Or maybe I'm being naive. Maybe I'm just another woman who thinks she can save a dangerous man with love and hope.
But I have to try. For this baby. For the future I never thought I could have.
I put the test in my nightstand drawer and get ready for bed. Tomorrow, I'll have to make decisions. Tomorrow, I'll have to figure out how to tell Maksim that everything has changed.
Tonight, I just want to hold onto this secret a little longer. This tiny life growing inside me. This possibility of something better.
I put my hand on my stomach and close my eyes. For the first time in my life, I'm not alone. Not really. There's someone depending on me now, someone who needs me to be brave.
I can do this. I can protect this child. I can protect Damir. I can find a way to make this work.
I have to believe that. Because the alternative is too terrifying to consider.
But as I drift off to sleep, I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step will send me tumbling into darkness.
The baby deserves better than that. We both do.
I just hope I'm strong enough to give it to us.
14
MAKSIM
Rolan doesn't look up from his paperwork when I enter his office. Three stacks of reports cover the mahogany desk, each one requiring his signature before money moves or people disappear. The routine never changes—morning briefings, afternoon executions, evening cleanup. Today, I'm about to disrupt that routine.
"I want to move forward with the marriage," I say.
His pen stops moving. He sets it down carefully, aligns it with the edge of the desk, then looks at me with the expression he reserves for subordinates who've overstepped. I'm not a subordinate, but I'm also not the brother who inherited leadership.
"Alright... We'll do it fast and loud," he says after a long pause. "We send a message. Everyone needs to see that she belongs to us now. It's a good play, brother. Our murderous enemy will come crawling out into the light, and we'll squash him like a cockroach."
The approval comes with conditions, but I expected that. Rolan never gives orders without calculating the ripple effects, the potential for blowback, the ways an operation can go wrong.He's survived this long by thinking three moves ahead while everyone else scrambles to keep up.
“This weekend," he continues, already reaching for his phone. "Saturday. The Nevsky Hotel rooftop. I'll get the security set up."
I nod at him, but my chest tightens as Rolan glances up at me, his brow lifting just slightly—the unspoken question clear. It's the same look my father would get on his face when giving us the opportunity to change our minds, go a different route. But I've thought of this a dozen ways and this might be the only path forward.
"You know what this means," he says, locking his phone screen and setting it flat on the desk. "Once she takes our name, she belongs to us. Any harm to her becomes a declaration of war. That’s how the rest of the Bratva will see it. That’s how I will see it."
I meet his gaze. "That's what I'm counting on."
He nods once slowly. There is no smile, no warmth—but I can feel the approval in the shift of his posture, the way his hand moves to the silver lighter he’s had since we were teenagers.
"You're crossing lines you don’t uncross, Maksim," he says.
I know. I've known since the night I let myself kiss her. Since I stepped into her apartment and started treating this like anything but a job. And if it ever comes down to her or the assignment, I already know which way I’ll fall. That makes me dangerous. Not to her—but to the family.
From the beginning she's been nothing but an asset to them. But doing this—marrying her—means she becomes my property. It means when all of this is said and done, only I will have the right to decide her fate. I don't even know how that will play out, but I do know that if Damir shows his face before that ceremony, Zoya is as good as dead as far as my brothers are concerned. This is just protection for her, plain and simple.
I finally pull out my phone. Zoya's number appears on the screen, and I realize I've memorized it without trying. Small details stick when you're watching someone closely, when their patterns become part of your operational awareness.
The call connects after three rings. "Maksim?" Her voice carries no surprise, which tells me she's been expecting this conversation. I move toward the window in Rolan's office and look past the gardener outside trimming hedges.
"We're moving forward with the wedding," I say, moving back toward the desk as Rolan studies me. "Saturday at the Nevsky Hotel rooftop."
The pause that follows lasts exactly long enough for someone to compose a response. When she speaks again, her tone holds the right note of breathless uncertainty. For the first time in my life real, painful guilt washes over me.
"So soon? I mean... yes, of course. Whatever you think is best."