Chapter 34
Nadia
Two full weeks had passed since that blood-soaked, freezing night of death and rain.
Dr. Yuri told me that surviving severe hypothermia and seawater inhalation—while keeping my baby alive—was a medical miracle. But I knew better. What dragged me back from death's door wasn't just a miracle.
After my discharge, I returned to Sokolov Manor. Roman kept his word. He didn't force me back into that oppressive master bedroom haunted by Vera's ghost. Instead, he gave me the west wing's sunniest suite with the best view.
And on that heavy mahogany door, just like he promised, there was a brass deadbolt that only locked from the inside.
For two weeks, Roman haunted the hallway like a ghost. He never demanded entry, even though he owned this place. Every morning, I heard his deliberately soft footsteps stop outside my door. Every night, through the crack beneath the door, I saw his silhouette slumped against the hallway carpet.
He'd given me all the space, all the control. Every last bit of it.
The truth about Vera, about the conspiracy six years ago, about his feelings for me—I'd believed all of it that night in the hospital, amid the antiseptic smell. I believed he never saw me as a replacement. I believed his self-righteous "brutal protection" was done for the greater good.
Logically, the misunderstanding was cleared up. That tangled mess of scheming bitch and mafia conspiracy had been severed by Roman's bloody, decisive blade.
But emotionally?
Late at night, when Chicago's cold wind rattled the windows, I still shook uncontrollably.
When I closed my eyes, I dreamed of that moldy, rust-stinking storage room.
I dreamed of my blood-soaked hands pounding against bulletproof glass in absolute despair.
I dreamed of that bouncing delivery van and the bottomless black ocean that nearly swallowed my soul.
Those wounds were real. The terror I'd endured alone because of his arrogance and self-importance—those barbs were buried deep in my heart.
The wounds had scabbed over, but the knot of fear still sat between us. I was terrified that if I opened that door, if I gave myself to him completely again, someday when he faced another "difficult situation," he'd leave me alone in the dark all over again.
I couldn't gamble on that. So I hid like an ostrich in this bright, lonely room, drawing meager warmth from stroking my slowly rounding belly.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows. I was curled on the couch reading when rhythmic, gentle knocking interrupted the quiet.
"Come in." Expecting Sofia with afternoon tea, I answered absently.
The lock clicked. The door opened. But it wasn't a uniformed housekeeper who entered—it was an elderly woman in a floral housedress, white-haired and slightly stooped.
The moment I recognized her, I froze. My water glass hit the thick carpet with a thud.
"Nana?"
I couldn't believe my eyes. Standing in the doorway was my grandmother from rural Texas—Nana! The only person who'd shown me warmth during my hellish childhood of neglect and favoritism. The only one who'd secretly slip saved-up candy into my pockets.
"Oh, my poor little bird..."
Nana's eyes instantly reddened. She opened her weathered, wrinkled arms and rushed toward me.
"Nana!" I couldn't hold back. I threw off the blanket and, barefoot, flew into her embrace.
That familiar scent of lavender soap and sun-dried hay enveloped me. The smell of my childhood refuge. I clung to her and sobbed, releasing months of fear, despair, and confusion.
Nana's rough, warm palm stroked my back over and over, just like she used to after Richard's beatings.
"Cry, child. Let it out. Nana's here. No one can hurt you anymore." Her voice cracked.
When I finally cried myself out, Nana settled us on the couch and wiped my tears with her rough fingers.
"Nana, how did you get to Chicago?" I sniffled, eyes red and swollen.
"Mr. Sokolov sent people to bring me." Nana sighed, looking at me with cloudy but loving eyes. "Child, he told me everything. What Richard and Eleanor did..."
Her voice broke, tears welling up.
"I had no idea... I didn't know they'd sell you... God, Nadia, my child..."
Nana gripped my hand tightly, her aged face full of guilt and heartbreak.
"That's my son, but he did something worse than an animal. I'm ashamed, Nadia. If Mr. Sokolov hadn't come to Texas himself to tell me you needed me, I honestly don't know how I could've brought myself to see you."
"Nana..." I shook my head as fresh tears fell. "This isn't your fault. It never was."
"It is my fault." Nana insisted stubbornly. "I should've taken you to Texas long ago, shouldn't have left you in that house. I thought Richard was your father no matter what and wouldn't really hurt you. I was wrong."
She sighed deeply and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve.
"Mr. Sokolov told me what happened between you two."
"You've lost weight, child. You look so unhappy. My poor baby." Nana gently cradled my head against her chest, stroking my hair like when I was small.
My eyes burned. I buried my face in her warm scarf, breathing in that comforting smell. "Nana..."
"Child, I know you're scared and confused right now. You don't know if you should forgive him, do you?"
I bit my lip and nodded.
Nana was quiet for a moment, then patted my hand gently.
"Little bird, I'm old. I've seen plenty in my time. I'm not educated, but I know one thing—"
She looked into my eyes, voice gentle but firm.
"A man who truly loves you will make mistakes. But he'll do everything to make it right."
Love me? Who? Roman?
"Roman... loves me?" I sounded dazed.
"Yes, child." Nana's rough fingers traced my hand, her tone deliberately exaggerated and dramatic. "That man showed up with dozens of black armored vehicles, like an entire army surrounding my farm. I was terrified at first, thought Richard had pissed off some deadly enemy."
"But he walked in alone." Remembering the scene, Nana's voice still held deep shock.
"He looked like a man who'd lost everything.
His eyes were bloodshot. He said to me, 'Mrs. Cross, I destroyed my wife's world with my own hands.
I don't deserve her forgiveness. But I'm begging you—go to Chicago and be with her.
She's scared right now. She needs real family. '"
I went rigid.
Nana sighed deeply, looking at me.
"Nadia, when men screw up, they can throw money at it or lie their way out. But when a truly proud man is willing to shatter his pride for a woman... that means he really loves you."
Nana gently tucked my loose hair behind my ear.
"But sweetheart, I'm not saying this to make you forgive him. The harm you suffered can't be undone. I just don't want you to have regrets." Tears shimmered in Nana's eyes. "Nadia, whatever you decide, I'll support you. If you choose to leave, we'll go back to Texas. Nana can take care of you."
Nana's words were like warm water, slowly melting the frozen block in my heart.
That afternoon, Nana and I talked for hours. She told me stories about the Texas farm, just like when I was little.
For the first time in two weeks, I didn't feel suffocated.
Night fell. Chicago's cold wind howled outside again. Nana, tired from her age, went to bed early in the guest room next door.
I stayed alone in the suite. The heat was on. The bedside lamp cast warm yellow light—just like Roman promised, driving away all darkness.
Barefoot on the wool carpet, I walked step by step to that heavy mahogany door.
Silence outside. But I knew he was there.
For two weeks, he'd sat outside this door every night. He didn't even smoke, afraid the smell would seep through the crack.
I raised my hand, fingertips touching the brass deadbolt.
Cold metal. My heart pounded faster. My mind flashed with the storage room's darkness, gunshots at the dock, suffocating underwater. But also the heat of him crushing me against his chest, and his broken plea to Nana.
"Breathe—"
I inhaled deeply.
The fear was still there. But I was done being an ostrich. I was a mother. I'd crawled out of hell. I wasn't afraid of death—why should I lock myself in a cage forever?
The key was in my hand. I'd decide when to open the door.
I gripped the brass bolt and twisted hard.
The crisp sound of unlocking echoed in the silence.
I grasped the handle and slowly pulled the mahogany door inward.
The hallway light was dim.
Roman sat on the carpet by the door. Black turtleneck, long legs casually bent. The instant he heard the door open, his entire body went rigid like he'd been shocked.
He looked up. Bloodshot brown eyes full of shock, even fear—like he was terrified of waking from a dream.
This mafia Pakhan who killed without blinking now held his breath. He braced against the wall and stood up like a lost kid.
He didn't step forward. Just stayed rooted outside the threshold, eyes devouring my face with desperate restraint.
"Kitten..." His voice cracked, barely audible. His Adam's apple bobbed violently.
The hallway draft was chilly. I pulled my cashmere shawl tighter.
"You planning to be a hallway carpet forever?" I looked at his disheveled, restrained appearance. My voice was soft. No longer cold.
Roman's body shook hard. His eyes instantly reddened.
"It's cold out there." I stepped aside, making room. "If you don't mind, come in for some coffee."
That sentence was like a pardon.
Roman's chest heaved violently. He crossed the threshold. Standing in my room again, every muscle in his body was coiled tight.
He closed the door behind him.
The room was quiet. Just our breathing.
I turned toward the table to pour coffee. After one step, a hand gently but firmly caught my wrist from behind.
"Nadia." His voice trembled from above.
I stopped. Didn't turn around. Didn't pull away.
Next second, I fell into a broad, burning embrace.
Roman held me from behind. His touch was gentle, afraid of hurting me, but his tightening arms betrayed his obsessive need to merge me into his bones.
He buried his face in my neck, his large frame slightly trembling.
"Thank you... for opening this door." His burning lips pressed against my skin, voice hoarse. "I thought I'd be locked out for the rest of my life."
Feeling his erratic heartbeat, the last wall inside me finally crumbled.
"Roman." I covered his hand at my waist. My voice was calm but firm.
"The hurt won't disappear because of an apology. I haven't completely forgotten the despair you put me through. But..." I turned around and looked up into his bloodshot eyes.
"I'm willing to give you a chance to prove yourself."
I guided his large palm to my flat belly.
"For this child. And for what we had in the Bahamas." I said each word clearly. "This is your last chance, Roman. If you push me away again for any reason, or leave me in the dark, I'll take our child and disappear somewhere you'll never find us."
Roman didn't get angry. Tears spilled from his eyes.
He dropped to one knee before me. Like a knight taking an oath, he cradled my hands and reverently kissed the scars on my wrist.
"I swear. On my soul, I swear." He looked up, eyes fervent and resolute. "If this happens again, you don't need to run. I'll hand you the gun myself. Let you blow my brains out."
He stood, swept me up carefully, and laid me on the bed. Then, like a deeply insecure beast, he curled around me protectively.
"Sleep, Kitten." He kissed my forehead. "The light's on. I'm here. No one can take you away ever again."
I rested against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and closed my eyes.
Chicago's cold wind still howled outside. But on this early winter night, for the first time, I believed we might actually have a warm home.