Chapter 21

Dalia

" I was wondering when you'd show up," Elena quips as I approach La Esquina Roja, a cozy tapas bar nestled in the bustling River North neighborhood of Chicago. She had been waiting for me on the bench outside the door.

"Sorry, something came up," I reply, the encounter with Alexei still pressing on my mind.

"Anything you want to talk about?" she asks.

"No, just business as usual."

Elena gives me a look that pierces right through me, as if she doesn't quite believe my casual dismissal, but she drops it with a shrug.

As we head inside, I notice that she's not alone—Yuri is with her. He stands up to greet me, his presence a familiar comfort, and plants a warm, brotherly kiss on my cheek. "Good to see you, Dalia."

Elena speaks up. "Lev insisted that Yuri came with me, as if I can’t handle myself." She rolls her eyes.

Yuri chuckles softly, his demeanor relaxed. "Don't worry, I wouldn’t dream of ruining girls’ night. I'll be over at the bar, still keeping an eye out, but out of your hair."

His assurance does little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach but I smile appreciatively.

Yuri saunters off to the bar as Elena and I find a quiet table near the back, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air.

Yuri gives us a wave when he’s seated, letting us see that he’s nearby if we need anything. I watch as he slips out his phone and orders a cocktail.

Elena’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. "You have to try some of my favorite dishes here," she says, her eyes scanning the menu with practiced familiarity. "The patatas bravas are divine, and the gambas al ajillo are to die for."

A memory tugs at me. "This kind of reminds me of the Egyptian food that my dad likes."

Elena perks up at this. "Oh, that's no coincidence. There’s a strong Egyptian influence on Spanish cuisine, dating back to when the Umayyad Caliphate controlled the Andalusian Peninsula." She catches herself with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I’m kind of a history nerd."

I laugh, waving off her apology. "I'm always down for learning new things. Why don’t you order for us, since you know what’s good?"

Elena beams, pleased, and waves over the waiter. She dives into ordering with confidence. "We'll have the patatas bravas, gambas al ajillo, and let’s also go for the chorizo al vino. Oh, and we must try the pulpo a la gallega."

As the waiter jots down our order, Elena then turns to the drinks menu. "And for the drinks, a glass of your finest Rioja for me, please, and a passion fruit mocktail for my friend here."

I pause when Elena orders the mocktail, suspicion flickering. As soon as the waiter's out of earshot, I fix her with a look.

"A mocktail? So, does that mean you know?”

Elena laughs, her delight unmistakable, and claps her hands together.

"Yes!" she exclaims, then quickly turns serious. "But don’t worry, I practically had to interrogate Lev to tell me. He’s usually locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

The news that my secret is out sends a twinge of anxiety through me, but Elena's warm grasp on my hand eases the sting. "We’re all thrilled, really."

"We?" I raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and a hint of annoyance flaring up.

"Well, it seems Yuri and Luk might have caught wind of it too." Elena's casual shrug tries to downplay the revelation, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Feeling exposed as a celebrity caught by paparazzi, I let out a low groan. "Great, so I'm basically naked here."

Elena's smile is sympathetic. "In the Ivanov family, secrets don’t stay secret for long. But think of it this way—you have a lot of support around you."

Her sincerity cuts through my irritation, melting it away as she squeezes my hand. "Congratulations, Dalia," she beams, and I can't help but feel a little flutter of excitement.

Elena gives me a knowing look, her voice softening. "I know this might not be how you would've wanted your pregnancy news to get out, but you're in a family now that will give your baby so much love and both of you so much protection."

I give a small smile, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. "I know, and I'm grateful for that."

Just then, the waiter arrives with our drinks, and Elena raises her glass. "To the baby," she smiles warmly.

We toast, the clink of our glasses marking a tiny, perfect moment of solidarity.

After taking a sip of her cocktail, Elana leans in, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

"So, what does this mean for you and Lev?"

I sigh. “The truth of the matter is, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Elena watches me closely, then presses, "What has Lev said about it all?"

I exhale, the truth itching to spill. "He said he thought we should get married, but he hasn't brought it up again. It’s not like I’m desperate to get hitched or anything, but..." I shrug, "it would relieve some stress about the baby being taken care of."

Elena sighs, her frustration evident. "That's just like my brother, always spacing on important details. His mind’s on work ninety percent of the time."

Her words echo my own thoughts but hearing them from her somehow makes the situation feel more manageable and less isolating.

Elena raises her finger, her determination clear. "I'm going to make damn sure my brother doesn't leave you in a lurch. I’ll talk to him, light a fire under his ass."

I smile, touched by her protectiveness. "Thank you, Elena, but we’ll manage on our own."

She returns the smile, warmth radiating from her. "We’re family now, which means we look out for each other."

Before we can delve deeper into our newfound sisterhood, a man approaches our table. He’s in his late forties, with a graying beard and thoughtful eyes that hint at a depth of experience.

"I’m sorry to interrupt," he starts, his voice carrying a respectful urgency, "but I am certain that I reserved this table." His gaze lingers on the spot.

Elena looks up, her expression firm yet polite. "This is something you should take up with the hostess."

His lips form a tight line as he considers her words then shifts his approach. "I’d rather work it out with you, if possible. You see," he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more heartfelt tone, "this is the table where my late wife and I had our first date years ago. It holds a lot of sentimental value to me."

At the man's heartfelt plea, I find myself softening. "I think it might be possible for us to move."

Before I can finish, Elena shoots me a strange look, her eyes darting to the bar, then back to the man.

She speaks, her tone firm. "Sorry, but we're in the middle of our meal, and we're actually celebrating something important."

The man nods, seemingly understanding, but then adds, "I understand, but perhaps a little financial incentive could sweeten the pot." He reaches into his coat, and my heart skips as he produces a gun, pointing it directly at us.

I scream, the sound tearing through the bustling noise of the bar.

Before the man can act further, a glass smashes across his head. The sudden impact sends him staggering, the gun clattering to the floor as he tries to regain his balance. Turning, I see Yuri.

The whole place goes nuts. As the man reels from the blow, Yuri is ready to hit him again. But the man is quick. He drops down, snags the gun off the floor, and points it straight at me. Just as he fires, Yuri brings his hand down on the guy's arm. The shot goes wild, blasting into the wall.

Everyone’s screaming and trying to get away.

In the chaos, Elena yanks me under the table. We’ve barely caught our breath when we hear something land with a thunk next to us. I glance over and nearly choke—it’s a grenade. My heart's pounding like crazy, thinking we’re done for.

But Yuri’s on it. He ditches the attacker, grabs our table, and flips it over us like a shield. We're ducked behind it, waiting for a boom that never comes.

Peeking out, I see the attacker booking it through the crowd.

Yuri, still leaning hard against the table with us, finally lets up a bit. Elena, her voice a low murmur, says, "I'm not a firearms expert, but aren't grenades supposed to explode?"

"Normal ones do," Yuri answers, shoving the table off us with a solid push. He stands and walks over to the non-exploding grenade, picking it up cautiously. "But dummy ones don’t."

I instantly connect the dots. "He threw it just to distract us."

"You got it," Yuri confirms with a nod, holding the dud in his hand. "And it seems," he adds, his face turning serious as he looks back at us, "we're in more danger than we thought."