Chapter 51 Lena
LENA
The convoy's taillights disappear into the night, red pinpricks swallowed by darkness. I stand at the window of Aleksandr's study, my reflection ghostly in the glass, and count to sixty. Then I count again, making sure they're really gone.
My parents are in the basement. He left them locked up like animals.
I press my palm against my stomach, feeling the slight curve that's becoming harder to hide. This baby deserves better than parents who keep secrets and lock people in basements. This baby deserves better than all of us.
The hallway outside the study is empty. Most of the guards went with Aleksandr, leaving the estate quieter than I've heard it in weeks. My footsteps sound too loud on the marble floor as I make my way toward the kitchen, trying to look purposeful rather than panicked.
I remember the service stairway from my explorations.
Aleksandr had showed it to me in case something happened when he wasn't around and I needed to escape.
The kitchen staff use it to access the wine cellar, carrying bottles up for dinner service.
Luckily for me, it connects to the basement where my parents are being held.
The kitchen is empty, the industrial stoves cold and dark. I find the narrow door tucked behind the pantry and slip through, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape my chest.
The stairwell is dimly lit, and the walls close enough to touch on both sides. I descend carefully, one hand on the railing, the other on my stomach. The baby's been more active lately, little flutters that feel like butterflies trapped under my skin.
"Sorry," I whisper. "This is going to be scary."
The basement corridor smells like concrete and old wine. I can hear voices somewhere to my left, guards, probably, their laughter echoing off the walls. I move in the opposite direction, trying doors as quietly as possible.
The third door opens into a room that's nicer than I expected. There's a bed with actual linens, a small bathroom, and a sitting area with two chairs. It looks like a guest room that happens to have a lock on the outside.
My father is pacing, his shoulders tight with tension. My mother sits on the bed, her face the color of old paper. When I slip inside and close the door behind me, they both freeze.
"Lena." My mother's voice breaks on my name. She's off the bed and pulling me into her arms before I can speak, her body shaking with sobs. "Oh, God, Lena, we thought… well, we didn't know what to think. Aleksandr Romanov, of all people!"
"I'm okay, Mom. I'm okay." I hold her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender hand cream. Over her shoulder, I see my father watching us, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping.
"What the hell is happening?" His voice is low and dangerous. "Why are we locked in this man's basement? Why is the man who ordered our family killed suddenly playing protector?"
I ease my mother back onto the bed and sit beside her, taking her hand. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it." My father crosses his arms. "Now."
So I tell them. About the amnesia, about falling in love with a man I didn't recognize, about the pregnancy. My mother's hand tightens on mine with each revelation, her eyes growing wider. My father's expression shifts from anger to horror to something that might be pity.
"You're pregnant?" My mother touches my face like she's checking to make sure I'm real. "With his baby?"
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ." My father runs both hands through his hair. "Lena, he's going to kill us. You understand that, right? Once he deals with whatever crisis is happening upstairs, once he doesn't need us as leverage anymore, we're dead."
"He won't." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in like cold water. "He promised."
"And you believe him?" My father's laugh is bitter. "You need to get us out of here now. Before he finds you down here…"
"He's not here right now," I say, then for some stupid reason, I feel like I'm betraying Aleksandr for telling my parents that.
Dad stops and stares at me. "Then get us out of here. Now, before it's too late."
I open my mouth, but Mom speaks before I can say anything. "Please, Lena. It's too dangerous for us to be here."
I stand up, my legs unsteady, and look at the door. There's not a guard there, probably because Aleksandr didn't have the time to set it up before Danil told him they'd found Katya.
If I help my parents escape, there'll be hell to pay. Aleksandr would never forgive me. Besides, do I really think he'd harm my parents? He loves me. At least he said he does. Surely, he wouldn't actually hurt my parents.
Still, looking at their pleading faces, I know I'm already lost. Although it will likely destroy any chance of having a good relationship with Aleksandr, I have to help my parents.
"Okay," I whisper. "But we have to move fast."
Dad's already at the door, testing the handle. "Which way?"
"Back the way I came. Service stairway to the kitchen." I move to Mom's side, taking her arm. "Can you walk?"
"I'll crawl if I have to." Her voice is stronger than I expected, but when she stands, I hear the small grunt of pain she tries to hide.
We slip into the corridor, and I lead them back toward the stairwell. Every shadow feels like it's hiding a guard. Every distant sound makes my pulse spike. Mom's breathing is labored, each step accompanied by a soft wheeze that seems impossibly loud in the quiet basement.
"Slow down," Dad whispers, his arm around Mom's waist. "She needs a second."
We pause at the corner, and I peek around to make sure the path is clear. The voices I heard earlier are gone now. Maybe the guards went outside to smoke. Maybe we'll actually make it.
"This is insane," Mom mutters, leaning against the wall. "We're escaping from a Russian mobster's basement like we're in some bad movie."
"At least the accommodations were decent," Dad says, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. "Four stars. Would not recommend to friends."
"Stop it," Mom hisses, but I can hear the edge of hysteria in her voice that means she's either going to laugh or cry.
We reach the stairwell, and I feel a flutter of something that might be hope.
Mom squeezes my fingers. "We're going to figure this out, sweetheart. All of it."
I want to believe her. I want to believe we can just walk out of here and everything will somehow be okay. That Aleksandr will understand why I had to do this. That loving him and protecting my parents aren't mutually exclusive choices.
But I know better.
We start up the stairs, moving as quietly as possible. Mom's knees crack with each step, the sound like small gunshots in the enclosed space. Dad keeps one hand on the railing, the other supporting Mom, and I lead the way with my heart hammering so hard, I'm surprised they can't hear it.
We're almost to the kitchen level when I hear it.
Footsteps above us. Multiple sets. Heavy boots on tile.
My heart doesn't just stop. It detonates in my chest, sending shrapnel through every nerve ending.
Then his voice cuts through the air like a blade. Sharp. Cold. Barely leashed fury wrapped in that accent that usually makes my knees weak but now makes every survival instinct I have scream Run.
Aleksandr.
He's back. He's here. And from the tone of his voice, whatever happened at the warehouse didn't go well.
We freeze on the stairs. Mom's hand clamps down on my arm hard enough to bruise. Dad's breathing stops entirely.
The door at the top of the stairwell opens.
Light floods down, blinding after the dimness of the basement. I look up, squinting, and find myself staring directly into golden, familiar eyes.
He's still in his tactical gear, all black and lethal. There's something dark on his sleeve that might be blood. His massive frame fills the doorway like a wall we'll never get past.
Behind him, Danil appears, his expression carefully neutral. Two guards flank them, blocking any possible escape route. Not that we could run anyway. Aleksandr could probably catch all three of us before we made it down five steps.
His gaze locks onto mine and holds. Something flickers across his face. Pain, maybe. Or betrayal. It's gone so fast I might have imagined it, replaced by that cold, controlled mask he wears when he's deciding someone's fate.
The silence stretches between us like a chasm.
I want to say something, explain, apologize, and defend myself.
But my throat has closed up and my tongue feels like lead, and all I can do is stand there on the stairs with my parents behind me and watch as the man I love looks at me like I'm a stranger.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. Deadly calm. The kind of quiet that comes before explosions.
"Going somewhere?"