Chapter 15 – Valeria
It’s been hours since I found out I’m pregnant, and I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around it.
Before last night, I knew something was off. My body felt different—subtle shifts I couldn’t quite explain. But I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to hope for something this big…only to be wrong.
Now there’s no guessing.
No doubt.
It’s real.
I’m pregnant.
My steps are slower than usual as I make my way up the stairs, one hand resting lightly against my stomach. The gesture is instinctive. Protective. Like my body already understands something my mind is still catching up to.
I head toward Matteo’s studio.
Timofey had one of the rooms in the estate converted for him—fully equipped, filled with fabrics, sketches, mirrors, and everything he needs. With the number of events coming up, Matteo is practically a permanent fixture here now.
It’s fine by me, since I like Matteo very much. I should probably tell him I’m pregnant, so he knows to avoid corsets or anything too fitted around my waist. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I don’t care. I just want to be careful.
Very careful.
I haven’t told anyone else yet, and I’m almost certain Timofey hasn’t either.
But the looks I’ve been getting from the staff say enough.
Soft smiles.
Lingering glances at my midsection.
A quiet shift in the way they move around me.
They probably already know.
It makes me smile.
As I approach Matteo’s studio door, I hear his voice from inside.
He’s on the phone.
At first, I assume it’s work. Fabrics. Deliveries. Deadlines. He has a lot on his plate. Then, a name cuts through the air. Matteo mentions Anton. Everything inside me goes still. My hand freezes just before the door.
My breath catches—sharp, sudden. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
I listen.
“…security rotation changes after midnight,” Matteo is saying. His voice is low. Controlled. “The East Wing is lighter now, especially during events. That’s your best window.”
My blood runs cold.
No. No—
“The gala schedule is already set,” he continues. “She’ll be there. He won’t leave her side much, but there are moments….”
There’s no warmth in his tone.
None of the laughter.
None of the dramatics.
This is not the Matteo I know.
This is someone else entirely.
Someone calculating.
A stranger.
Something inside my chest cracks—quiet, but deep.
Because this one…this one I didn’t see coming.
Not him.
Not Matteo.
I take a slow step back.
Then another.
My heart is pounding now, loud enough that I’m sure he’ll hear it through the door.
I don’t wait to hear more.
I turn.
And walk away, steps wobbly, like the ground beneath me has shifted and I’m still trying to find my balance.
By the time I reach the hallway, my chest feels tight. Because this isn’t just betrayal. This is exposure. Everything Matteo knows. The estate. The routines. Me. All of it….
In Anton’s hands.
My jaw tightens.
There’s only one place I need to be right now.
I turn sharply and head toward Timofey’s office.
He needs to know.
Now.
I don’t knock.
I push the door open and step inside.
Timofey is there—with Lukyan and Misha.
All three of them turn at once.
Timofey is already half-standing before I fully step in.
“Are you alright, zolotse?”
The endearment hits me. It’s soft and unexpected. It makes my heart skip.
But I don’t have the space for that right now.
“I just came from Matteo’s studio,” I say immediately, my voice tight.
That’s all it takes.
His expression shifts.
Sharpens.
“I heard him,” I continue. “He’s on the phone…with Anton. Or maybe someone connected to Anton.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Dangerous.
“He was giving him information,” I add, my voice dropping slightly. “Security rotations. Event details. Everything.”
Lukyan goes still.
Misha’s expression tightens in shock.
But Timofey—
Timofey doesn’t move.
Not at first.
Then slowly…his face darkens.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Just cold.
Controlled.
Deadly.
“I’ll handle it,” he says.
The calm in his voice is worse than anger.
He turns his head slightly. “Misha.”
Misha straightens immediately. “Yes, sir.”
“Get Matteo to the interrogation room.” A beat. “Now.”
Misha nods once and leaves without another word.
The door shuts behind him.
Minutes later, I’m in the interrogation room with Timofey and Lukyan.
The air is colder here.
Still.
Waiting.
Then the door opens.
Misha walks in with two guards, Matteo between them.
They don’t drag him—but they don’t give him a choice either.
The moment Matteo sees me, he frowns.
“Valeria?”
Something inside me twists.
Sharp. Bitter.
I used to like him.
From the very first day.
He was light in a place that felt too heavy.
Safe.
Now—
All I feel is disappointment.
In him.
In myself.
How did I not see it?
How did I miss what he really was?
Timofey stands across from Matteo, his presence filling the room without effort.
“Sit,” he says.
Matteo hesitates for half a second.
Then sits.
Slowly.
His eyes flick between all of us now.
Calculating.
Uneasy.
“What is this?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light. “Because I have a lot of work to do.”
He tries to hide it, but I hear the tremor in his voice.
“Shut up!” I snap before Timofey can speak.
“Valeria…” Timofey warns, low and controlled.
But I’m already moving.
I close the distance between us, anger burning hot in my chest.
“I was coming into your studio earlier,” I say, my voice sharp, cutting. “And I heard you.”
Matteo’s expression flickers.
“I heard you on the phone,” I continue. “Talking about security. About this house. About me.” I stop right in front of him. “Who were you talking to?”
Silence.
Then—
A scoff.
“You’re confused,” Matteo says, shaking his head. “Valeria, you misheard—”
“I did not mishear you.”
“Yes, you did,” he insists, more forcefully now. “You’re jumping to conclusions—”
“You said Anton.”
That shuts him up.
For half a second.
Then—
“You’re imagining things,” he says quickly. “I would never—”
“You already did,” I fire back.
The tension spikes.
Sharp. Volatile.
“Valeria,” Timofey says again, firmer this time.
But I don’t step back.
I don’t look away.
“Tell the truth,” I demand. “For once.”
The door opens behind us.
All heads turn.
Lukyan walks in.
Calm.
Composed.
Holding a laptop.
Matteo’s eyes widen instantly. “No—”
He tries to stand, but the guards shove him back down into the chair.
Lukyan smiles slightly. It’s not an amused smile.
“When Misha brought him in,” Lukyan says casually, placing the laptop on the table, “I searched his studio.”
He taps the device lightly.
“This was hidden.”
Matteo’s breathing picks up.
“It’s heavily encrypted,” Lukyan continues. “Which, on its own, is already suspicious.”
A glance at Timofey.
“So I had some help.”
His fingers slide over the laptop.
“We unlocked it.”
Silence drops.
Heavy.
Final.
Lukyan looks at Matteo now.
And this time, there’s no trace of anything but cold clarity.
“You’ve been sending information,” he says. “Consistently. To the same encrypted number.”
Matteo doesn’t speak.
He can’t.
Timofey steps forward slightly. “Who does the number belong to?”
Lukyan shakes his head once. “We haven’t been able to trace it yet, but whoever it is—” His gaze flicks to Matteo. “They’ve been getting everything.”
The air shifts.
Timofey turns to Matteo slowly. His eyes are deadly. Cold in a way that makes the room feel smaller.
“Who does the number belong to?” he asks.
Matteo shakes his head immediately. Too fast. “I don’t know—”
I don’t think.
I move.
One second, my hands are empty.
The next, I’ve grabbed the gun from the guard beside me and turned it on Matteo.
Gasps ripple through the room.
“Valeria—!” Timofey’s voice cuts sharply behind me.
I don’t listen.
My hand is steady.
Locked.
“Who does the number belong to?” I repeat.
Matteo stares at the gun.
Then at me.
And then—
He laughs.
The sound is unhinged.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Kill me.”
My grip tightens.
“I don’t know anything,” he continues. “After he hired me—after Timofey brought me in—Anton approached me.”
A beat.
“But not physically,” he adds quickly. “Never in person. Always through messages. Through that number.”
His eyes flick between us.
“I don’t know where he is,” he insists. “I don’t know anything beyond what I was told to send.”
My finger hovers on the trigger.
My chest is rising too fast.
Because part of me—part of me wants to believe him.
And another part wants to pull the trigger anyway.
Behind me, Timofey steps closer.
Slow. Controlled.
“Valeria,” he says again.
Quieter this time.
“Let me do it, zolotse.”
No.
My fingers tighten around the trigger.
I’ve never been one to shy away from defending myself.
And I won’t start now.
Not when they’ve brought this war into my home.
Not when betrayal is standing right in front of me, wearing a face I once trusted.
“I trusted you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The room goes still.
“I let you close to me,” I continue. “I let you see me.” My throat tightens, but I push through it. “And you sold me out like I was nothing.”
The words hang between us.
Heavy. Raw.
For the first time, Matteo looks shaken and sorry.
His mouth parts slightly.
Like he’s about to say something.
Like he’s about to beg.
And for a split second, my grip loosens.
Because I know myself. I know that if he asks, if he gives me even one reason, I might forgive him.
And I can’t afford that.
Not anymore.
So I don’t let him speak.
I pull the trigger.
The gunshot cracks through the room—loud, final, unforgiving.
Matteo’s body jerks back against the chair, then collapses instantly.
“Damn,” Lukyan mutters, almost impressed. “That was good.”
Misha doesn’t speak. His eyes are wide, watching me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
I can feel Timofey’s gaze on me.
Heavy.
Disapproving.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t want to see it.
Slowly, I lower the gun.
My hand doesn’t shake.
My expression doesn’t change. Because something inside me has shifted. Irrevocably.
This war—
My father’s legacy—
Anton—
All of it has carved something new into me.
Something harder.
Something that doesn’t hesitate.
And standing here now, I know one thing for certain.
There’s no going back.