4. Andrey

4

ANDREY

"Nat!" Misha protests as she tries to smooth the shaggy bangs out of his eyes.

"You need a haircut," she scolds affectionately. Remi whines as if to agree. The dog woke up a few hours ago and since then, he's remained squarely between Misha and Natalia.

"I like my hair like this."

"It's getting in your eyes."

"That's the point."

She laughs. "Who're you trying to impress, huh?"

As Misha goes on the defensive, I continue down the hallway before either one of them notices I've been observing them. It's good to see both of them smile. Which is one of the reasons I've taken to dropping by every hour or so to check on both of them.

The other reason being that Natalia seems to be doing better—but for how long? Everything is going to catch up with her eventually, and I want to be close by when it does.

I continue down the hall to my makeshift office, which, up until a few hours ago, was a guest bedroom. Shura is standing in front of the queen-sized bed waiting for me when I walk in.

"What's going on?"

"The Halcones are circling," he says ominously.

I stiffen. "They've made a move?"

"They're trying to infiltrate your clubs to push their own supply."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"I wish. Security from Silver Moon and Maria called this morning. Two different sets of men raised suspicions at each, but they only managed to hold on to one guy. The others got away."

I own a fuckton of property in this city, and the clubs that Shura just named are far from the most glamorous of it. Only one person alive would start a guerilla war against me by sneaking into Maria.

Unfortunately for me, that person is my brother.

"That mudak ," I growl. I'm already imagining all the ways I'm going to torture Viktor before I end his miserable existence.

Maybe he was informing on me, too. Just like Yelena. Or maybe the defection is recent. A petty act of retribution.

"We need to act, ‘Drey," Shura urges.

Squaring my jaw, I nod. "It's time to bring in the reinforcements. If Slavik is successful, then Bujar, Cevdet, and Luca have as much to lose as we do. We need to shore things up before there's any risk of any of them turning on me. Schedule a meeting as soon as possible."

My second nods and leaves. As he slips through the door, I spy Dr. Abdulov hovering in the hallway. I wave him inside.

I stationed the good doctor—rather forcefully—in a guest room on the property. Until I'm sure Misha and Natalia are fine, I want them under near-constant medical care.

The fact Dr. Abdulov is clutching his clipboard against his chest like a security blanket makes me think my instincts were correct.

"What's wrong?"

"The babies are doing well?—"

"I know that already," I snap. "I'm not asking about the babies right now. I want to know how she is doing."

He shuffles from one foot to the other, refusing to lower the clipboard. "Natalia was very clear that she didn't want me conveying her personal information to anyone else."

I almost smirk. "You mean to me?"

"She… uh, did mention in passing that… ahem… that you're not her next of kin. Nor are you her husband." The man is sweating and tugging at his collar. "She wanted the details of her condition, unrelated to the babies, to be kept private."

I take a step towards the skittish doctor and he flinches back. "Those babies inside her are mine, Abdulov," I snarl. "She is mine, too—wife or not. I'm not going to let a piece of metal on her finger determine what I can and can't know about her."

He swallows under my unwavering glare. "I suspect that she's experiencing some prenatal depression."

"That's in addition to the PTSD?"

Abdulov consults his clipboard again. "In my professional opinion, I think that perhaps the combination of the two is creating an unstable psychological environment. I spoke to Ms. Boone at length. The pregnancy hormones might be interfering with her existing PTSD. Her fears and panic could be heightened."

Perhaps enough to pick up a gun and pull the trigger.

"So fix it."

The doctor's brow creases. "This is not a condition with a quick and easy solution, sir. Ms. Boone has a history of depression and anxiety." He clears his throat. "Her current mental state speaks to a deeper problem. She should be in therapy. Intensive therapy that will help her work through some of her past traumas so that she can deal with her current responses."

Predictable though his answer is, I don't have time for it. There are enough external threats that I can't spend time on the ones that exist inside Natalia's head.

"What about pills? Antidepressants?"

"There are medications I can prescribe," he admits. "But I'm hesitant to do so considering her advanced stage of pregnancy. Regardless, pills alone won't help. Ideally, therapy and medication should be used hand in hand. No amount of drugs will make her feel safe if she isn't in a calm, nurturing environment."

Nurturing. What a fucking joke. How the hell am I supposed to nurture her when my very presence is a trigger?

"Thank you, Doctor," I say, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.

Abdulov passes Shura once more on the way out of the room.

"Meeting is set," he informs me as he shuts the door. "All three men are in. Ten o'clock tonight at Maria."

"What about the Halcones spy?"

"He'll be waiting for you in a cell beneath the club," Shura says with grim satisfaction. "Along with some toys to encourage him to talk."