Chapter 37 Lena
LENA
The gunshot still echoes in my ears as I stand frozen in my bedroom, my heart hammering so hard, I can feel it in my throat. Silence follows. Heavy, terrible silence that could mean anything.
He could be dead.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. Aleksandr could be lying in a pool of blood downstairs, and I'm standing here like a coward while the man who… what? Kidnapped me? Saved me? Both? He could be dead.
My hand finds the Glock on the nightstand. The metal is cold and heavy, grounding me as I move toward the door. My fingers shake as I turn the handle, and I have to grip the gun with both hands to keep it steady.
The hallway stretches before me, empty and quiet. Too quiet. I force my legs to move, each step feeling like I'm walking through water. The stairs appear, and I start down them, the gun raised even though I have no idea what I'm doing.
Halfway down, I see them.
Aleksandr stands in the great room, very much alive, talking to Danil and another man I don't recognize. His suit jacket is still pristine, no blood, no signs of violence. Relief crashes over me so intense, it makes my knees weak.
He's alive.
All three men turn to look at me, and I realize how I must appear. Wild-eyed, barefoot, pointing a gun at them with hands that won't stop shaking.
Aleksandr moves immediately, taking the stairs casually. His gold eyes lock onto mine, and something in them makes my chest ache. Concern. Real concern.
"Lena." His voice is soft as he reaches me, his hands coming up slowly like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Give me the gun."
I look down at the Glock like I'm surprised to find it in my hands. "I heard… there was a shot. I thought…"
"I know." His fingers close gently around mine, easing the weapon from my grip. The safety is still on. I never even took it off. "It's okay. Everything's okay."
"You're not dead." The words come out stupid and obvious, but I can't seem to form anything more coherent.
"No." Something flickers across his face. Almost a smile. "Not dead."
"Good." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware that I'm standing on the staircase in front of strangers wearing jeans and a thin sweater. "I mean, you're my protection. If you die, I'm screwed."
His eyebrow raises. We both know that's not the whole truth. Not even close.
"Come on." His hand finds the small of my back, warm through the fabric. "Let's get you back upstairs."
"I'm fine." But I let him guide me up anyway, my legs still unsteady. "What happened? Who got shot?"
"Ivan. He challenged my authority." His voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing the weather. "I shot him in the leg. He'll live."
"You shot someone." I stop on the landing, turning to look at him. "Just like that."
"Just like that." His gold eyes are hard now, reminding me exactly who he is. What he is. "He needed to learn his place."
The casual brutality should terrify me. Maybe it does. But mixed with the fear is something else. Something that noticed how his shoulders fill out that suit jacket, how his hands were gentle when they took the gun from me, how his first instinct was to make sure I was okay.
I'm so screwed.
We reach my bedroom door, and he follows me inside, closing it behind us. The click of the lock makes my pulse jump for entirely different reasons than fear.
"You shouldn't have come downstairs when you heard the gunshot." He sets the gun on my dresser, then turns to face me. "It was dangerous."
"I thought you might be hurt." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
"And you were going to do what? Shoot whoever hurt me?" His mouth quirks. "The safety was still on."
Heat floods my cheeks. "I forgot about that part."
"Clearly." He moves closer, and I catch the scent of him. Expensive cologne and something darker, more primal. "But the thought is… appreciated."
"Don't let it go to your head." I step back, needing distance. "I was just protecting my investment."
"Your investment." He's definitely smiling now, and it transforms his face from dangerous to devastating. "Is that what I am?"
"You're the one keeping me alive. That makes you valuable."
"Valuable." He tests the word like he's tasting wine. "I'll take it."
The tension between us is thick enough to cut. I'm acutely aware of how close he is, how his eyes keep dropping to my mouth, how my body is responding despite everything my brain is screaming about self-preservation.
"I need to go shopping." The words tumble out, desperate to break whatever spell is weaving between us.
He blinks. "What?"
"Shopping. I need clothes. Personal things." I gesture at my jeans and sweater. "This is literally all I have. Everything else is back at the cabin."
His expression shifts, becomes thoughtful. "That's not safe."
"Nothing about this situation is safe." I cross my arms, which pushes my breasts up in a way his eyes definitely notice. "But I can't live in the same three outfits forever."
"I'll have someone bring things here."
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "I need to get out of this house. Even for a few hours." I pause, and though it pains me to say it, I do. "Please."
He's quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he's grinding his teeth. Finally, he nods. "Fine. But we do this my way. Driver, bodyguard, and you don't leave my sight."
"Deal."
Two hours later, I'm sitting in the back of a black Mercedes with Aleksandr beside me and a driver whose neck is thicker than my thigh behind the wheel. Another car follows us, presumably full of more muscle.
"This is excessive," I mutter, watching the city slide past the tinted windows.
"This is necessary." Aleksandr's thigh presses against mine in the confined space, and I'm trying very hard not to notice how solid it feels. "You're a target, Lena. Although I've already recalled the hit, it can take a while for everyone to become aware. Anyone could recognize you."
"My hair is different. I look different."
"Not different enough." His hand finds my knee, and the touch sends electricity up my leg. "Humor me."
The mall is upscale, the kind of place where a single shirt costs more than I used to make in a week. Aleksandr guides me inside with his hand on my back, and I'm hyperaware of the looks we're getting. Him in his expensive suit, me in my worn jeans, flanked by men who scream danger.
"Where to first?" he asks.
"Clothes. Obviously." I head toward a department store, and he follows like a very well-dressed shadow.
The women's section is overwhelming after three years of wearing the same rotation of flannel and thermals. I run my fingers over silk blouses and cashmere sweaters, the fabrics foreign and luxurious.
"Pick whatever you want." Aleksandr leans against a display, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Money isn't an issue."
"Of course it isn't." I grab a few items at random, just to have something to do with my hands. "Must be nice, being a crime lord."
"Pakhan," he corrects. "And it has its perks."
A saleswoman appears, her smile professional and slightly nervous as she takes in Aleksandr's presence. "Can I help you find anything?"
"She needs a complete wardrobe." Aleksandr's voice carries that edge of command that makes people jump. "Casual, formal, everything in between."
"Of course." The woman's eyes light up with commission dollar signs. "Right this way."
What follows is two hours of being dressed like a doll. The saleswoman brings outfit after outfit, and I model them while Aleksandr sits in a chair like a king on his throne, offering opinions with single words. "No." "Better." "Yes."
I catch him staring when I emerge in a fitted dress that hugs every curve. His gold eyes darken, tracking down my body and back up with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
"That one," he says, his voice rougher than before.
"It's too much." I turn to look in the mirror. The dress is gorgeous, a deep blue silk that makes my eyes look even darker. But it's also completely impractical. "Where would I even wear this?"
"Wherever I take you." He stands, moving behind me so we're both reflected in the mirror. His hands settle on my hips, and I watch his face as he looks at us together. "Get it."
"Aleksandr…"
"Buy it, Lena." His breath is warm against my ear. "Let me give you this."
I should refuse, should maintain some independence, some sense of self that isn't tied to him and his blood money. But the dress is beautiful, and the way he's looking at me makes me feel beautiful, and I'm so tired of being strong all the time.
"Fine." I step away before I do something stupid like lean back against his chest. "But I'm picking the rest."
His smile is small but genuine. "Deal."
We leave the store with more bags than I can carry, which the bodyguards handle without complaint. Next is lingerie, which Aleksandr insists on accompanying me into despite my protests.
"This is weird," I hiss as we enter the boutique. "You can't be in here."
"I've seen you naked, Lena. Multiple times." His voice is low enough that only I can hear. "I think I can handle seeing you shop for underwear."
My face burns, but I don't argue. Mostly because he's right, and also because the thought of him watching me pick out lingerie is doing things to my body that I absolutely should not be feeling in public.
I grab practical things. Cotton underwear, sports bras, nothing fancy. But Aleksandr keeps adding items to the pile. Lace. Silk. Things that are definitely not practical.
"I don't need these," I say, holding up a black lace set that's more suggestion than coverage.
"I disagree." His eyes are hot on mine. "Get them."
"Why? So you can imagine me wearing them?"
"So I can take them off you." The words are quiet, dangerous, full of promise.
My core clenches, and I have to look away before I do something insane like kiss drag him into the dressing room and have my way with him. "You're impossible."
We finish shopping as the sun starts to set. Makeup, toiletries, shoes, everything I need to exist as a person instead of a ghost. When one of the bodyguards calls him over, I take advantage of not having him by my side and make a secret purchase.
The drive back is quiet.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For today."
"You're welcome."
Back at the estate, the bodyguards carry my bags upstairs while Aleksandr walks me to my room. We stand in the doorway, and the air between us feels charged with everything we're not saying.
"Goodnight, Lena." He doesn't move to come inside.
"Goodnight." I wait for him to kiss me, to push his way in, to claim what we both know he wants. But he just looks at me with those gold eyes that see too much, then turns and walks away.
I close the door and lean against it, my heart doing complicated things in my chest.
Later that night, I lie awake in my enormous bed, surrounded by shopping bags and new clothes that I didn't have the energy to put away. I wait for his footsteps in the hall, for the click of my lock disengaging, for him to appear in my doorway like he did last night.
But he doesn't come.
The hours stretch, and I tell myself I'm relieved. Tell myself it's better this way, that distance is what I need to keep my head clear and my heart protected.
I'm lying to myself, and I know it.
Morning comes too early, pale light filtering through the curtains. I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, my body aching from tension and lack of sleep.
That's when I remember the pregnancy test I managed to buy without him seeing.
My hands shake as I open the box and follow the instructions. I set the test on the counter and force myself to wait the longest three minutes of my life.
When I finally look, the world tilts sideways.
Two lines. Clear and unmistakable.
I'm pregnant.