9. April

9

APRIL

Crash a mob wedding: check .

Tell the baby daddy he's going to be a father in front of his bride: check.

Get executed Godfather-style: still working on it.

But, going by the way this guy's glaring at me, it might happen sooner than I'd like.

I should break the ice , I mull over. I should say something, right? Something smooth. Something nonchalant. Something that will totally make this whole thing go ? —

"I'm sorry I ruined your brother's wedding," I blurt out.

The guy only glares at me harder.

Great job, April. We'll make fish food out of you yet.

"You didn't ruin his wedding."

I blink. The guy's voice—Yuri, I recall—comes as a gruff but welcome surprise. He's giving you a chance, April. Don't screw this up.

"I mean…" I venture, trying to find the right words for the conversation. "You are still covered in cake."

Fuck my life. My mouth isn't big enough to fit all these feet in it.

"I didn't—" I curse my complete lack of a social filter. If this guy doesn't shoot me in the next five seconds, then surely it'll happen in the five seconds after that. "I just?—"

"What you ruined was his business deal," Yuri explains, his expression cold. "His plans. His dreams."

I'm gonna die here. I'm gonna ? —

"But there was never a true wedding to ruin. Not really."

—what now?

With a sigh, Yuri slumps against the wall. "So, you know… feel bad, but not too bad."

I try to make sense of the words. I fail miserably. "Sorry, what does that mean?"

The tall Russian mobster rolls his eyes. He can't be that much younger than me, but his attitude screams "teenager." He reminds me of Charlie at thirteen, huffing and puffing like a chimney every time someone tried to speak to him. "I mean that the whole thing's a farce. An arrangement."

A lightbulb goes off in my head. "You mean, like a political marriage?"

"Precisely."

I feel my heart flutter. I don't know why this changes anything—why I'm suddenly feeling ten times lighter. I tell myself that it's just about the guilt: crashing a business deal isn't as bad as crashing another woman's dream wedding, right? I'm not a homewrecker after all. That must be it. The sweet relief of an innocent verdict.

Right?

He isn't with her , a treacherous part of me whispers from the half-closed lid of my heart. He hasn't been with her. Not like he's been with you.

I slap the lid shut. This is neither here nor there. I can't know that they haven't—and besides, what do I even care?

"Like I said," Yuri huffs, breaking into my thoughts, "a farce." He crosses his arms and turns away, glaring at the wall. Somehow, I get the feeling he wasn't thrilled about this whole deal to begin with. Who knows? Maybe I even did him a favor.

I try to imagine what it'd be like, knowing one of my siblings is marrying for interest. Power, maybe, or money. If it was Anne, I wouldn't bat an eye.

But if it was Charlie…

If it was Charlie, I'd try to talk him out of it until his last step towards the altar.

"You must really love your brother," I muse without thinking.

Yuri blinks at me in surprise. "Yeah," he admits after a beat. "I do. He's everything to me."

"That's nice." I smile. "Siblings should stick together. Who else are you going to complain about your parents to?"

"Our parents are dead."

Oh . I am overcome with the urge to kick myself. Is it socially acceptable for a pregnant woman to literally kick herself? Is that allowed?

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling mortified. "I didn't know."

To his credit, Yuri just shrugs. "You couldn't. You don't know Matvey."

The words sting like a slap.

I don't know why, but I feel anger mounting inside me. It's uncalled for—Yuri hasn't said anything wrong. To me, Matvey Groza is a stranger.

But you do know him , that voice inside of me insists, enraged. You're carrying his child, aren't you?

"Was it recent?" I ask, forcing myself back from the brink. This man's still a boy. He deserves my sympathy, not my anger.

"Nah." Yuri shrugs, like he's trying to tell himself it doesn't matter. Even speaking about something like this with me, a person he doesn't know from a hole in the wall—it shows how far he's willing to go. To tell himself it no longer hurts. I know a thing or two about that: telling myself stories to carry me through the day. "It happened back in Russia. His mom first, then mine. And our father—" Suddenly, he stops. Like he's said too much. "It doesn't matter," he repeats, that gruff edge back in his tone. "You don't need to know anyway."

Just then, the door swings open. Matvey Groza strides in like he owns the place. Which, considering he does, seems apt. "Any news from Grisha?"

"No," Yuri replies, as grumpy as ever. "He's taking forever."

"He's putting out fires . Let's give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we?"

Yuri doesn't seem thrilled about that, but he doesn't press. "How's Petra?" he asks instead.

His brother shrugs. "She's a big girl. She'll manage."

Then he turns to me, and that's when I realize…

He's grinning.

"Now, whatever shall I do with you, Ms. Flowers?"

Bad sign. Horrible, horrible sign. Remember the last time he grinned at you like that, April? You ended up buying maternity clothes.

"You could… let me go?" I venture.

"Sure. I'll see you at the next kidnapping, then."

Right. Somehow, I forgot why I even came here. Because Matvey Groza is dangerous, and he's just painted a target on my entire life. A target exactly as big as the baby in my belly.

"Yuri," he calls, "guard the corridor. I'll be there shortly."

Don't go , I want to tell that grumpy, overgrown teenager. Don't leave me alone with him!

No such luck. I watch him walk out the door. Then I watch his older brother walk around the couch. I feel like I'm being circled—a deer in a trap with vultures closing in.

But this man's no vulture. This man is a wolf , and there isn't enough wool in the world to hide that. I get the feeling he doesn't even try. The second he walked into my shop, I could smell the danger on him.

I still ended up with his tie around my wrists.

It dawns on me—yet again—how foolish I've been. From the start of this whole thing, I haven't made a single good choice.

And now, I'm fresh out of choices altogether.

"Let's hear it then," I sigh, trying to find my old, polite self and failing. "You've got something in mind, I assume."

"That's a bold assumption to make."

"I'll go out on a limb here. You're clearly a very resourceful man, Mr. Groza." I smile, putting my sweetest face forward. I have no doubt he can taste the venom in my words, but I don't care. I'm not liable for a customer's interpretation of what leaves my lips—a handy trick I learned early on. Granted, a man like Matvey Groza isn't likely to file a complaint, but still, I'll take what little satisfaction I can get. "So why don't you tell me what you're really thinking?"

It happens in a blink. One second, he's standing there with his hands in his pockets, the picture of a smug billionaire who's never gotten a slap he didn't earn?—

And the next, he's kneeling in front of me.

"I'm thinking," he rumbles, bringing his big palm over my belly, "that you should call me Matvey."

I'm struck dumb. For a moment, I forget everything: how to think, how to speak. How to breathe.

"And why's that?" I exhale, voice trembling.

Mr. Groza— Matvey —smirks. "You're carrying my child. I think we can do away with the formalities, don't you, April?"

I reel from the way he says my name. A-pril. An open mouth, then a flash of teeth, sinking into the pulp of fresh fruit.

"I guess so," I force myself to answer, breaths coming in short. "Matvey."

A pleased hum. I can't imagine I've spoken half as seductively as he did, but I'll take what I can get.

"Good," he praises. "We'll be sharing a lot in the next few weeks. It wouldn't do to have you call me ‘ sir' while living in my house." A beat. "Although I do like the sound of it…"

I feel my face go up in flames. "If you think I'll live with you?—"

"Not with me," he corrects. "In my house. Here. I wouldn't make the mistake of laying a hand on you again, April. We both know how it ended last time."

I make a fist in a pillow, fighting the urge to throw it at his face. "Believe me, the feeling's more than mutual."

"That's a relief," he says sarcastically. "Now. You asked for protection, did you not?"

Fuck me, I did. "Is this the part where you tell me it'll cost me my soul? Because, fair warning, I've been working customer service for a while. I don't think there's much left."

Matvey gives me an amused smirk. For a brief second, I wonder if it'd be so bad to kiss it off his face. Just to see his flawless appearance ruffled, for once. I blame my hormones for that—always thinking of inopportune things, especially in this man's presence.

But then he lowers his eyes to my stomach, and suddenly, I can't look away, either.

I watch with rapt attention as he strokes my belly, his stormy gaze captivated by what's inside. His child.

Our child.

"This is my price," he declares.

Suddenly, my head goes light. "You want the baby?" I ask, filled with hurt.

"No, April. Believe it or not, I'm not a monster. I wouldn't take a baby away from their mother."

Relief washes over me, but only for a moment. "What, then?"

"I want to be a part of their life," Matvey states matter-of-factly. "As any father should."

"Oh." I frown. That's… surprisingly reasonable.

But part of me still rebels. Doing this… It would mean leaving my current life. My home, my family. To move in, however temporarily, in this man's space.

This man. The devil himself.

"In exchange for that," Matvey continues, offering me his hand like a businessman closing a deal, "I'll search for your kidnappers. I'll identify whoever wants to harm you and the child, take them out of the picture, and keep you safe. That's the deal."

I take a long, deep breath. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, isn't it? Being involved with Matvey Groza. Being swallowed into his life, whatever that entails.

But I guess that ship has sailed.

I look at the broken handcuffs, still locked around my wrists. At Matvey's face, determined and quietly hopeful.

Then I look at my belly, with our child growing inside it.

And I realize that I don't have a choice.

"Okay," I exhale, shaking his hand and feeling like I just signed away my entire life. "Okay. But I have one condition."

He waits patiently, one eyebrow arched high on his head.

"I get to bring my cat."