1. Viviana

It was all a dream.

Had to be, right? I'm back in an unfamiliar room with chains around my wrists. Dreaming is the only explanation.

I blink through the heaviness in my eyelids and try to come to quick grips with what is real.

I thought Mikhail saving me from Iakov's prison was real, but… I'm still here. Pacing around a hotel room holding a positive pregnancy test and calculating my next moves felt real, but this drab, windowless room makes Motel 8 look like the Ritz-Carlton.

Iakov Novikov must have drugged me again and moved me to another cell in his maze-like underground prison. At least this cell has a bed. Small mercies.

I test the chains, yanking them against the metal footboard a few times. They're heavier than the silver ones I had in the other room. They rattle loudly against the bed frame, the sound like an ice pick cleaving through my aching head.

My brain feels too big for my skull, the way it always does after some heavy-duty crying. Yet another reason why my dream feels so freaking real.

It must have been the drugs. Whatever he gave me made me hallucinate and now, I'm hungover.

I shrug my shoulders around my ears for some semblance of hearing protection and pull on the chains with all I have. They scream like the world is having labor contractions, but they hold fast. Even if they did break free, it's not as if I could Incredible Hulk my way through the locked door to my cell. I'm sure there are half a dozen more locked doors between me and anything resembling freedom.

Panic constricts around my chest like a snake—a snake who really needs to read the vibe of the room. Is now a time to be worried about small spaces or should I instead be worried about the psychopath holding me captive who wants to torture and murder me for revenge? I think the answer to that is obvious. And yet I have to take deep breaths to stave off my oldest, most annoying friend: claustrophobia.

When I close my eyes, I'm right back in the dream. I can still see Mikhail standing in the door of my cell. I can feel the way his icy blue eyes scraped over me, assessing me for injuries even as he held himself back. I could tell he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Despite everything, the pull between us was still there.

Or, I dreamt it was there, anyway…

I shake my head and rub my fists into my eyes.

It was just a dream.

Or a nightmare, I suppose. I wouldn't call being exiled from the mansion where your son is living by the man you are almost definitely in love with a dream. Add to that having no more than a few thousand dollars in your pocket while one of the most powerful, well-connected men in the city is after you and I'd say we're firmly into "night terror" territory.

I breathe in and out, massaging my temples to manage the pain. Suddenly, a tidal wave of nausea crashes over me.

I barely have time to lean over the edge of the bed before my stomach is turning itself inside out. I heave over the concrete floor over and over again. Nothing comes up, but that doesn't stop my body from trying a few more times, just for shits and giggles.

When my stomach finally settles, I fall back into bed, shivering and weak.

So the pregnancy is probably real.

Test or not, I've suspected it for a few days, anyway. Even while my life has been falling apart, it's been hard to ignore the dizziness, nonstop nausea, and the way my nipples nudging against the inside of my t-shirt brings tears of genuine pain to my eyes. The tears of pain being additional to the tears of fear, sadness, anger, and every other human emotion. I've become an emotional water fountain, just like I was when I was pregnant with Dante.

The newest pregnancy symptom, apparently, is incredibly vivid nightmares.

When I close my eyes, I can relive it moment by moment as if it just happened. I can still smell the musty motel room. I can feel the weight of the pregnancy test against my palm.

When I picture opening the door to my room and finding Trofim on the other side, the same dart of panic sinks deep into my chest.

It's wild to me that my brain even dreamed that up. Trofim is the last person on earth I'd ever expect to see standing outside my door. Mostly because he isn't on Earth anymore.

Thanks to me.

It's even more wild to me that, even in my shocked stupor, Dream Me was quick-thinking enough to shove the pregnancy test into my pocket as Trofim backed me into the hotel room.

Then he lunged for me and I… I woke up.

Here.

In a different room from the one Iakov had me in at first. With different chains around my wrists than the ones Iakov had me in at first.

Goosebumps race up and down my arms like my body knows something my brain doesn't yet want to accept.

But… no, it was a dream. Because what happened was impossible. Physically and spiritually impossible.

As I reach into my back pocket, I'm already berating myself for being so ridiculous. Even as my hand closes around a small plastic stick wedged deep into the denim, I don't believe it.

It isn't until I pull the pregnancy test free and hold it in front of me that my resolve starts to crack. Because even I can't be in denial about the two bright pink lines in the test window. There's nothing imaginary about those.

It wasn't a dream.

It really happened.

Which means…

A key slides into the lock of my door and I have just enough time to wedge the pregnancy test between my mattress and the wall before my door bangs open and the impossible becomes impossible to deny.

"Trofim," I rasp.

"Good morning, darling." My ex-fiancé closes the door behind him, twisting his head one way and then the other like a snake trying to decide how to consume an especially large meal. "I thought you might be awake. How did you sleep?"

Oh, God. It was all real.

I'm pregnant.

Mikhail exiled me and kept Dante.

Trofim found me.

A million terrifying realities settle in all at once, but one thought is louder than the rest.

"You're dead," I blurt. "I killed you."

He smiles and it's like an ice-cold finger dragging down my spine. Any time I have had a nightmare about Trofim, it's been of that moment. The way he wheezed when I drove the blade into his chest. The blood coating my hands as I fled.

Trofim walks closer and I slam back against the wall. I curl into myself, getting as far from him as I can manage. But it isn't enough. He pinches my trembling chin and forces my eyes to his. "You think that little poke was enough to kill me? You'll have to try harder than that."

I could barely stab him the first time. I knew Dante's life depended on it, but I could only manage to stab him once before I had to leave.

When I didn't hear anything about him after that, I assumed…

I jerk my face away. "If you survived, why are you just coming back now?"

I'd argue that there never would have been a good time for Trofim to surprise me by magically coming back from the dead, but I'm not sure he could have picked a worse time.

"Because I was waiting for you," he croons. "My baby brother surprised me; I'll give him that. He caught me off-guard and took the Bratva from me. Then my father sided with him overnight without any pushback."

"Because Mikhail was the better choice," I hiss.

In an instant, Trofim is on the bed in front of me, his nose pressed to mine. "If he's so great, where is Mikhail now? He saved you once. Do you think he'll do it again?"

No. No, I don't.

"Mikhail broke tradition and protocol. He stole everything from me and no one did anything to stop him. I wasn't going to come back empty-handed. I needed to have my wife and a strong alliance in my back pocket to reclaim what is rightfully mine. But someone," he chides, leaning back to tap the end of my nose, "disappeared. Until recently, that is. And now that you're back, so am I."

I shake my head. "If you're doing this to get to my father, you're out of luck. I spoke to him and he isn't going to help me. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

Unfortunately, that wasn't a dream, either. My own father would rather get revenge by sitting back and letting me be killed than save his own daughter.

"I'll worry about Agostino. The only thing I need you to worry about is getting yourself wedding ready." He looks me over and his nose wrinkles. "You've really let yourself go."

"I'm sorry that being held captive doesn't agree with me," I growl.

He waves me away. "The blood in your veins is the only thing that matters to me now. Finally, after six fucking years, I'm going to marry a Giordano."

I hold up my left hand, flashing the rainbow-colored disco ball on my ring finger. "Didn't you hear the news? I'm already married."

His dark eyes narrow. They are nothing like looking into the deep blue of Mikhail's eyes. Trofim's are flat and emotionless. It's like looking into a shallow, evil puddle.

"I heard. I also heard you showed up with a five-year-old. I don't need to do the math on that to figure out when you spread your legs for my brother," he hisses. There's murder in his eyes for a second before he backs away with a shrug. "It'll be easy enough to explain away. Mikhail raped you, you escaped, and then he tracked you down and forced you into marriage. Now, I'm back to claim my rightful title and my rightful bride. It'll make a nice comeback story."

"I don't belong to you," I snap. The chains rattling at the end of the bed don't do much to prove my point.

"Oh, but you do," he insists. "Whether you like it or not, you and I are getting married, Viviana. But if you make it difficult for me, your little boy will have to go."

My heart jolts. "He's a child."

"He's a liability," he corrects, stalking closer to me. "He's an embarrassment that you created by fucking my brother like a dirty whore."

"And I'd do it again," I spit.

Trofim's hand cracks across my face before I even see it coming. My cheek burns hot. I can feel the imprint of each of his fingers on my skin.

Six years may have passed, but nothing has changed.

He stands up with a sigh. "I don't know why you make me do this. I want things to work between us, Viviana. It's all I've ever wanted."

"All you've ever wanted is a slave with your last name."

He considers that for a second. "Call it whatever you want, but as long as you're a good girl and do as you're told, your bastard will stay alive."

Dante isn't a bastard. Mikhail and I are married. Our relationship is more legitimate than anything I've ever had with Trofim.

But I keep that to myself as Trofim brushes my hair away from my forehead. "It's a good offer, Viviana. It's more than you'll get from anyone else now that you've let my brother ruin you." He stops in the door, a wicked smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "Think it over."

The door to my cell slams shut.