. Sokolova is pregnant. About five weeks."
Pregnant.
The word hit like a sledgehammer to the skull. My brain short-circuited. Nothing but a shrill ringing in my ears. My grip on Yuri's coat went slack. I staggered back half a step.
"What did you say?" My voice scraped like sandpaper, trembling with disbelief.
"Your wife is pregnant." Yuri took a deep breath, dead serious.
"Pakhan, Mrs. Sokolova has been under extreme mental and physical stress.
Tonight's jump into freezing water—the pregnancy is extremely unstable.
Signs of threatened miscarriage. We've given her progesterone shots.
For the next few months, she cannot endure any more stress.
Otherwise... we'll lose not just the baby, but her too. "
I didn't hear what else Yuri said.
My mind replayed those lethal keywords on loop. Pregnant. Jumped into the sea. Extreme torture. Threatened miscarriage.
The guilt and pain crashed over me like an avalanche. I stood frozen, feeling an invisible hand rip my heart straight out of my chest and stomp on it.
She was pregnant. Carrying my child.
And I—the father, her husband—what had I done to her?
In the Bahamas, I gave her everything. Made her trust me completely. Back in Chicago, for my goddamn "bigger picture," to flush out the federal mole, I'd used the cruelest cold violence to push her away. I left her alone to face the whispers in the manor, alone to face Vera's venom.
Because of my neglect, Vera had locked her in that godforsaken basement. Watched her smash bulletproof glass with bloody hands. Watched her run into the storm like a homeless stray. Watched her own parents sell her to an underground auction.
Carrying my child, she'd faced armed traffickers at the docks. Carrying my child, she'd thrown herself into freezing lake water in despair...
And I was still arrogant enough to think I could give her a home.
I'm a fucking monster.
"Roman..." Danny called out carefully.
I snapped back. Ignored him. Turned and stormed into the bathroom.
I cranked the faucet and splashed ice-cold water on my face, trying to douse the fire of self-loathing burning through my skull. I stared at the man in the mirror—bloodshot eyes, wrecked face—and drove my fist straight through the glass.
The mirror shattered into countless pieces, reflecting my twisted face. Blood ran from my knuckles into the sink. I felt nothing. This pain was nothing compared to what she'd endured.
I forced myself to breathe. Peeled off the blood-and-seawater-soaked shirt. Put on the clean black sweater Danny handed me.
I had to face her. Even if she wanted to put a bullet in my head, I had to tell her everything.
I pushed open the VIP room door. A faint smell of disinfectant.
The lights were dimmed. Nadia lay still in bed, IV needle in the back of her hand, clear fluid dripping into her vein. Her hands were wrapped in thick white gauze, like two clumsy snowballs resting at her sides.
At the sound of my footsteps, she slowly turned her head. Those blue eyes found me in the dim light.
The look in them was unbearably complex.
I walked to her bedside quietly, pulled over a chair, and sat. My throat worked several times before I could force out her name.
"Kitten."
She flinched slightly. Didn't reject the name, but her gaze dropped, avoiding mine.
I took a deep breath. My fingers clenched together, forcing myself not to run from the guilt.
"The doctor said... you're pregnant." My voice was wrecked, every word scraped raw from my throat.
She said nothing. Just stared at her bandaged hands.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, almost pleading.
After a long silence, she finally spoke. Weak and exhausted.
"Would it have mattered?" She smiled bitterly. "I only found out yesterday—tied up in that dark room, waiting to die... I thought we'd both die at the hands of those traffickers. Me and the baby."
The words twisted like a poisoned blade in my chest.
"I'm sorry, Nadia. This is all my fault."
"Yes. All your fault." She finally looked at me. No hatred in those blue eyes. Just bone-deep exhaustion and despair. "Your fault for not even looking at me when I fell down the stairs. You went straight to Vera. Your fault for locking me in the east wing like a prisoner."
"Why..." Her voice broke. Tears fell silently. "Why did you make me listen to you and her in that basement..."
She couldn't finish. Just covered her face and wept without sound.
My heart felt crushed in an invisible fist. I reached out to hold her, but didn't dare touch her injured body.
"I'm sorry..." My voice cracked. "I'm sorry, Kitten. None of that... none of it was real."
"What wasn't real?" She looked up, eyes full of tears. "Your coldness? Your enabling Vera? That phone call?"
"None of it!" I nearly shouted, voice raw with pain and self-hatred. "Nadia, listen. Please just let me explain."
She said nothing. Just watched me.
I took a deep breath and started unraveling the truth I'd buried.
"Vera... she's the sister of my ex-fiancée—Lena Carter." My voice dropped. "Six years ago, Lena died in a shootout. Because of me."
Nadia's eyes widened slowly.
I closed mine. "I watched her burn. Couldn't save her. That ring—she gave it to me as a talisman. I wore it out of guilt. A life debt. Never old feelings."
Nadia listened quietly.
"Before Lena died, she made me promise to look after Vera. So to repay the debt, as long as Vera didn't cross the line, I indulged her." I continued. "Until I discovered family secrets were leaking. The mole trail led to Vera."
I looked at her, self-loathing in my eyes.
"To close the net, I had to keep Vera calm. Then you came back from the Bahamas."
I dropped my head, hands clasped, elbows on my knees.
"Nadia, I admit it. My biggest mistake. I thought if I pretended to be cold to you, created a 'fake weakness,' I could protect you. I thought if Vera focused on me, you'd be safe."
I looked up, eyes red.
"But I miscalculated. Didn't think Vera would come after you personally. Today I interrogated her. She confessed—six years ago, she sold me out. That's what got Lena killed. She was jealous of her sister. Jealous of you too."
"I was too arrogant. Thought I had everything under control. Instead, I left you alone in the dark. Almost got you killed."
The room was quiet. Just the drip of the IV.
"In the Bahamas." My voice shook as I laid it all bare. "No body double. No act. Everything on that honeymoon was real. From that night the elevator went dark, I never really let you go."
Nadia didn't speak. She looked at me, tears pooling in her eyes.
Then she lowered her head and breathed deep.
"I don't know if I should believe you, Roman." She looked up, voice soft.
The moment our eyes met, my chest tightened.
"I'm so scared." Tears fell from those sad blue eyes. "The storage room was so dark. It hurt so much. When I jumped into the water, I thought we'd both die. Me and the baby."
Her words drove knives through my heart. My fingers dug into my palms.
But I forced myself to stay calm. To listen.
"Roman, I'm exhausted." She looked at me. "I don't know if I have the strength to face the schemes and dangers in your world again."
Tears streamed down her face, nearly tearing me apart.
"I'm sorry." I couldn't take it anymore. I stood abruptly, voice low. "But you don't have to decide now, Nadia. The choice is yours. If you want to stay, I'll spend my life making this up to you. If you want to leave, I'll let you go—but I'll make sure you and the baby never want for anything."
"Whatever you decide, I'll respect it."
I walked to the door.
"The lock's on the inside," I said. "Same as before. When you're ready to leave, you can walk out anytime."
"But until you decide, I'll be here. Keeping a light on for you."
I resisted the urge to look back. Walked out. Closed the door gently.
I leaned against the wall outside and shut my eyes.
Danny walked over and handed me a cigarette.
"Pakhan," he said. "The federal situation is handled. John McNally killed himself last night. Morozov's remnants have been cleaned up too."
"Good." I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Also..." Danny paused. "Vera's been thrown in the water cell. As you ordered, they're working on her daily. Doctor's keeping her alive."
"Good."
"Roman." Danny looked at me, worry in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
I was silent for a long time.
Smoke curled through the air.
I leaned against the wall, listening to the faint crying from inside the room. Guilt and regret flooded my chest.
I'd done too much wrong. Now all I could do was wait.
Wait for her to open that door from the inside.