Chapter 45
MARIYA
Istand at the window in the main sitting room, my fingers pressed against the cool glass as I watch the controlled chaos unfolding across the estate grounds.
Guards move with purpose between buildings, their voices carrying faintly through the morning air.
SUVs are being prepped near the garage, engines running, and doors open as men load weapons and check communications equipment.
Today is the day.
After weeks of careful planning, strategic strikes, and calculated pressure, Andrey is finally ready to confront Bogdan directly.
The Pakhan’s empire has been systematically dismantled piece by piece, his operations disrupted, his allies turned or neutralized, and his resources drained.
What remains is a shell of what it once was, and Andrey intends to finish it this morning.
The thought makes my stomach twist with anxiety.
Sophia sits on the couch behind me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She hasn't said much this morning, just stared at the floor with that haunted expression she gets when the guilt becomes too heavy.
I know she's been helping Andrey gather intelligence on Bogdan's remaining operations, feeding him information about weaknesses and vulnerabilities she learned during her time in that house.
She's been invaluable. But the cost of that help weighs on her.
I turn away from the window and move to sit beside her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly despite the warmth of the room.
"He'll be fine," I say quietly, though I'm not sure if I'm trying to reassure her or myself.
Sophia's dark eyes meet mine, and I see the fear there. "What if something goes wrong? What if he doesn't accept the offer? What if—"
"Andrey knows what he's doing," I interrupt gently. "He's been planning this for weeks. He has backup, security, and every possible scenario mapped out."
"I know." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about what could happen. If my father realizes I've been helping Andrey, if he finds out I betrayed him…"
I squeeze her hand harder. "You didn't betray anyone. You escaped a monster who hurt you. There's a difference."
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods anyway, her throat working as she swallows hard. The guilt is eating her alive, and I wish I knew how to make it better. But I don't. All I can do is sit here and remind her that she's not alone.
The sound of boots on marble floors draws my attention. Andrey appears in the doorway, dressed in dark tactical gear that makes him look even more dangerous than usual. His pale eyes sweep the room, landing on me first before shifting to Sophia.
"We're leaving in ten minutes," he says, his voice calm and controlled. "Stay inside until we return."
I stand, crossing the room to him. "Be careful."
His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. "Always."
Then he leans down and kisses me, slowly and possessively, like he's claiming me one more time before walking into danger. When he pulls back, his gaze drops to my stomach and the baby bump, proof of the life we created together.
"Both of you stay safe," he murmurs.
"We will."
He nods once, then turns and leaves without another word. I watch him go, my chest tight with worry and the terrifying realization that I can't imagine my life without him anymore.
Sophia stands and moves to the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she watches the men prepare to leave. "I should have done more," she says quietly. "I should have fought harder when I was there. Maybe if I'd been braver—"
"Stop." I move to stand beside her, my tone firm.
"There was nothing you could do. Your father is a piece of shit.
He only wanted you for how you could improve his wealth and empire.
Once he realized Andrey had married me and all his hopes for combining their two families were out the door, he showed his true colors.
Instead of being there for you and your feelings, he kicked you out without a second glance. He's a total shit."
She doesn't respond, just stares out at the courtyard where Andrey is speaking with several of his captains. His posture is relaxed but alert, his hands gesturing as he gives final instructions. Even from here, I can see the authority in every movement, the way his men listen without question.
He's magnificent. Dangerous and ruthless and completely in control.
And he's mine.
The thought sends heat through me despite the anxiety churning in my stomach. I press my hand against my lower belly, feeling the faint flutter of nausea that's been my constant companion for weeks. But it's lighter today, less overwhelming. Maybe the morning sickness is finally passing.
The convoy begins moving, SUVs pulling away from the garage in a coordinated line. I watch until they disappear through the main gates, then turn away from the window with a sigh.
"I need to move," I say suddenly, the nervous energy building inside me too strong to ignore. "I can't just sit here waiting."
Sophia looks at me, her expression concerned. "Are you sure? You've been sick—"
"I feel better today." I head toward the door, already planning. "I'm going for a run. Clear my head."
"Mariya—"
"I'll stay on the grounds," I promise. "The guards will be with me. I just need to do something or I'm going to lose my mind."
She hesitates, then nods. "Okay. But be careful."
I change quickly into leggings and a loose tank top, pulling my hair back into a high ponytail.
The morning air is cool when I step outside, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass.
Two guards fall into step behind me, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to intervene if needed.
I start slow, letting my body adjust to the movement. It's been weeks since I've done any real exercise, the morning sickness and constant stress making it impossible. But today feels different. My stomach is settled, and my energy is higher than it's been in days.
I pick up the pace, my boots hitting the gravel path with steady rhythm. The estate grounds stretch out around me, manicured gardens giving way to wilder areas near the outer fence. I follow the path that circles the property, breathing deeply as my muscles warm and stretch.
For the first time in weeks, I feel almost free.
The guards maintain their distance, professional and unobtrusive. I can hear their footsteps behind me, the occasional crackle of their radios, but they don't interfere. They know I need this space, this moment to feel like myself again.
I round a corner near the eastern fence line, where the trees grow thicker and the landscaping becomes less controlled. The path narrows here, winding between old oaks and dense brush. It's one of my favorite sections of the property, quiet and secluded.
My thoughts drift to Andrey as I run. I picture him walking into Bogdan's territory, surrounded by armed men, his expression cold and controlled as he delivers his ultimatum. Join us or be destroyed. There's no middle ground, no room for negotiation beyond those two options.
It's brutal. Efficient. Exactly the kind of move Andrey would make.
I wonder what Bogdan will choose. Pride might make him refuse and force a confrontation that could turn bloody. Or survival instinct might win out, convincing him to accept absorption into Andrey's organization rather than facing complete annihilation.
Either way, lives will change today.
The thought makes my chest tighten with anxiety again, but I push it down and focus on the rhythm of my breathing, the steady beat of my heart, and the feeling of my body moving through space.
This is what I needed. Movement. Action.
Something to burn off the nervous energy threatening to consume me.
I'm approaching the section of fence near the old oak tree when something catches my eye.
Movement. Just beyond the fence line, but partially hidden by the thick trunk and surrounding brush.
I slow my pace, my pulse quickening for reasons that have nothing to do with exercise. The guards are still behind me, close enough to reach if I call out. But I don't. Not yet.
I move closer to the fence, my eyes straining to see through the shadows and foliage. The figure shifts slightly, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of a face.
My breath stops.
It can't be.
But the features are unmistakable. The shape of the jaw, the set of the shoulders, the way he stands with weight shifted slightly to one side.
My father.
Yegor Puskin is standing just beyond the fence, half-hidden by the tree and brush, watching me.